Strange and Invisible History
by Madea's Rage
Summary: The Lestranges, freed from Azkaban after the Dark Lord uses the Philosopher's Stone to rise again in 1992, discover that they've been called to serve in a way no one could have imagined. CP!
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Love to my beta, Countess Black**

**For those who have never read my work, it's deconstructionist in nature, meaning I take cliched ideas and try to apply them in a way that reflects real life ramifications of those circumstances (whether I succeede depends on your point of view). It tends to be pretty adult stuff, and a lot of the content is offensive and disturbing. So be warned:**

** Much of what follows is potentially upsetting, and no advocacy is implied. Anything extreme will be marked in the A/N, but this is an adult work for an adult audience. Also, some chapters will contain parental type CP (ie spanking of a minor).**

**For those of you who read my other stuff, the veela thing is still alive and well. I just wanted a change of pace. Title is a reference to George Eliot.**

**1981:**

The prisoner shrieked, stomach heaving. She rose on bony, dirt caked knees, then dropped forward onto her elbows, still screaming. She pushed, bearing down with all her weight, and a gush of red as dark as velvet poured out.

Kingsley Shacklebolt suppressed his gag reflex as the woman was racked with another contraction. The stench in the cell was a rank mixture of sweat and blood, even in the preternatural chill of Azkaban. Outside the human guards were stirring, holding off Dementors maddened by pain they couldn't touch.

She bore down a third time and a head appeared between her straining thighs. Shacklebolt reached down and guided it, slick and hot, and turned the shoulders as lightly as he could. The baby glided out, tiny, skin a sickly bluish grey, followed by a mass of tissue with thumped to the floor with meaty plop; the afterbirth.

The woman flopped down into her own fluids, laughing weakly. 'A boy?'

'No, a girl.'

'Oh. Oh, good.'

Shacklebolt rose, wrapping the child in a bit of old toweling provided for him by the warden, who was standing at the door. He turned. The woman clutched feebly at his hem with her claw like hands. 'Let me hold her.'

He hesitated a moment, and then, training his wand on her with his free hand, he gave the baby over. 'Only a second.'

The woman regarded the baby with mild wonder and then handed her back. 'Take her to hospital.'

Shacklebolt nodded silent and stepped into the corridor. The air smelt no better, and the broad, stupid face of the warden came into his view. 'Is it alive?'

'For the moment. I'll need to take her by broom.'

'She's so tiny. Hard to believe who the parents are, isn't it?'

Shacklebolt nodded curtly. 'Quite.' As he left, he heard the woman start to scream as the Dementors moved in.

Hours later, ensconced in Albus Dumbledore's office, the whole thing had taken on the sepia tone of nightmare. He could still smell Azkaban on himself, a taint as much mental as actual. The others were studying him with varying degrees of curiosity; none of them had ever seen a monster give birth before.

'You're sure this is the only way?'

Dumbledore shook his head. 'No, not the only, but the best. Lucius will make her a symbol. And giving her to a wizarding couple is to make them the targets of reprisals from her parents' victims.'

'But surely there's something?'

'This will also permit us to monitor the child for any signs of incipient violence without the interference of well meaning guardians.'

'The muggles will watch her.' Shacklebolt wasn't sure how he felt about all this, even as he understood the logic.

'Of course, but she'll be neither encouraged or persecuted because of her parentage.'

'And you're sure Lucius and Narcissa-'

'Yes. Once the baby is out of stasis, she'll go to the couple the healer found.'

'Lucky her squib cousin's got those friends.' Alastor Moody looked solemn, almost sad. He shook his head and took a sip from his flask before he held it in mute offering to the others.

'Yes. I do wonder, though, whether the growth potion will have any effect in such large quantities.'

'Nothing for it, Albus.' Moody had no such qualms as Shacklebolt about the whole idea.

Dumbledore nodded. 'Quite. Did it never occur to the Ministry, Kingsley, to test the mother beforehand?'

'In fairness, who might have thought...all that Dark magic. And both of them, yet.'

'True. Well, the die is cast. It will be most interesting to see how all this turns out.'

A month later, Emmeline Vance, dressed in clothes borrowed from her muggle mother, knocked up a door in a quiet neighbourhood in a small city in Northumberland. A woman with a small, fine boned face answered. Her husband was big and bluff, and looked as though he'd give excellent hugs. Emmeline had a good feeling about them.

'Mr. and Mrs. Granger?' She walked in, holding the baby girl tight. She was bright eyed, full of beans. The woman's face lit up. 'She's beautiful, isn't she?'

'She is.' Emmeline handed over the careful file of papers, lovingly forged to the effect that the baby in her arms was these muggles'. It also listed her birth year as 1979.

Nothing in her appearance belied it, either. The potions had done their job, and a few careful glamours. 'Ironic, isn't it' said Moody as they'd bundled the little girl into the enchanted car for her journey 'she'll go to school with the little Longbottom lad?'

'And Harry Potter.'

'Yes, but she'll surely be a Ravenclaw, since she won't be eligible for Slytherin,' She would always be petite, the nameless little girl, but she'd catch up with her peers, hopefully, and who knew? Perhaps the potions had effected her mind as well.

'And her name?'

'Hermione. Hermione Jane.'

'How lovely. There we are. And if you'd both look at me.' She drew and Obliviated them without another word.

Moody Apparated in. 'Is it done?'

'We'll get them in the car and be in Darlington for supper.'

The new house was on the outskirts of the city. A nice place for a child to live. A good place for a girl to grow. They bundled the muggles inside and helped implant the new memories.

It was all for the best. These muggles, both orphans, would believe the girl was theirs. The Order had done well by them; they had new jobs, plenty of cash, a beautiful little house, and a daughter. Their covers were tight and no one would look closely.

Emmeline stroked the child's cheek. 'Goodbye, Hermione Granger.'

They woke the muggles and then slipped away.

In Azkaban prison, the baby's mother forgot she'd even given birth. Her husband never knew.

Life went on for ten years, until a man called Quirinus Quirrel went on holiday...

**1991**:

How much of life is luck? All our planning, all our careful mechinations, and how much, in the end, comes down to simple chance? The Dark Lord suspected the answer might favour _fortuna _to a rather uncomfortable degree.

For example, had Quirrel's failing body not held out as long as it had. The strain of having another spirit locked into his was beginning to tell.

He'd almost been caught more than once, if nothing else than by the smell the man's organs made as they first failed and then necrotised. At the end, he'd been nearly a meat puppet, driven by the Dark Lord and his own fierce will.

Had the boy's little friends been there to help, to prevent his hands, slick with sweat, from slipping off the Stone, like the seeds of a pomegranate sliding wetly away.

Voldemort slipped from the castle, fighting the urge to explore the fresh miracle of tactile sensation, and crossed the wet grass, bare feet squeaking a bit. The sodden hem of his pyjama trousers drug. All the boy's clothes were like this, falling off him.

He hefted the wand as he stepped into the clearing. 'Malfoy?'

A shadow detached itself from the others and bowed. 'My Lord?'

'Lucius, how well you look.' He'd amused himself by neglecting to mention his new form. Malfoy's eyes bugged out with shock, utterly still in something like horror. 'M-my Lord?'

'What does your Mark tell you?'

The man stripped his sleeve and held up his wand in a weak lumos, then dropped to his knees, face waxen. 'My Lord, I am honoured, honoured that you called me first amongst your-'

The Dark Lord held up a hand. 'Enough. Where are the others? Have you assembled them?'

More shadows broke and drifted toward them, revealing themselves. 'Excellent, excellent. I am sure, friends, you've many questions. All shall be answered in time. But where are the Lestranges? I see so many familiar faces, but not Bellatrix or Rudolphus.'

The robed figures turned to Lucius, who was the nominal spokesman with the Lestrages gone. 'My Lord, your servant humbly craves to tell you that, regrettably, ah, the Lestranges are in prison.'

'In my service?'

'Yes, my Lord. Attempting to find yourself.'

' I see. I can't imagine why the rest of you did not join them, but as it is, perhaps it is better for now. It will make it easier when we pursue the obvious course.'

'My Lord?'

'Take me to Snape, and then you shall go and get them.'

Severus Snape was in his rooms, reading a Potions article. He heard a knock at the door and rose, scowling, to verbally eviscerate the idiot who'd disrupted him. To his surprise, it was Lucius Malfoy. 'Malfoy, if we need to discuss Draco, let us do it at a civilised hour.'

'Hello, Severus.' Snape took a step back. It was Potter and it was not. There was something indefinably familiar and yet alien, a quality that made him sure it wasn't Potter but something wearing his skin.

'No words for your master, Severus?'

'My Lord?'

'In the flesh. So to speak. Do move inside, would you? I wouldn't want to attract attention.'

They all moved inside, Snape's quarters crowded with robed and masked people. Snape knelt and kissed the hem of the sleep trousers, reeling mentally. The Dark Lord sat in the chair which Snape had just vacated and surveyed his minions.

'We must move before the Old Fool realises something is amiss. I've a plan. The first step is as follows...'

Having established a toehold in the school, in the form of Snape's rooms, the Death Eaters fanned out. Warding the dorms so the children couldn't escape, they systematically captured the teachers one by one.

The exception was Flitwick. He was an old man, and he'd seen much evil in his life, to his sorrow. He'd also been a champion dueller, so when he opened his door to see two masked and robed people, he hadn't hesitated. Snapping his wand up, he fired the first spell, aware the odds he'd come out of this alive were poor and not caring. He'd lived too long to be bullied by cowards in bed sheets.

The Death Eaters hadn't expected that resistance, let alone an actual fight. One of them was immobilised before he could move. The other found himself hanging upside down as Flitwick sprinted from the room and ran down the corridors, determined to protect the children and alert his fellow teachers.

It took him only minutes to realise that the others had been taken (or were turncoats?). He slid into an alcove and called an elf. 'Rinky, we've been attacked. Defend the children, and get the aurors here as fast as you can. Go, hurry.'

He could hear footsteps. Flitwick faced the prospect of his own death with a sort of calm acceptance-he'd lived long, his children were grown, and he'd done what he could to stop this madness.

Closer, now, and more of them. All those people, to kill an old man. He waited another second and then leapt from his hiding place, firing spells. He might be ready to die, but Filius Flitwick would be damned before he made it easy for them.

At the same time, Walden McNair was Apparating to a small collection of caves in Wales. He brought dripping meat and promises. He spoke at some length, having made a sort of offering, and when he was through, fifty men came with him. They were muscled, foul smelling, blood smeared.

Their leader was a man of no age, reeking of the charnel house. His name was Greyback, and the world burned in his eyes, and crumbled in his blood scabbed hands, and broke between his sharp, brown stained teeth. He sniffed the air, the rich mealy smell of children and the smells of animals in the forest. He called his boys and they spread out, prepared to fight for the things promised them. Victims. Plunder. All would be well.

Albus Dumbledore was in his chambers when his knock came. He rose, and on his perch, Fawkes, gave a single sad trill and settled back on his perch, dejected. What in the world could be the matter? Dumbledore wished he could offer his friend a ginger biscuit or a bit of cut fruit, but that would have to wait. He mentally promised Fawkes two biscuits and some freshly cut pineapple and walked to the door.

It was Snape, with a smug looking Lucius Malfoy beside him. 'Severus, Lucius. Something the matter?'

'Come along quietly, Albus, and no one will be hurt.'

'I see. You've taken the castle, then?'

'Of course.' Malfoy stepped forward and Dumbledore shook him off. 'I would thank you, Lucius, to keep your hands to yourself. I am still headmaster of this school.'

The Dark Lord awaited them on the dais. He raised a cup of pumpkin juice in sardonic salute as his two best men entered, Albus Dumbledore between them, looking remarkably calm.

'Hello, Tom.'

'Albus.'

'Might I ask?'

'It was simple, really. The boy's mind was unguarded, and I simply slipped in whilst he was occupied with something else.'

'And Harry?'

The Dark Lord shrugged. 'I neither know nor care.'

'How long?'

'Since the night when Quirrel died, of course. Much as I would love to converse, Albus, we've other things to do. We could duel, I suppose, but it would be tiresome.'

'Oh?'

'That's right. So here's a proposition for you: Permit me to kill you and I shan't burn Gryffindor Tower to the ground. With the children in, naturally.'

'Don't bring the children into this, Tom. They're innocent of any wrongdoing.'

'How unfortunate for them. Thorfinn, kill the one with the ridiculous spectacles to prove I'm being serious.'

Sybil Trelawney opened her mouth to protest and then slumped over dead as the bolt hit her, eyes glazing. The Dark Lord turned to Dumbledore. 'Well, old man?'

'I've only one request.'

'Go on.'

'Do it yourself, Tom. Kill me yourself.'

'Very well, then. Avada Kadavra!'

Nothing. Dumbledore looked quietly amused but said nothing. The others had grown silent, watching as the Dark Lord's tiny frame proved itself too small to work the curse properly.

'Avada Kadavra!'

Nothing. Greyback the werewolf moved forward, grinning. 'Give me the word, milord.'

'I think not. Severus, do the honours.'

Snape drew. Albus' eyes were mild. He smiled a little. 'Severus, please.'

The room flashed green a moment and the Headmaster fell bonelessly, that strange smile still on his face. Snape lowered his wand slowly, heart a great, empty mass in his chest.

'Well' said the Dark Lord, smiling himself 'onto part two, gentlemen.'

Azkaban prison kept a small squad of human guards, usually for administrative purposes. Two of these were standing on a battlement when they heard the distinctive crack from the Apparation point.

'Who do suppose that is?'

'Aurors?'

'We didn't get notified, did we, of a new prisoner?'

'Not that I know of, but maybe the warden's not told anyone.'

Three fellows in black cloaks approached, smiling. 'Wonder if you gents could tell us the way to Warden Fitzmorris's office?'

'Level four, third door on the right, but what's this about? You fellows from the Ministry?'

'Soon enough' agreed the man, and calmly killed them both. Tossing them over the side, the Death Eaters trooped up and down the prison, ignoring the screams and stenches.

'Warden Fitzmorris?'

'Hello. You boys aurors?'

'Something like that. Imperio.'

The man's eyes went dull. 'Now, Warden, where might I find the Death Eaters?'

'Corridor three, lower level.'

'Thanks.' The locked him in his office and while Galvin Goyle and Mamercus Jugson went for the Lestranges, Walden McNair descended, not without trepidation, on the most dangerous diplomatic mission of his life.

Goyle and Jugson made their way to the corridor and used the keys they'd nicked from Fitzgibbon to open the first cell. Rabastan Lestrange cringed back from then. 'Rab! Rabastan!'

'Galvie? Merc?'

'Come on! Hurry! We're taking you all home.'

'Home' said Rabastan, and rose shakily to his feet. The others were liberated as quickly. From the cells all round, a clamour went up. 'Oi, mate, what about us?'

'What about you?'

'We hate the Ministry as much as you! Maybe more.'

Goyle considered this a long moment, and then began to unlock doors. Within five minutes, trailed by prisoners, the Death Eaters began to Apparate everyone to a point in the Forbidden Forest. They snaked up the hill, the stronger helping the weak. It looked like a parade at Final Judgement.

The prisoners were divided into groups. The main of them were sent to the Slytherin locker room to shower as the elves scavenged clothing for them. The elite amongst them, the Marked, were ushered to the teacher's quarters and invited to avail themselves of what they found there.

Except for food: their shrunken stomachs wouldn't permit much, and Snape ordered the elves to remove everything but water so they couldn't eat themselves sick.

Clean and sweet, dressed in borrowed robes and full of broth and bread, the most faithful were brought before their Lord. Tears began to run down Bellatrix's shrunken cheeks as she knelt and kissed the hem of the pyjamas.

'Oh, my Lord! My Lord!'

'Rise, Bella. Truly, you are my most faithful.'

Bellatrix rose. 'How may I serve you, Master?'

'That remains to be seen, dear Bellatrix. For now, I imagine you might like some revenge?'

Her eyes took on a dangerous glitter. 'Oh, yes, my Lord.'

'Then you shall have it. Lucius, you are needed. Severus, all the Polyjuice you have, quickly.'

At dawn, a group of people slipped into the Ministry. One of them was Lucius Malfoy. He let in the others, and helped them past the security. When the Ministry opened at nine, they were ready.

The members of the Wizengamot took their seats with the usual harrumphing. Wandless, all of them and old, most of them, they settled back to debate giving a thousand galleons to children's programming on Radio Wizarding Britain.

At ten after nine, the doors flew open and a stream of people poured in. The members of the Wizengamot rose to protest this invasion, but by and large they were dead before they could speak.

In the centre of the room, Bellatrix jumped up on the desk and started to laugh. 'We told you! The Dark Lord triumphs once again!' The others joined in her laughter, and leaving the bodies of Wizarding Britain's most august legislators cooling behind them, went to do the rest of their chore.

At Hogwarts, the train was waiting at the station. In the Great Hall, the confused students were sat at their usual tables. Few of them had ever seen an actual Death Eater before, except for those whose fathers or brothers had taken the Mark.

Lucius Malfoy gave his son a wink and then addressed the children. 'Good morning, all of you. We've had some changes overnight, so we'll be doing things a bit differently today.'

' After breakfast, the first years will go and get their things, starting with the girls. Some of my friends will help them onto the train, then the second years, and so forth. Some of my friends are also on the train to make sure everyone is safe. Now, who here is muggleborn?' About a fifth of the students raised their hands.

'Excellent. All of you will stay in your dorm rooms. We've arranged special transportation for you.'

There was a worried buzz amongst the older students. This couldn't mean anything good. Malfoy smiled reassuringly. A girl stood, a petite child with a cloud of curly hair.

'What about our parents? They won't know to come and get us.'

'We've taken care of all that. Sit down, hmm?' The elves were bringing in steaming platters of eggs and kippers, and the usual tureen of porridge and so on. The girl seemed unconvinced.

'Where are all the teachers?'

'They've been called away and left me in charge. I'm a governor, you know. They want all of you to make them proud by showing how obedient and cheerful you can be.'

As the children ate, Lucius approached the Slytherin table and walked behind his son. 'Hello, Draco.'

'Hello, Father. Join us? We can slide down.' Draco was enormously proud of Father, and liked being seen with him very much. Draco's boon companions nodded, as they also like Draco's father.

'Thank you, boys, but I've an errand to run. I wanted to ask whom that girl was.'

'Oh, her? Granger. Potter's girlfriend.'

'Mudblood, is she?'

Draco nodded and swallowed some of his milk. 'Yes, Father, I think so. Is Mother at home?'

'Of course, and it shouldn't be long before I am, as well.'

'What about Tiggy? I saw my Da here earlier.' Goyle's brow knit worriedly. Ever since his own mother had abandoned him, he'd entertained a fear that his sister in law, his brother's wife, would as well.

'She's there, Gregory. All of you be good boys, hmm?' Lucius gave them a look that implied the consequences of anything less would be unpleasant, and all three squirmed a bit, nodding.

The children finished and a few Death Eaters appeared to guide them back. Alecto Carrow trotted up to Lucius. 'Shall I go with Gryffindor? I think the little one will be a problem.'

Lucius smiled gratefully. 'Would you, Alecto? That would be wonderful.'

The girls crowded into their dorm, shoving everything into their trunks, the elves flapping about to hurry the process, shrinking the trunks so the girls could tuck them into their pockets.

Hermione sat down on the bed, trunk neatly packed. She liked none of this. The tall man in the Hall had struck her as glib and not a bit condescending, which never failed to irk her; he'd done the verbal equivalent of squatting down to talk to the students.

Lavender Brown started to sob. 'I want my Mummy!'

Alecto spun and advanced on her, shaking her hard by the shoulders. 'Show some pride, girl! You're a Pureblood, act it!'

Hermione stood up. 'Stop it, you'll hurt her!'

'Oh, the mudblood wants some, does she?' Alecto left off with the bawling Lavender and went for Hermione, snaking a hand in her hair and using the other to cup her chin, meaning to get good and close to deliver a lesson about place.

Hermione twisted, hard, and when the woman's hand tightened in her hair she bit blindly. She felt something crunch and the woman staggered back, shrieking, holding her bitten finger.

'You little bitch, you bit me!' Alecto slapped her, hard, much too hard, and Hermione's nose began to gush blood. The child went for her wand and Alecto disarmed her, livid, called an elf, still angry, still bleeding. 'Take them to Crabbe at the bottom of the Tower, the mudblood and I are going to have a lesson.'

She grabbed Hermione by the arm and yanked her, hard, past her confused classmates and all the way to the Hall. She half threw the child onto the ground before the others. Snape's stomach tightened as he saw Granger flop onto the stones-had Alecto killed her in a rage?

'She bit me! Suppose she has some filthy mudblood disease.'

'I'll test you, Alecto. But do stop battering her, she's no good to us damaged.' Snape bent and picked the girl up, setting her on her feet. 'Stop it this second, Granger, do you hear me?'

Granger nodded. He released her just as Bellatrix came into the hall, hand dripping rubies on the stones. 'That damned half giant set his dog on me!' And then had run, was the worst part, before she could kill him. Well, the forest would take of him, anyway.

Snape mentally begged for a fatal heart attack, or a nice lightening bolt, so he wouldn't have to deal with two wounded Death Eaters. He handed Bellatrix his handkerchief. 'I'll heal you in a moment.'

Alecto was still angry. 'I'll have her guts, the little cow!'

'Now, really, Alecto, is that any way to react to a bit of naughtiness from a child? Our little friends will think we mean them harm.' The Dark Lord walked to the dais and sat down, dressed in robes of Dumbledore's that he'd had shrunk to fit his diminutive frame.

'No, my Lord. A million pardons, my Lord.' The Dark Lord waved a hand negligently. The Hall was very quiet. Hermione took a step closer. 'Harry?'

'Miss Granger, how lovely, though I expect you know you owe Madam Carrow an apology.'

'Harry, what's happened to you?'

'Not Harry, dear child. Not anymore. Now, that apology?'

'I don't understand.'

'In time, my dear. Alecto, Hermione will be telling you she's sorry the second she's over she shock. In the meantime-'

The Dark Lord broke off as the werewolf Greyback came in, trailing mud everywhere. 'We burnt the shack as you asked, milord, but we-' His brow furrowed.

'Whose little girl is that?'

'No one's. Why do you ask, Greyback?'

'Beggin milord's pardon, but I'd have to disagree. Her smells like someone I've smelt before.'

The Dark Lord's eyebrows quirked. 'Oh? Most interesting. Severus, you needed to test her anyhow. Perhaps she's some Halfblood by-blow. Have her put somewhere until you can make time.'

Snape reached for his wand and flicked. Hermione's nose stopped bleeding. 'Malfoy, your handkerchief.' Lucius grimaced but handed it over, disgusted at the idea of donating very nice Irish linen to a mudblood.

'Wipe your nose, Granger.' He didn't touch the results, lest he taint it. Instead, he levitated it until the elf brought a beaker for it. Shrinking the bloody handkerchief, he set it in the beaker and sent it to his lab, doing the same with a sample from Alecto's hand and his own blood soaked handkerchief.

The Dark Lord turned to Lucius. 'Take her somewhere and keep her there. Somewhere comfortable, Lucius. She might have worth to us after all.'

Lucius nodded and reached for his wand, then thought better of it. She wasn't his bastard, but she might well be one of his friend's. Wouldn't do to have it get about that Lucius had been rough with her. Instead, he reached a hand for her and took her wrist. 'Come along, my child.'

'No. I don't know you and I shan't go anywhere with a stranger.'

Snape leant over. 'That's ten points from Gryffindor, Miss Granger, now go at once before Mr. Malfoy is obliged to carry you like a toddler having a tantrum.'

Hermione was young enough for that to sting, and she followed Malfoy stiffly, keeping as much space between them as she could. She forced herself to sound brave.

'You're Draco's father?'

'I am. He's told me what a very clever little girl you are. So I expect when I tell you not to do a thing that like again, you'll understand me, hmm?'

'Just because someone is a bully and makes everyone afraid of them-'

'Is a good sign you ought to be as well. The Dark Lord might punish you if this stubbornness keeps up.'

'He's not lord of anything, not really.'

'On account of your age, I shall forget you said that, but just this once.'

'Are you scared of him, too?'

Malfoy led her to an empty classroom and opened the door for her, warding it with an age line. 'Remember what I told you, like a good girl. After all, the Dark Lord could always choose to make an example of your little friends, couldn't he?' He turned on his heel and left without another word.

In the laboratory, Snape added the costus root infusion to the vial with Granger's blood. He'd have to start getting samples from the others and testing them to see who had fathered her. How strange life is, he reflected. Presumably, the girl was the result of a raid, and a muggle woman who'd been permitted to live.

Or perhaps...this couldn't be right. The potion would glow in proximity to a magical signature of a close relative. The closer the relation, the brighter the glow.

The phial was glowing, which meant that the parent's magical signature was in the room. Since Granger couldn't possibly be his, that meant she was either Bellatrix's or Alecto's.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Love to Countess Black and my reviewers.**

**This chapter features EXTREME violence and a battle between two groups of veteran fighters. Also, swearing.**

**Also, I've taken the opportunity to use a character I found sort of creepy awesome in DH 7. Because of Hermione's age, I've changed the dynamic between them considerably. For those of you who've read Martin, I combined this person and Shagwell the jester in a blender and this is what popped out.**

** To my British readers: If there's something in the dialect the above person speaks that could be improved, or a TV show or book that might help, feel free to give me a yell. I'd appreciate it.**

The Death Eaters took Radio Wizarding Britain in time for the Dark Lord to make a radio announcement at noon.

'Good afternoon, Wizarding Britain. This is a dawning of a new day. A force of freedom fighters, led by the Dark Lord, have taken over the Ministry, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and Wizarding Radio Britain. Albus Dumbledore is dead. The Wizengamot is taken. The Floo, Owl Post and Portkey systems are all under our control. Our dominion is complete.'

'No one else will be harmed, assuming there is co-operation. The children are being sent home. They should arrive at King's Cross station no later than three o'clock.'

'An eight PM to six AM curfew is in effect. All wizards and witches over the age of seventeen will appear to register with the Ministry no later no than next Friday at this time, beginning with those over the age of ninety.'

'I wish to stress that the conduct of citizens will assure that violence is kept to a minimum. Continue to monitor your radio for further updates. This is the Supreme Wizard, signing off.'

Walden McNair, back slicked with sweat, ascended the stairs. He'd done it. He wasn't precisely sure how, but he had. Behind him stretched an endless stream of Dementors, silent as disease, flowing up from the prison.

He went to the Apparation point and Apparated back to the clearing, entered the school. It would take them some time to arrive, but that was all right. McNair came into the Hall and knelt before his Lord. 'It is done.'

In the Slytherin locker room, the escapees were waiting for something to happen. Most of them had used the chance to kill the Wizengamot (amongst others) to loot a new wardrobe for themselves, and so were mixing and matching finery as a means of passing the time.

Rodolphus was watching them, a faintly derisive look on his face. He suspected they would be of some use, but that didn't mean he liked having to associate with these guttersnipes, or babysit them in order to keep them from robbing the school blind. He sat heavily on an armchair, only to have an elf appear, bowing nervously.

'Master Lestrange is being summoned to the Great Hall.'

Rodolphus rose and followed, wondering what this could be about. As he entered, he heard his wife's voice upraised. He walked faster-could something have happened?

'Ah, Rodolphus, how nice to see you. I've just given your wife some news.'

Bellatrix nodded. 'We've a new way to serve the Dark Lord, Rodolphus!'

Rodolphus smiled. 'That _is_ good news, Bellatrix. What new way is it?'

'A child! Who might have guessed?'

'A child? Bellatrix, we can't...'

'What Bellatrix means, Rodolphus, is that we've some rather surprising news for you.' The Dark Lord summarised the situation, and Rodolphus took it all in, more shocked by the moment.

'And you say the child is here, my Lord?'

'That's correct. I shall have an elf bring her directly.'

Hermione had been stuck in the classroom for what seemed like hours. She paced about, poked through dusty cabinets and cupboards, tested the wards until she was summarily shoved back into the classroom, and watched from the window as her schoolmates were driven in a line toward the train.

Abruptly, some kind of little creature popped in, bowing low, great floppy ears tumbling down. 'Miss!' It squeaked, and bowed again. 'Miss is being summoned!'

Hermione took a step back. 'Goodness! What are you?'

'Rinky is house elf, serving Hogwarts. Miss is coming now?'

'All right.'

She followed the little creature down the corridors, which rang with eerie silence. They walked to the Hall, and the elf followed her in and walked her to the foot of the dais.

'Hello, Granger. Your hand.'

Hermione held out her right hand and Snape pricked a finger and dripped the blood into a phial. He added something sludgy from a beaker held by another of the elf things. Nothing happened.

'Bellatrix?'

A woman came and stood beside Hermione. She turned, smiling, rotten teeth on display. Hermione made herself stand her ground, even when the woman moved uncomfortably close and held out a finger.

Snape repeated the process in full view of the Hall, and the stuff in both phials glowed a deep blue. Hermione felt nervous, almost afraid, but she wouldn't show it, even when a man turned up on the other side. He also glowed.

'There we have it, my Lord. Indisputable.'

'Quite. Well, Bellatrix, Rodolphus.'

'My Lord, thank you! Thank you for this chance to serve you!' The woman moved even closer, drinking her in. Petite, curly haired, fine boned. Next to one another, the resemblance was striking.

Abruptly, the woman threw both arms about the child and squeezed her tightly. 'Thank you, my Lord! Thank you!'

Hermione went rigid. She squirmed to free herself, wriggling. 'Let go!'

Bellatrix finally relaxed a bit and Hermione stepped well back. Rodolphus came closer. He leant over and took the girl's chin in his hand, studying her intently. 'She has my mother's eyes, my Lord.'

'Has she? How sweet.'

'Hello, Hermione.'

For the first time, she was being spoken to rather than about. Hermione dipped her head. 'Hello.'

'Hermione' said the Dark Lord, relishing this 'tell us about your parents.'

'My parents are Annemarie and Cyril Granger. They're dentists.'

'They're what?' Said Bellatrix, her smile fading. Hermione seemed not to notice, or to care. 'Dentists. They fix people's teeth.'

'You mean to say they're _muggles_?'

'Yes, they are.'

The Dark Lord smiled more broadly. 'My child, I am so pleased to be able to tell you that isn't true. You see, Hermione, Bellatrix and Rodolphus are your mother and father.'

Hermione looked at the thing in her friend's body fearlessly. 'No, they aren't.'

Snape stepped forward. 'Yes, Granger, they are. The tests have proved it.'

Hermione shook her head. 'My parents have a birth certificate for me.'

'Ah, but you see, the potion _has_ proved it. Explain it, Snape.'

Snape did. '

'And so there's no chance that they aren't. This is enough for the Wizengamot-Wizarding court-to find in their favour.'

'Then there's been some mistake, because these people aren't my parents.'

'Now, Hermione' said Rodolphus 'it's rude to contradict one's elders.'

Hermione looked up at him. 'Yes, sir. But I really do think that-'

'My Lord? Perhaps they should like to get to know one another in private?'

'Of course.' He waved to dismiss them, but just then a man Hermione didn't know burst in. 'They're here!'

Both adults spun and drew. 'Hermione, you stay in your classroom and don't leave unless there's an adult with you.' The man ordered, and then they both turned and ran out, wands drawn, leaving Hermione there.

Rinky popped in a split second later, along with several of his friends. They clustered round Hermione and led her hence, not liking the changes any better than she. They sought comfort in service, and not having been ordered to do otherwise, resolved to defend Miss to the last.

There was a strange noise from outside, like popcorn. Hermione went to the window. By craning her neck, she could just barely see people outside the school gates and coming fast. From inside the school, she could hear shouts and noises of running and thumping.

Rinky tugged her sleeve. 'Miss is coming away from windows now!'

Hermione ducked back just as the first spells were fired, and a great wave of hot oil sluiced down, soaking the besiegers.

'Protego!' The cry was ripped from hundreds of throats, and they came closer, Hagrid leading them. He slammed against the door once, twice, and with the help of several Order members, managed to push the thing open.

The defenders spilt out, firing spells, and were pushed back by the force of rogue aurors, Order members, and average people who'd chosen to make a stand than risk life under the Death Eaters once more.

The force punched through the resistance in the atrium and spread out, most beating back the Death Eaters who seemed to come from the walls, and the werewolves, and the convicts, who'd come mainly for plunder.

Another group sprinted for the dungeons, hoping against hope that the children were alive, and of all the accounts of heroism from that day, perhaps the most notable went to Hagrid.

Leading the aurors, he ran down to the dungeons, knocking Death Eaters aside like rag dolls, and with his own hands smashed the locks which held the cells into which the muggleborns had been crammed.

Gathering the youngest and smallest in his arms, he led the rest through a disused tunnel and into the forest, where another team of aurors was waiting to Apparate them to safety, and from there to an illegal Portkey to France. Many lives were lost in the making and defending of that Portkey, but the children were saved, by adults who did not know them and did not flinch from the certain death their actions entailed-a light, however small and easily quenched, however tyrants might seek to stamp it out, still burnt in the hearts of decent people.

Another group found the teachers and armed them, and they, too, joined the fray, though some faces were absent. The corridors of Hogwarts roiled with carnage, rang with screams, slicked with blood.

Hermione could see nothing but she heard it all. Unable to get through Malfoy's age line, she paced, wishing she could help. She heard footsteps in the corridor. 'Is that one of them, Rinky?'

Rinky shook his head. 'No, Miss, is auror.'

Hermione ran to the door. 'Help! I'm in here!'

A head popped in. 'Are you all right?'

'Yes! What's going on?'

The auror stepped into the room. 'Are you Hermione Granger?'

'Yes!'

'Hagrid said you were missing. Where's Harry Potter?'

Hermione ran to the auror. 'They've got him. He's not himself anymore. It's someone else inside him.'

The man took Hermione's hand, prepared to lead her over the age line, when he froze. He turned to say something else, but instead a thick stream of blood dribbled from his mouth. His grip slackened, and he fell silently to the floor, beginning to convulse. As though by accident, there was a large knife protruding from the side of his neck.

Hermione lunged for his wand and brought it up in time to see three men stood behind, two of them big and dirty and foul smelling, one of them smaller, slim and natty despite the strange array of garments he was wearing.

It was the smaller one who'd done it. He pulled the knife out, smiling, and gave Hermione a sardonic bow. ''ello there, flower'.

'Go away.' She pointed the wand and tried to sound brave.

'Oi, girlie, better put that down.'

'Go away! You've hurt him!'

The slim one laughed again. 'What these lads'll do is better than 'e can expect from them downstairs. Jus' step aside, flower, like a good girl, and let Lem finish im, yeah?'

At the same time, the man flicked his wrist and the wand flew easily into his hand. 'But it was right brave of you to try, it was, an' we'll see them nobs knows all about it.'

Hermione stepped forward and the man gently pushed her back with another flick of his wand.

'We'll refresh the age line, Chuck, yeah?'

'Sounds good, Scabs.' They did, and Hermione, who'd taken a CPR course with her Mum last year, rolled the man over and tried valiantly to help the dying auror. His eyes glazed, mouth moving. She pumped his chest harder.

'Please don't die. Please don't die.'

The man lost his battle, and Hermione, sticky with a stranger's blood, stood up, looking round the room, trying to find a way out.

She heard footsteps and ran as far as the ward would take her. 'We're in here! Help!'

Two other people crossed the threshold. 'It's all right. We're aurors, we'll help you.'

One of them looked at the dead man and swore. 'Jenkins? It's Dawlish.'

'Shite. Come here, little girl, all right?'

Hermione let them guide her across the age line. 'Run and find someone you know, go!'

Hermione turned and darted as quickly as she could toward the atrium. If she could get outside where most of the people who'd come to help where, she'd have a chance of getting away from these lunatics.

As she ran, her mind recorded scraps of the battle which, later, would refuse to cohere for her; forever after, they'd be mere snapshots, except when she slept, which was a mercy.

Suddenly she skidded in something wet and hot. She went down and got up again, feeling something close round her ankle. 'Help...me...' She turned to see someone in an alcove. They'd been attacked by something, she noticed with distant, dreamlike horror. She'd slipped in blood. She crawled closer, trying not to get any more on herself, and took the hand. 'What can I do?'

The person opened their mouth to answer when someone big and smelly and rough picked Hermione up and toted her toward a niche in the wall. 'You stay there and don't move or I'll tan your hide, understand?'

Hermione backed against the wall and heard a noise coming from the direction from which she'd just come. A sort of wet champing, and tearing like old velvet. She took off again, feeling as though the world had gone mad.

Rinky appeared. 'Miss Hermione comes back now!'

'I can't. There's _things _.' The candles guttered, and the blood that was soaking Hermione suddenly started to steam. She gagged, trying not to vomit, and dropped to her knees, fighting the urge to curl into a ball.

Rinky was no more impervious the effects than she, but he wouldn't let a child in his charge be harmed. He grabbed her arm and half dragged her until she'd recovered sufficiently to walk. They'd finally made it to the kitchens when screams as terrible as anything either of them had ever heard rose up.

The Dementors swept into Hogwarts like a plague, blighting whatever they touched. Some of the besiegers escaped into the forest, and the ones that avoided the wolves got away to fight again. Most did not, and the grounds were silent as the Dementors fed.

Others swept into the school, and the Death Eaters, with greatest control, managed to keep them from attacking anyone they'd been ordered to take alive, which was the teachers and Order members. These were herded into the Hall, surrounded by Death Eaters, and watched avidly on all sides by hungry werewolves.

Harry Potter walked toward them, dressed in a pair of Albus Dumbledore's robes. The group was silent as he opened his mouth. 'Good evening, all of you.'

Shacklebolt and Moody reached the same conclusion. 'Voldemort.'

'Quite. I've some questions before I have you killed. Bellatrix, cruciate the Vance woman to make sure everyone understands how this will go.'

Bellatrix stepped forward, face transfigured with a joy that lit up her face, cheeks flushed, eyes bright. ' My Lord, thank you! Crucio!'

Emmeline writhed, falling on her back, limbs flapping, eyes rolling. Bellatrix shrieked in chorus with the racked woman, voice spiralling, bouncing in place. As they watched, one hand strayed downward and cupped her belly, thighs squeezed together as she rocked on her heels.

In the kitchens, the screaming brought Hermione on hands and knees to the edge of the doorway, crouched low to watch. She understood only some of what she saw-that the woman was being hurt, and that the others were doing it somehow. She pressed herself tighter to the wall and watched, torn between stark horror and a sort of fascination.

'Enough. Still in top form I see, Bellatrix.'

'Yes, my Lord.'

'Now, Moody, the Granger girl.'

'Potter's little girlfriend? What about her?'

The Dark Lord smiled with Harry Potter's good natured face. 'There's more to that, isn't there? Her name's not really Granger, is it?'

Moody shook his head. 'I don't know how you mean.'

'We had occasion to test her blood. The results were...illuminating.'

Kingsley got it first. 'My God.'

'So it's true, then?'

Kingsley shook his head, amused despite their dire situation, at the strange vagaries of fate. 'And here you were worried she'd take after Bellatrix.'

Moody smiled a little. 'Perhaps there's hope in the world yet.'

The Dark Lord laughed. 'Not for you, Mad Eye. Nor the rest of you, at that. For you no day will have it's dawning. But we'll discuss this later.'

'Avery, Nott, Travers, take them to Azkaban. I'll deal with them later.'

Hermione wondered what Azkaban was, and why they were being sent there. She wished she could get closer, but then something drew her attention. There were things on the ceiling.

For the first time she'd ever seen, it was blank. Utterly, as though their presence corrupted the magic in things, or even nature. The room had a smell of disuse, almost decay, and it seemed to roll off the things in waves. Hermione's stomach turned to water. It was all she could not to cry at the sight of them.

As she watched, the things, quivering with obscene eagerness, swooped down on the black robed people. Amongst them were the man and woman that had tried to convince her that they were her parents. As she watched, they snapped their wands up and swished, filling the Hall with sickly light and an unspeakable stench as the things were driven back again.

There was a commotion at the door. A great mob of people swept in. At the front was the man who'd stabbed the auror, laughing wildly. He bowed low, burlesquing, and then popped up again, giggling still.

'Hello, gentlemen. I take it your end of things went well?'

'Thas right, m'lord. We took every one a them fuckers-pardon me, ma'am-and we done for em. Greyback's lads is strippin em as we speak.'

'To the victors go the spoils. You've my complete permission to help yourselves, naturally.'

'Thank you, m'lord.'

'And you're the spokesman, I take it? Your name?'

'Lemuel Scabior, m'lord. M' friends call me Scabs.'

'Indeed? And your crime?'

'Tryin t teach some cunt-pardon again-a lil fuckin respect. Sorry.'

'I've a sort of proposition for you if you're agreeable to waiting a bit. Some other business, you understand.' Scabior bowed and then went to lean against a wall, head cocked.

'Send the Dementors back, we'll call for them later.' McNair motioned to them, and as a cloud they descended and began to melt away, in the direction of the North Sea.

The lights in the castle started to return, the temperature rising.

'Thank you, Bellatrix. Tell me, how do you find your daughter?'

'All I could have wished for, my Lord. We will teach her to love you as we do.'

'Of course. Where is she now?'

Bellatrix opened her mouth and Scabior stepped forth. 'Lil girl, is she? About yea tall?'

'That's she.'

'We found er, we did. Reckon she's a bit upset.'

An elf was sent to determined whether Hermione was hysterical, and it returned, shaking, to announce that Miss was not there. The Dark Lord motioned to Scabior.

'Do find the girl, Lemuel, and bring her to her parents.'

'One lil girl comin up, m'lord.'

Hermione turned to Rinky, eyes big. 'Help me' she mouthed. Rinky took her hand and led her as softly as possible out of the kitchen, meaning to help her find someplace. Scabior rounded the corner and caught a flash of white tea towel and something that might've been hair.

'Oi, girlie! Stop right there!' Unable to obey a direct command, Rinky stopped, and Scabior caught up with them. 'ello again, flower. Your mummy an daddy are lookin for you. Come with Lem, an we'll sees em, yeah?' His hand closed on her bicep, and Hermione did the logical thing, which was to say, she fought him, clawing and trying to kick. Scabior grunted with amusement and put her over his shoulder, pinning her legs. 'Now now, not very nice, flower. Not very nice at all.'

They heard them before they saw them. The Death Eaters chuckled indulgently. 'With lungs like that, we know she's Bella's, at least.' The group laughed, Bellatrix as much as anyone, as the convict came in with Hermione, still fighting him tooth and nail.

Scabior handed her to Rodolphus, who swung the child down. Hermione backed up. 'He's a very bad man! He stabbed someone, and then laughed about it!'

The Dark Lord tsk'd. 'Really, Lemuel, in front of the child? If you're to work for me, you'll need be much more considerate. A Pureblood lady isn't used to violence, let alone a girl.'

'Sorry, m'lord. Miss.' He bowed again, and the Dark Lord smiled. Rodolphus gently clapped Hermione's shoulder. 'There there. poppet, it's all over.'

Snape stepped forward. His robes were nearly clean, and he, alone except for the Dark Lord, was not blood stained. 'Is the child hurt? She is covered in blood.'

'No, I'm fine, Professor. It's someone else's.'

'Then perhaps it would advisable for the girl to retire? It's been a trying day There's no reason she couldn't use a dorm room.'

'Of course. Bellatrix, Rodolphus, see to your daughter and then return.'

Hermione was shown to the Slytherin dorms. Her parents each took a different room to shower and dress in clean robes. The elves were still following Hermione, and insisted firmly on bathing her. She let them; she was too exhausted too care whether she washed her own hair. Clean and smelling of powder, the elves guided her into a big, soft nightdress and combed out her hair, settling her into bed to await the strangers.

They weren't long. Bellatrix barged in without knocking, followed by her husband, and sat on the end of the bed. 'Well, then, girl, are you hungry?'

Hermione mutely shook her head. 'No.'

'I'd imagine you've some questions about what you saw and heard today, is that right?' This from Rodolphus, who tried to look gentle and paternal. The child looked at him unwaveringly, eyes ringed in shadows.

'A few.'

'Before we do that, let me ask you something. Have you ever heard the phrase 'Death Eater'?'

'No, sir.'

' You might call me Father, Hermione. That's what Bellatrix and I are, Death Eaters.'

'What does it mean?'

'That's a very complicated question, but the first thing it means is someone who's sworn allegiance to the Dark Lord.'

'Downstairs, you mean?'

Rodolphus nodded. 'Yes. He's our leader, and a very wise and noble man.'

'Indeed, He is. We are His most loyal followers.'

'What does he believe?'

'We'll get to that a bit later, darling. For right now, it's enough that you understand some things. The first is that His Lordship is a very kind man, Hermione. We love him very much, and we want you to love him too.'

'But because He's so special and important, we show Him certain signs of respect, like bowing when we see Him and addressing Him as 'my Lord.' Do you understand?'

Hermione was having trouble reconciling the apparent enthusiasm these people had for the creature that had taken over her friend and the events of the day. Her brain, taxed to the extreme by what she'd seen and heard, was rebelling against all the new and terrible stimuli.

'No' she said. Rodolphus patted her hand gently.

'We'll help you to. But that's a very important rule, do you see?'

'Yes.'

'Good. How about something to help you rest? Would that be better?'

Hermione shook her head. 'I feel fine.'

'We'll get you all tucked in and you'll be loads better tomorrow morning.'

An elf appeared with a phial of something Hermione was sure was Dreamless Sleep, based on what she'd read.

'All of it, there's the good girl.'

She laid back, eyes closing, breath even. Rodolphus brought the covers under her chin and kissed the top of her head. 'Goodnight, Hermione.'

Bellatrix lingered to brush her cheek. 'Goodnight, then, girl.'

They snuffed all but one candle, in case Hermione should be afraid of the dark. Not that she ought to be, in a castle of Death Eaters. They were there to keep her safe, weren't they?


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Love to reviewers and to Countess Black**

**I'd written a few chapters before I started posting to see if the concept was workable. When I'm working in real time, it might take a bit longer.**

Even as Hermione slept, the Death Eaters tallied their losses and gains. None of the inner circle had been hurt in the abortive attack on the castle. A few convicts and rather more werewolves had taken slight injuries.

The Dark Lord was well pleased by the day's work. It wasn't quite nightfall. In a corner of the Hall, Bellatrix was throwing hexes at the chandeliers, attempting to knock the candles askew, sending hot wax everywhere.

'Enough, Trixie. Why not come and sit down?'

Bellatrix turned to her brother in law, looking cross. 'Really, Lucius, just a bit of fun.'

'No doubt, but I've a dreadful headache and you're making me nervous. Perhaps you'd like it if Narcissa came to visit?'

Bellatrix's eyes softened a bit. She loved her sister, and wanted to see her, and her nephew, whom she remembered as a chubby blond creature in nappies. She wasn't sure she felt prepared for that, though. Not right now.

'Perhaps just Cissy?'

Lucius nodded. 'Of course.' Having got leave of his master, he Floo'd back to the Manor, and to his wife and son. He explained the situation. Narcissa's eyes went big, but only for a moment.

Draco listened in silence and then broke out in a grin.

'Draco?'

'Don't you see, Father? I didn't get beaten by a mudblood after all!'

Lucius, tired as he was, gave the boy's shoulder a squeeze. 'That's right, not that I don't expect that mark to come up, Draco Lucius.'

'No, sir.' Draco squirmed a bit and then said 'So Granger is my cousin?'

'Yes, through your mother's sister and her husband, Rodolphus Lestrange.'

'Oh.' Draco's grin faded a bit. 'She's a pill, Father. Granger.'

'She was kidnapped by muggles, Draco. She hasn't the slightest idea of how one behaves, so we'll need to be gentle and patient with her, hmm?'

Draco nodded. 'Yes, Father. Perhaps you and Mother could help them.'

Lucius smiled, proud of his son for wanting to help. 'We'll all do what we can. For now, we must get back to the school.'

Draco nodded. 'Will you come back for bed, Father?' He meant his own bedtime, when he and Father spent time together every night. His father ruffled his hair.

'I'll try, love. Be a good boy.' Draco nodded, wishing he could go, but knowing not to pester his father right at the moment. Mother, he noticed, looked almost...nervous. Funny, he thought, and went to read in his room.

They arrived as the werewolves were coming back from a survey of the perimeter and a quick run. Narcissa had never seen such coarse looking men in her life, but none of them seemed interested in her either way, so she tugged her cloak tighter and followed her husband to the Slytherin common room.

The door opened and a strange woman was there, on either side. It took a second for Narcissa to know her sister-Bellatrix's face was lined, her hair shot with white, and her teeth rotted.

Bellatrix knew Cissy at once. She threw both arms about her sister and held on tighter. 'Cissy! I missed you so!'

'Trixie, I...I never thought...'

Bellatrix broke the embrace. 'Don't, Cissy, please. Let's just talk of happy things.'

Bellatrix invited her sister in. Rodolphus was sitting in an easy chair, perusing the paper. He rose at the sight of his sister in law, smiling.

'You haven't aged a day, Cissy.'

'Rodolphus.' She hugged him as well, and then he said 'Lucius and I must discuss things, if you ladies would excuse us.' They left, the door shutting behind them.

The sisters were alone. An elf brought them tea and cakes, with little sandwiches and scones as well.

'You do look well, Cissy. Malfoy's nice to you?'

'Of course Lucius is nice to me. He and I love one another very much.'

'That's good. And the boy is...healthy?'

'Draco, yes. He'll be twelve next month.'

'Time flies. I have a daughter, you know.' She picked up a little sandwich and nibbled, wrinkling her nose and setting it down. 'Fish paste. Ought to be a law against the stuff.'

'Trixie? Why didn't you tell me you were expecting?'

Bellatrix shrugged. 'I never knew. I usually didn't...you know, the magic had...and I though Rodolphus, too.'

'Oh. And she's all right? The little girl?'

'Seems to be. Looks just like Mother.'

Narcissa blinked. 'Excellent. Rodolphus' mother was quite attractive too, wasn't she?'

'If you don't mind a serving of spite with supper, she was fine.' They both laughed a little, and Narcissa said 'Trixie? May I see your child?'

'She's asleep right now, but we can peek, I suppose.'

' Bellatrix rose and Narcissa had to stifle a laugh. 'Trixie, what on earth are you wearing?'

'I've taken the teacher's robes that were here. Trelawney, I think was the woman's name.'

'They're appalling. Let me send for some of mine.'

'Not now, Cissy. The Dark Lord's promised us a house, in time, and work for Rodolphus and myself. This is simply a stop gap measure.' They really were hideous, pea green velvet with spangles and a smell of cheap benzoin about them.

The women crept in as Bellatrix took the single candle and handed it to her sister. Narcissa moved closer and studied the child. Small, fineboned, with a cloud of dark hair which gleamed in the light.

Back in the common room, Narcissa looked at her sister and smiled. 'She's exquisite, Bellatrix. What's her name?'

'Hermione.'

'Oh, that's nice. Not something common.'

'Quite.' And she moved onto another topic, and Narcissa let her.

When Hermione woke the next morning, Rinky was holding a tray, which he bullied her into accepting. She ate a bit of porridge and some toast, but her heart wasn't in it; everything felt raw, as though her nerves were showing.

'Miss is coming. Madam is wanting Miss to let come and meet lady.'

Hermione stood and walked to the bathroom to comb her hair and get ready. The elf shook his head. 'No, Miss, Rinky is doing. Is not suitable, a Pureblood lady waiting upon herself.'

Hermione had been a Pureblood only a day or so and she already hated it. She watched in the mirror as the elf scrubbed her face and combed her hair for her, then helped her dress a bit at a time, because the clothing was not familiar to her.

'When it's just you and I, Rinky, can't we do it like always?'

Rinky shook his head. 'No, Miss.'

'No one would know.'

Rinky fastened her slip and then helped her into robes which had been spelled shorter, and a pair of shoes that had also been altered. 'Miss would know, and Rinky.'

The elf looked sad, Hermione thought, and started to ask. At the last moment, she just nodded instead. Already, she was starting to learn.

Narcissa rose as the child was bowed into the room by an elf. 'Bellatrix' was her first thought. The resemblance even more pronounced awake.

'Well, here she is, then.'

'Hello, love. I'm your aunt Cissy.' Narcissa opened her arms to give the girl a hug and kiss. The child pulled back and offered a hand instead, unsmiling.

'Hello.'

'Hermione, hug your aunt.' Bellatrix gave the girl a poke, not hard, and Hermione obediently stepped into the woman's embrace for a second or two. She felt rigid, like a statue.

'I should like very much to get to know you, Hermione. You know my son already-Draco? And you've met my husband as well, your uncle Lucius.' Narcissa released the girl, feeling her relax ever so slightly at the end.

Hermione blinked a tear. The woman smelt like perfume and face powder, like someone's Mum. Like her Mum, a bit. She felt a pang of homesickness that she shoved down ruthlessly. She wouldn't cry because it might attract attention, and she didn't want that. It would hinder her plans.

Narcissa motioned for the girl to proceed her to the low divan. The child looked disturbed, and Narcissa didn't blame her. Her world had been upended totally. If anything, she seemed to be reacting with a lot of grace.

Bellatrix shifted in her seat, sighing. 'I do wish we'd get summoned. It seems a shame to be sitting here when so many of the Dark Lord's enemies have yet to be vanquished.'

Narcissa looked at her sharply. 'Bellatrix!' She cast her eyes to Hermione, but the child was looking straight ahead, as though she hadn't heard. Bellatrix was rocking in her seat, practically vibrating with energy.

'Bellatrix, I should so like to see the dormitories for old time's sake. Come with me?'

Bellatrix half jumped up. 'If you'd like. Stay here, Hermione.' Narcissa waited for the door to close behind them and gave her older sister a frown.

'Bellatrix, you'll hurt the child's feelings if you act as though you'd rather not be spending time with her. Aren't you glad she's back where she belongs?'

'Of course I am, Cissy. Making Britain safe for her is my number one priority.'

'Yes, of course, but she might not understand that. Has she always been so blasé with you?'

'More or less. Sort of bothers me.'

Narcissa half-wanted to shake her sister. 'Then why not help her express herself? A child wants their mother at a time like this.'

Bellatrix looked distant. 'I never did.'

'No, but you never had something like this happen, either. Whether she shows it or not, Hermione is a scared, hurting little girl, and knowing Mother wants to make it all better would do her loads of good.'

'If you say.' Bellatrix turned away and tugged at the beading on her robes. 'This woman was intent on dressing like a bawd.'

'Quite. Perhaps you'd permit my seamstress elf to alter some of these things to make them more suitable?'

'If you'd like. I don't much care, honestly.' She patted Cissy's arm so she'd understand that was meant in the best and most affectionate sense. Cissy smiled and held the hand a moment, squeezing.

'Is there anything I can get for you, Trixie? Something I could help you with.'

Bellatrix shook her head no. 'Thank you, Cissy, but I'm well.' She paused, opened her mouth, and then closed it.

'Bellatrix?'

Her sister clutched her arm briefly. 'I'm being summoned, Cissy. Would you stay with Hermione whilst I'm gone?'

'Of course I will. Hermione, love, your mother's been called to a meeting. Why don't we choose some things for my elf to alter for your mother and yourself until she gets back?'

Bellatrix thought that probably she ought to say or do something with the girl before she left. She gave her an awkward pat on the arm. 'I'd best get a good report, understand?'

'Yes.' She did, too. Hermione's whole being was devoted to being as quiet as possible, so as to better effect her escape, and she wouldn't jeopardise that for anything, and especially not for something as easy as picking out robes.

Narcissa had the elf bring down all the clothing and starting to sort them into piles based on hopelessness. 'What are your favourite colours, Hermione?'

'I like purple, and blue, and yellow.'

'Your mother likes yellow too. She's older than I, by seven years. It must have been very hard for you, everything that's happened in the last few days.'

'Yes.' Hermione picked a grey she thought might look nice on Bellatrix and set it aside.

'You know, if you wanted to talk, that would be perfectly all right. We could keep it private, if you liked.'

Hermione's hand tightened on the blouse she was holding. It was such a normal thing to say, such a _mum _thing to say, that it hurt to hear. She looked hard at the handful of puce panne velvet in her hands, a tear sliding down her cheek, and then another.

Narcissa quietly set down the hideous faux fur caplet she'd been studying and sat still. ' I think you must be a very brave little girl, to have gone through what you have. But you know, love, it's not weak or babyish to need to confide in someone else. Or to want a cuddle, for that matter.'

Hermione's hand tightened even further, head shaking slowly. Everything she'd been denying was leaking out, punctured by this soft, fragrant, blessedly normal woman.

Narcissa reached for the child and gently pulled her closer, until the child was in her lap. Hermione, sniffling, relaxed into the hug, and then began to cry in earnest.

Narcissa was as good as her word. She never told anyone that her niece spent the next half an hour curled into her, sobbing over and over that she wanted to go home and see her Mummy and Daddy.

Hermione finally stopped, eyes swollen, wondering what would happen next. Narcissa had no intention of evicting the child from what was clearly the only safe place she'd had since this whole thing started.

Instead, she flicked her wand at the next pile to be sorted. 'Now, this copper isn't bad, is it? It might look very pretty on your mother, do you say so?'

Hermione nodded and stood, taking a second to make sure her legs would support her. She sat down on the divan beside Narcissa and said 'May I ask something?'

'Of course, love.'

'Why are they like this?'

' Your mother and father? Because they were in prison for ten years. You didn't know that? You were born in Azkaban prison.'

Hermione shook her head. 'They've never said.'

'Azkaban does things to people. The Dementors are...not kind.'

'Dementors?'

'The prison guards. And so it might take a bit for them to get their bearings. We'll need to be very patient with them, all right?'

'Are they those black things that were downstairs?'

'Dementors? Here?' Hermione described what she'd seen, and Narcissa felt her heart freeze a little in her chest. My God, she thought, what have they done?

'It sounds like, love. You stay far, far away from them.'

'I hate them. They're _bad_.' Hermione wasn't sure she could convey how scared and terrible the Dementors made her feel, how her skin had crawled on sight.

'Yes, they are.'

'And those things hurt them?'

'Yes. And to be honest, neither of them ever expected to have a child. Not that you aren't a welcome surprise' said Narcissa, wanting to reassure the girl. Hermione picked up a truly terrible chartreuse skirt and then put it down.

'How did my muggle parents get me, then, if I was born in the prison?'

'We aren't quite sure, darling, but probably some people took you, which was illegal. You were supposed to come and live with Uncle and Draco and myself.'

Hermione nodded. 'What about them? Wouldn't they have come for me?'

Narcissa wondered whether she could still slap her sister (not that she'd ever had much luck with it, being seven years younger. Every fight she'd tried to end like that had finished with her being stood in the corner) for not telling the child anything. No wonder she wasn't willing to open up!

'You know your parents are Death Eaters?'

Hermione nodded. 'They follow the Dark Lord.'

Trust Trixie and Rodolphus to start with doctrine rather than answers. 'That's right. There were people who didn't like that, and so they got put in prison.'

'Forever?'

'Yes.'

Hermione digested this. 'But Professor Snape follows the Dark Lord, and your husband, and they weren't put in prison. Were they?'

'No, darling, but that's a little different. It's hard to explain.'

Hermione nodded thoughtfully. 'Why would they put someone who's going to have a baby in prison?'

'We didn't know, love. The medi-wizards had always told your mother she couldn't conceive-make a baby-and no one thought to test her. That was a very busy time period.'

The robes having been disposed of, Narcissa started on shoes and stockings.

'What happens now?'

'The Dark Lord is making sure that everything is safe. Once it is, He'll make sure you've a nice house to live in, and some elves to serve you, and then we'll all go from there.'

'What about my muggle parents? Do they know what's happened to me?'

Narcissa felt torn. She knew the child cared about the muggles, but she also knew her sister, and Death Eaters generally.

'Darling, has your mother or father talked to you about muggles?'

'No. What about them?'

'Muggles...are not like you and I.'

'Well, no, they've no magic. But my parents are very nice, and they'll worry.'

Poor love. Narcissa inhaled. 'What I mean, Hermione, is that your parents are apt to very upset about this whole thing, and so perhaps it might be best not to mention the muggles to them right away.'

'But they'll think something awful's happened.'

'Let me mention that to your uncle, hmm? He's very good at finding solutions to knotty problems.'

Hermione nodded. She trusted Narcissa, at least as much as she trusted anyone here, and picked up a stocking. 'This woman had terrible taste, didn't she?'

Narcissa laughed. 'I am relieved to hear you say that, truly.'

Hermione smiled back, feeling loads better to know something, even if it wasn't the something she'd meant to find out.

Still, that just made her more determined to get out and find someone. She liked Narcissa, but her own parents, her real parents, needed her.

Bellatrix returned from the meeting to find her sister and daughter sorting the last of the clothes. She sat down next to Hermione and watched a moment. 'How was your time together?'

Narcissa smiled. 'Wonderful. Hermione's quite an eye for colour.'

Hermione smiled too, clearly pleased with the compliment. Bellatrix wished she could add something to the conversation and realised she knew nothing about being a mother, not even enough to make an intelligent remark about robes.

'We've been assigned quarters in one of the towers. The same place as the Trelawney woman. Your father sends his regards, by the way.'

Hermione nodded neutrally. 'Should we find something for him as well? Not here, of course.'

Bellatrix shook her head and called the elf to bring some pain potion-sleeping in a soft bed wrecked havoc on her lower back. Hermione studied the woman, looking for signs of pain.

'I'm sorry your back hurts.'

'It's nothing, girl. Any sacrifice is worth it for His Lordship.'

At Narcissa's sharp look, Bellatrix patted the girl's hand. 'Thank you for your concern.'

'We picked some robes for you. If you like them, I mean.'

Bellatrix wanted to join in this, this female thing that her child was trying to include her in. She nodded and tried a smile. 'I'm sure I will. Like them.'

Narcissa was heartened by the sight of Bellatrix's attempts at normal, and the way her niece was responding so favourably. 'Do the new rooms have a chamber for Hermione?'

'Logically.'

'Shall we go and see, then, after I give these robes to Nippy?'

'Come along, girl.' They left the dungeons and climbed a few flights of stairs, until they came to spindly tower which overlooked the lake. The room also reeked of cheap incense.

Bellatrix led her child and sister into a postage stamp sized room and looked round. It had a bed, a chair and a nightstand. There was a wardrobe on the opposite wall. That was all.

'Well, this is it.'

'Oh. It's nice.'

'It's not either. You're half a Black, girl. Remember that.'

Hermione didn't quite follow. 'Black?'

'My maiden name. An old, proud Pureblood family. And you're half, so don't go acting as though a cell like this is up to standard. It's not.'

'It's very important to you, this Pureblood thing?'

Bellatrix stiffened, 'Are you trying to joke? I went to prison for this 'Pureblood thing' and you ask me if it's important, you impudent child?'

Bellatrix looked ready to start on a rant, until Narcissa said, very softly and gently 'Bellatrix, let's talk about this. Hermione, sweetheart, have the elf get your school trunk so we can sort everything, all right?'

She half dragged her sister, she might have been older but was shorter, into the master bedroom, which was not much bigger. 'Bellatrix, you'll scare the poor child half to death!'

'How dare she ask me-'

'She's eleven years old and muggle raised. Do you think she'll know all these things like a child born to it?'

Bellatrix relaxed a bit. 'I suppose not. But we've been explaining these things to her, and she-'

'Doesn't need dogma, Bellatrix. She needs to know Mother and Father care about her.'

Bellatrix looked annoyed. 'Easy for you to say. She's not like other children.'

'She seems perfectly normal to me. Very bright, mind you, but not so different.'

'Then why does she not act like other children?'

'She does, given the chance.'

Bellatrix looked round the room. 'How do I do that?'

'Bellatrix, can't you remember how Mother and Daddy were with us?'

She sat down. 'No, Narcissa. I spent ten years in Azkaban, I can't remember anything. I don't even remember giving birth to a child I haven't the slightest idea what to do with.'

Another sort of woman might have cried, but Bellatrix was not another sort of woman. She squared her shoulders and said 'Well, kneazle's out of the sack now. Do I hug her or something?'

Narcissa sighed. 'For a start. Regularly. Several times a day. And no more doctrine until she's had a bit of time.'

Hermione was sitting with her school trunk, unopened, hands folded in her lap. The door opened and Bellatrix came back in and sat next to her on the bed. Her head spun with all sorts of contradictory thoughts.

'I didn't mean to make you angry.'

'I know.' Then Bellatrix wrapped both arms round the child and hugged experimentally. The child was thin but soft, and warm. She smelt like soap and clean skin, and Bellatrix suddenly wondered what she'd looked like as a baby, a toddler.

'You've charmed your aunt, you know. You get that from Rodolphus' side.'

'She's really nice. Your sister.'

'I've always thought so.' Bellatrix was surprised to feel herself a bit sad to let the girl go. It was actually a bit pleasant, she supposed, the little body pressed to hers a moment.

'So Cissy's talked to you a bit?'

'Yes.'

'Would you like some...dolls, or something?'

'I'm all right.'

'Cissy'd have our olds one, I'm sure. Might be nice.' Hermione sensed that this was a kindness that Bellatrix wanted to give, and she smiled, despite the fact she'd outgrown dolls the year before. 'I'd like that.'

Bellatrix nodded. 'And your wand?'

Hermione's eyes lit up. 'Yes!'

'Not full time, not yet. But perhaps we could see about a hour a day or something. I could teach you some things.'

Hermione beamed. 'Would you?'

'Of course. What do you know so far?' Hermione started a comprehensive inventory, but then realised it was too much to be summarised. 'Narrow it down?'

'What's your favourite spell?'

Hermione considered. 'I like to levitate things. And I conjure little balls of fire, sometimes. They're very handy.'

Bellatrix nodded and named the spell. 'Yes, they are. Has anyone showed you how to produce water yet?'

Hermione shook her head. 'Why can we make water but not food? We need both to live.'

Bellatrix cocked her head. 'Don't know. I shall ask the Dark Lord for you.'

'Would he answer me?'

'The Dark Lord? Of course He would. He's the most skilled wizard in the world.'

Hermione digested this. 'If I had other questions, could I ask you to ask the Dark Lord?'

'Yes. And Rodolphus would as well, I'm sure.'

Narcissa poked her head in. 'Lucius and I have been allowed to go home for a while. Shall I send anything for you?'

'Cissy, did you save all those dolls we had?'

Narcissa blinked. 'I think so. Shall I have the elf check?'

'Would you?'

'Of course. I'll see you both tomorrow.' Narcissa gave them both kisses on the cheek and then slipped out, hoping they would find something to help them bond. The dolls were a good sign, at least.

Rodolphus returned not long after, shucking his outer robes. He heard voices coming from the spare room, and found his wife and daughter in serious conversation. '...and that's why it didn't work?'

'Likely. Remember to always swish with a slightly upwards motion. That'll ruin a lot of spells, if you don't.'

He knocked at the door. 'Hello, loves.'

'Hello, Rodolphus. Hermione is quite good at Charms.'

'Excellent. How was your day, precious?'

'Fine.' Said Hermione, who looked a little uncomfortable. Rodolphus came and squeezed onto the tiny bed next to the women.

'Darling, would you do me a favour?' Hermione looked cautious, and he mentally congratulated himself for having fathered a child with cunning, even if she hadn't been Slytherin.

'Would you try to call me Father? It would make me awfully happy.'

Hermione swallowed. She missed her parents desperately. She wanted her own father, not this tall stranger who bossed her round all the time. But if he thought she was cooperating, perhaps it would help her. 'I'll try.'

'Try, whom?'

'Father.'

'There's my girl.' He smiled and then stood from the bed, which was not nearly big enough for the three of them. 'And you've moved into your new room, as well. How nice.'

He reached out to stroke her cheek and then turned to Bellatrix. 'We've a meeting after supper, Trixie.'

'Oh, good. Hermione can read or something.'

'Yes, of course.'

Hermione listened to all this, and decided that she had to go sooner rather than later.

As it happened, there were others with something similar on their minds. The topic of the meeting that night was an appropriate punishment for the filthy muggles who'd taken Bellatrix and Rodolphus' daughter.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Love to Countess Black and my reviewers.**

**One of the weird parts of this story is that I'm being forced to evaluate how one would explain an ideology I find morally repugnant to a child. Like anything else, I've concluded. In other words, by simplifying things and focusing on easy to swallow aspects. If the explainations Hermione is getting seem pat, that's why. (I'd love to hear from parents and teachers on this issue).**

** Also, CP.**

Lemuel Scabior was officially a man of the world these days. He had prospects, and most enjoyable they were, too. Sitting beside Rodolphus Lestrange, he sipped the ale the elves had brought for him and pondered the vagaries of fate.

The nobs were arguing amongst themselves, which seemed to be pretty much par for the course, from what Scabs could see. He said nothing-let the quality fight like dogs. He was content with the scraps. And such scraps they were!

'Yes, Bellatrix, just rush headlong into this thing. Of course, your lack of knowledge about the situation has been carefully considered, I don't doubt.'

'What's wrong, Snape, scared to get your hands wet? I didn't precisely notice you at the front line during the battle.'

'At his Lordship's orders, I was protecting him, as his current form is too small to do so.'

Bellatrix sneered. 'You and Lucius, mewling jellyfish the both of you, afraid to claim your birthright.'

Snape pretended not to hear. 'Of course, if it should be some sort of trap, I'm sure Narcissa would gladly raise your daughter for you.'

'You leave Hermione out of this!'

'I was of the impression it was for her you did this.'

'SHUT UP!' Bellatrix drew her wand and prepared to attack, hissing with rage, murder in her eyes, and Snape faced her with total equanimity, perhaps the only person in Britain who might have done so.

'Enough. Bellatrix, put down your wand. Of course you shall have your revenge. Lemuel, Fenrir take some of your people and guard the perimeter while the Lestranges take care of business.'

Scabior nodded deferentially. 'Course, m'lord. Five enough?'

'I should think so.' The Dark Lord smiled down the table. 'Who else should like to go?'

A spate of hands were raised. 'Yaxley, Travers, Jugson, Avery and the Lestranges, of course.'

At nine o'clock they were ready. Robed and masked they Apparated to a field not far from the house and crept upon them. Scabior crept right along side them, tense with excitement, erection rubbing against his leg.

The werewolves and convicts spread out through the garden. Greyback and Scabior were each to be allowed to join in the fun-rank has its privileges.

It was easy, really. Their door had only a cheap lock, and once it had been charmed open, the group simply slid inside, and spent a moment warding everything so there would no noise, no intrusion, and no escape.

The muggles were in bed, worn out by their worry over their inexplicably missing child. Bellatrix spelled up the lights and shook the woman by the arm.

'Wake up, muggles!' And then, like that, it had begun.

When Hermione woke up at seven, the elves brought her breakfast in bed. She liked the elves, mostly, but this Pureblood thing was really starting to irk her. It seemed to be the answer to everything, and not in a good way. She determined to ask more about it as soon as she was out of this place, ate her egg, and then started to get up and get dressed.

The elves insisted on dressing her again. Clothed, Hermione wandered into the living room and was delighted when she saw Narcissa waiting for her. 'Hello.'

Narcissa stood and offered her a hug, which Hermione eagerly returned. She was sorry to have to leave Narcissa, but she trusted that the woman would understand why she had to get back to her own Mum and Dad.

'Your parents had to run an errand, Hermione, so I thought we'd spend some time together, how would that be?' Narcissa was an early riser, and she was glad the girl was, too.

' I would like that. What does Pureblood mean?'

Narcissa mentally rolled her eyes. 'Are you asking because of what your mother said?'

'Partly. And some of my dorm mates were.'

'A Pureblood is someone whose family is magical on both sides for at least six generations.'

'Oh. So what's someone who's father or mother is and the other isn't?'

'A Halfblood.'

'And a muggleborn is someone whose parents are muggles.'

'That's right. We are Purebloods. To be a Death Eater, one must be able to show Pureblood ancestry.'

'Are there very many Purebloods?'

'Well, no. Halfbloods can join if the wizarding part is Pureblood and they demonstrate facility with magic.'

'Oh.' Hermione was clearly working up to something. Narcissa smoothed the child's hair, noticing how the girl instinctively moved into her hand. The child was simply screaming for affection and nurturing.

'Why is the Dark Lord in Harry's body?'

'I don't know, love. No one is really sure.'

'Is Harry all right?'

'I hope so.'

Hermione nodded, suddenly looking tired and older than she should. 'I think he was hurting someone. The Dark Lord.'

'How do you mean?'

Hermione explained what had happened. 'She was screaming and screaming.' Her voice was entirely too calm and flat for Narcissa's liking. Narcissa reached out and softly touched the girl's hand.

'I didn't realise you'd seen something so terrible.'

'There were a lot of terrible things. If the Dark Lord is good, why did he let all those things happen?'

Narcissa wondered the same thing herself. 'I don't know, Hermione. I'm not very political, unfortunately. But right now, I need you to make me a promise. Can you do that?'

Hermione nodded cautiously. 'I think so.'

'Don't do such a dangerous thing again. It's not safe to roam.'

'Why not?'

This would have to be handled gently. 'Because, darling, some of these men aren't the kind of people we might choose to associate with.'

'I know. One of them stabbed an auror. I think his name is Scabior.'

'That must have been an awful thing, love. I am so sorry you saw that.'

'I tried to help him. The auror. He died. His blood got all over me.'

'Hush, shh, it's all over now.'

Hermione nodded again. 'I know.' And once she was gone from this place, she'd not have to think about it ever again. And she'd send Narcissa a note apologising for going in the corridors.

The Death Eaters came back at nine o'clock. They showered off the night's fluids and left the pile of plunder in a corner, things they'd stripped from the muggle house. They left the door open behind them, the more easily to communicate with the werewolves patrolling the ground, and to enjoy the sweet breezes.

Rodolphus was pleased with what they'd done. Justice had been served, in so much as it could be, he'd had fun, and Bellatrix had burnt off some energy. Not enough, apparently, that she didn't want to join another patrol, but it wasn't as though they wouldn't want her; Bellatrix was the best for a reason.

The Hall was quiet and near empty; most of those with homes had elected to return to them, the convicts were in Slytherin house for the nonce and the werewolves were communing with nature someplace in the forest. Rodolphus to sit down for a few moment, order some food, and have his daughter brought to him.

Narcissa, too, had gone home. 'Love, I'm only an owl away, all right?'

Hermione nodded. It would easier for her to run if Narcissa wasn't there watching her. She hugged the woman this time, and reminded herself that they'd not known one another long, and so Narcissa wouldn't feel very sad once she'd gone.

The elf came for her, and Hermione put on her shoes and rose. She had no particular thoughts of running that moment, and would have continued without interruption had events not conspired otherwise.

Rinky walked with her most of the way, for one. Then a man she didn't know suddenly came from a doorway. 'You, elf, come clean this up.' He either didn't notice Hermione or didn't care. The elf, powerless against a direct command, looked worriedly at his charge and followed the Death Eater.

Hermione wasted no time. Taking to her heels, she raced as quickly as she could toward the entry way of the school, toward's Hagrid's hut, towards freedom. She would find a way, she felt sure, somehow, and then she'd find a reliable adult and then she'd be home.

Lemuel Scabior, lounging in the atrium, studied his pile of swag. He'd got some nice pictures in frames, some silver spoons, a handful of jewellery, and a clock. No clothes worth taking, more's the pity, and nothing else of note.

He was rather surprised when a blue streak raced past him, and even more surprised when the streak revelled itself to be a girl. Not just any girl, but Lestrange's girl, practically Death Eater royalty.

She flew out the open door and raced through the courtyard. Scabior was prepared to raise the hue and cry when a hand lashed out from under the covered porches and nearly knocked the girl arse over teakettle.

The werewolf stepped out and tucked the squalling chit under an arm, casually taking her back. 'You lose somethin, Scabs?'

'Yeah, Mikey. I'll takes er from ere. Thanks for yer elp.'

The werewolf handed the still fighting child over. 'She's a right feisty little thing.'

'Not gonna argue with you on that one. Come along, flower, like a good girl.' He set her down, keeping a good grip on her arm, and tugged her to the Hall. She disliked the idea, apparently, as she clawed and twisted sharply.

'You stop it right now, before I tells yer daddy how naughty you bin.' Scabior couldn't help but be a little impressed by the kid's sheer guts. It wouldn't occur to most people to try escaping a Death Eater held castle through the front door.

Hermione happened to see the pile in the corner of the atrium. 'That's my Nan.' She stopped dead. 'Why is there a picture of my Nan here?'

Shite. 'Yer daddy'll explain it, flower, jus come on for Lem now, yeah?'

'And that's the clock from my Dad's office. How did it get here?' Something terrible was blooming in Hermione's chest, something both hot and cold, large and small. Scabior knew what that look meant; he wanted to get the girl to Lestrange as quickly as possible.

Rodolphus looked up when he caught sight of his new subordinate half dragging his daughter across the floor. 'Scabior?'

'Caught er tryin t run out the door, boss. Werewolf grabbed er an gave er t me.'

Rodolphus inhaled deeply. 'My thanks, Lemuel. I'll take it from here.'

Scabior released the girl's arm and gently pressed her toward her father. 'Go on now.'

Rodolphus caught her and directed her to stand in front of him.

'Now, Hermione Bellatrix, what have you got to say for yourself?'

The girl didn't answer right away. Instead, she said 'Why is there a pile of my parents' things in the entrance way?'

Rodolphus swore mentally. 'That's not at issue right now. What is at issue is why you were attempting to get out the front door.'

The girl shook her head. 'No, I want to know why Nan's picture is out there.'

'Hermione Bellatrix, this is not up for negotiation.' He tried to look very stern without being actively terrifying. It was lost on the child, who was clearly traversing some internal byway.

'They're all right, aren't they?'

'_Hermione_.'

She looked down at the ground. 'I just wanted to go home, was all.'

Rodolphus half wanted to shake her and shout. Didn't she understand that this was home? Didn't she understand that they were her parents, and if they didn't quite love her yet, it wasn't from lack of trying?

But of course her behaviour indicated that no, she understood nothing of those things. Her rose, leaving his food, and took her hand firmly in his. 'We'll discuss this upstairs, Hermione.'

The corridors were also mostly deserted, but a few saw them and suppressed a smile of nostalgia. A bit of childish naughtiness had transpired, clearly, and now the price would be paid.

Rinky, invisible, fell into step. Poor Miss! He'd failed her! He sobbed silently, big tears running down both cheeks, wishing he could fix his failure. He punched himself in the ribs over and over, little heart breaking.

Rodolphus marched Hermione into her room and sat her on the bed. She opened her mouth and he cut her off. 'Not a word. Sit here and think about what you've done.'

Hermione crossed her arms as the door closed and stared at the blank wall. If he thought putting her in time out (and she was much too old, too. The injustice of the thing made her burn) would break her, he was wrong.

Rodolphus went to the fireplace and called his brother in law, explaining what had happened. Lucius sighed deeply. 'It was inevitable, Rodolphus. It wasn't anything you did.'

'How does one...she hardly knows me. Have you any suggestions?'

'Make sure the girl understands that you still care about her, is the main one. Never punish a child without reassuring them that they're still loved and cared about after, especially in this case. And err on the side of gentleness. Don't scare her.'

Rodolphus nodded. 'She doesn't seem the slightest bit afraid, I'd say. More like confused and angry.'

'Do you blame her? Her whole world has changed. But do make sure she understands that you and Bellatrix are in charge, and that this stubbornness will cease.'

They talked it over a few more minutes and then Rodolphus stood and went into the bedroom, where the child was sitting precisely as she'd been, a very portrait of petulance. Bellatrix's side, that.

Rodolphus sat next to her. 'Hermione?'

She turned to look at him with remarkable calm. 'Why is Nan's picture downstairs?'

' We'll address that in a moment. First explain to me what happened.'

She did. 'And then Scabior caught me and dragged me back.'

'Oh. Where did you think you'd go once you were off school grounds?'

She looked at her hands. 'I figured someone would help me, was all. Most people would help a child, wouldn't they?'

'Some. Some of them would pretend to help you in order to hurt you. And some would just hurt you. How does one tell them apart?'

Hermione admittedly hadn't thought about that. 'It's a gamble, I suppose.'

'Yes, it is. What you did, Hermione, is _very _dangerous. You understand that, don't you?'

'I -I do, but the picture-'

'Is not what we're discussing right now. You knew you weren't to go outside without an adult, or an elf, is that right?'

Hermione nodded reluctantly. That was a rule at her house as well. 'Yes, I do, but-'

'No buts. We care about you, and want very much to make you safe, but you're a big girl, and you understand that you need to do your part too. Isn't it?'

'I do understand that. I only-'

Rodolphus shook his head. 'What do we say when we've done something we oughtn't, Hermione?'

'I'm sorry. I don't-'

'I know you are, pet. But what you did was awfully naughty, and you knew that. So let's take care of it right now.' He reached out and wriggled back on the bed. 'Take off your robes and come here, Hermione, like a big girl.'

Hermione didn't quite follow. 'I don't understand.'

'You're getting a smacking.'

Hermione jumped up. 'I don't know you!'

'Nevertheless, I'm your father. And perhaps it would help you to realise that, Hermione Bellatrix. This stubbornness and refusal to admit facts needs to stop, and if this is the only way, so be it.'

Hermione looked at the door. She knew she couldn't outrun him, and he had his wand and she had none. At least she could take things with dignity. She shucked off her outer robes, kicked off both shoes and bent awkwardly across his lap with a huff, squirming to get comfortable. 'My middle name is Jane.'

Rodolphus was surprised. He'd felt sure that she'd become upset and he'd have a chance to gain a bit a trust. Well, one couldn't fault the child's courage, which was truly startling.

'It's not either. It's Bellatrix. Had you been a boy, it would have been Rodolphus.'

Hermione felt Rodolphus tug her closer and wrap an arm round her waist before he tugged up her skirt in the back. Hermione gasped. 'What are you doing?'

'Haven't you ever been smacked before?'

'No.'

'No, whom?'

'Father.'

'That's right. Never?'

'Never. Father.'

'That's a girl. This is part of the punishment. Would you feel better having an elf here?'

'Yes, please. Father.'

'Very well. Elf! Stand there and do not interfere.'

'Yes, Master Lestrange.' Rinky held back the tears that threatened. Poor Miss! She was being punished for something he'd done by his failure. He wanted to pound his head, but that could be construed as interference, and so he had to watch helplessly.

Rodolphus locked his leg over both the girl's and looked down, as helpless as the elf. Did he lecture her? Say nothing? He didn't want to drag this out, and so he raised a hand and smacked it down, hoping it was not too hard.

'OW!' Hermione yelped as his hand smacked down, leaving a hot sting behind. Her cry was more about surprise than pain. An adult had never deliberately hurt Hermione, and it shocked her terribly. Her legs kicked out and she wriggled against the hold.

Rodolphus kept at it. 'You do not try to run away.'

Hermione bit her lip and made herself lie very still. Her breath was coming in ragged hitches. She wouldn't break down, she wouldn't.

'Your stubbornness is only hurting you, my girl. When you're ready to admit your behaviour needs improvement, we'll talk it over.'

He kept smacking. Hermione was breathing harder and harder, her hands clenched tightly, trying not to react. Rodolphus was half afraid the child was going to hurt herself if this kept up. But he knew he had to make sure, as Lucius had said, that Hermione understood that she needed to stop what she was doing before she got in trouble much, much worse than this.

Hermione was starting to react, whether she wanted to or not. She writhed sharply, gasping with pain whenever an especially hard smack took her by surprise. 'OW!'

'It's all right, Hermione.' Rodolphus slowed the smacks a bit. He hoped he was finally getting through. It disturbed him that the child wasn't crying. Surely she ought to have been howling, or at least weeping.

'Pet? Are you ready for us to talk this over?'

'No!'

Rodolphus sighed. 'Please yourself.' He picked up the pace again, mentally cursing the child's stubbornness. She twisted harder, legs kicking harder, breath coming in hard gasps. 'OWW! OWW!'

'Darling, it doesn't stop until you've changed your behaviour. Are you ready to talk about how to do that?'

Hermione didn't answer right away. She dug her fingernails into her palms and tasted blood in her mouth from her lip. Rodolphus tipped her forward and smacked her thighs.

Hermione gasped and then went limp. The sobs she'd been holding in burst out. Rodolphus stopped as soon as he felt her stop fighting him. He tugged down her skirt and then, a bit awkwardly, set her on her feet. Hermione's hands flew back and she rocked on her heels, sobbing and rubbing.

'There there, it's all right. Hush, shhhh. Come here, love, we're going to have a cuddle.'

Hermione backed away, shaking her head, still crying. She couldn't understand why he'd hurt her and then want to be nice to her after; she wanted to be left alone so she could work through her confusion and pain privately.

Rodolphus clucked softly and tugged her toward her him, pulling her gently into his arms, careful to spread his legs so her sore backside didn't touch anything. He hugged her to his chest and pressed his head atop her chin.

'All right, shhh. Shhh, let it all out. That's a good girl, just cry it all better.' He gave her a few minutes to stop sobbing and then said 'Hermione, darling, are you ready to talk now?'

Hermione's crying had calmed to sniffles and the odd gasp. 'Y'sir.'

'There's my good girl. Now, dearest, what did we learn?'

'N-not to go outside without permission or try to run away.'

'Correct. And what's your middle name, love?'

'Bellatrix.'

'That's right, my angel. You're all forgiven, and we needn't discuss this again, need we?'

Hermione took a deep, shuddery breath. 'Could we talk about the picture now?'

Damn. 'After you've rested, lamb, you've a very hard morning. You're going to have a nice sleep, and when you wake up Mother will be back and we'll spend some time together, all right?'

Hermione was too old to need a nap. But she felt sort of drained and sad, and she wanted some time to herself to get her bearings again. She nodded, just wanting him to go away.

'Elf, help my daughter into her nightgown and then call me.' He rose and left to give the child a little privacy. Rinky shirred softly to help poor Miss feel better as he undressed her and tucked her into bed.

Rodolphus came back as soon as he was called. Bending down, he kissed her on the cheek. 'Shall I stay until you're asleep?'

'I'm all right. Father.'

'Are you certain? I don't mind.' He put a hand on her back, feeling her breath. She shook her head and closed her eyes.

'I'm just in the other room if you should need me.' Rodolphus crept out, spelling the lights very low. Bellatrix would be back soon, and he wanted to talk her down so she didn't get upset with the child, who had, after all, been punished for what she'd done.

Bellatrix took it better than he'd expected. 'Sounds like you did well, Rudolphus.'

'Thank you. We need to work on this with her.'

'I couldn't agree more. Once she's come to see, though...'

He smiled. 'She's certainly very bright, isn't she?'

'Got that from my side.'

Hermione woke two hours later, mouth cottony. She rolled on her back and gasped, remembering what had happened. She flushed, feeling more embarrassed than hurt by the whole incident. At least he hadn't tugged her knickers down, she thought, as she reached back to rub a bit more. It had also scotched her plans to escape, at least directly-they'd watch her like owls now.

Still, there had to be a way. There was always a way. She stood up and Rinky appeared next to her. 'Rinky is so sorry, Miss!'

'Don't be, Rinky. I should've thought it through better.'

Rinky helped her dress and combed her hair. Clad in bedroom slippers, Hermione padded out into the living room, blinking in the light. The Lestranges were sitting together and talking softly.

'Ah, there you are, love. How was your nap?'

She nodded, not quite sure how to behave, until Bellatrix said impatiently 'Why don't you come here? We aren't going to _bite_ you or something.' They scooted so that Hermione could sit between then and then the three sat quietly for a few moments, trying to figure out what was next.

'Still sore?' Bellatrix cocked her head at Hermione, looking interested but not invested, like a person watching a play.

Hermione blushed and nodded. 'Yes.'

Bellatrix nodded and then startled everyone, herself most, by stroking the girl's cheek for a second. 'Be good, would you? Might worry us otherwise.' Hermione nodded again, not sure how she felt about being touched. The woman moved her hand and said 'If you wanted to, you could put your head in my lap or something.'

Rodolphus obligingly moved so Hermione could stretch out. Hermione laid down and rested her head uncomfortably against the woman's bony thigh. Bellatrix rested her hand in the girl's hair, feeling rather like an impostor.

'Could we talk about the picture now?'

Bellatrix and Rodolphus exchanged a look. 'The problem, Hermione, is we know very little ourselves. We went to confront them last night and no one was there.'

Hermione sat up, eyes wide. 'Not there?'

Bellatrix gently pushed her down again. 'Let him talk.'

'That's right, love. There were signs of...well, of someone in a hurry having been there. We're trying to find out what it means, but it will take some time.'

'But how did-'

Bellatrix lightly tugged Hermione's ear. 'Shhh!'

'We took anything we thought might be a target for thieves, love, so it doesn't get stolen.'

'Do we need to call the aurors? That's what they're called, isn't it?'

'We did, sweetheart, and the second we know anything, we'll let you know, all right?'

Hermione looked dubious. 'Promise?'

'Of course, and a wizard's word is his bond.'

'Or a witch's' said Bellatrix, who had started to stroke her hands through the girl's hair lightly, surprised by how calming it was.

'No one's hurt them, have they?'

'Darling, I'm sure they're safe from harm. You've missed your lunch, so let's have the elves bring you something.'

'Would it be all right if we stayed like this?' Hermione was very hungry, but she also felt a bit better with an adult comforting her, even if the adult in question was strange and a little creepy. Bellatrix rolled her eyes.

'Why don't you just sit in my lap to eat?'

'You wouldn't mind?'

'Why should I mind? If I did, I'd not have suggested it.'

The elves were more than happy to get Hermione whatever she wanted, and brought her a sandwich and a cup of soup with a big goblet of pumpkin juice. She sat in Bellatrix's lap, backside throbbing, and cleaned her plate.

'Better?'

'Yes, thanks.'

'Better, whom?' Asked Rodolphus, who was determined to press this particular point. He took Hermione's hand in his gently and squeezed it.

'Mother.'

'That's right.' Rodolphus smiled approvingly and let her hand go. Hermione finished the rest of her juice and found herself relaxing against Bellatrix a bit, feeling safer than she had since Narcissa left.

'Well, ladies, we've hours until supper and nothing to do. How shall we amuse ourselves?'

Bellatrix didn't mind the snuggling very much. There was a funny feeling inside, a kind of warmth about the whole thing-how long had it been since she'd made anyone feel safe, instead of the opposite?

And the girl had called her Mother. That was sort of nice as well. A bit. She could perhaps get used to that. Was this why Cissy had seemed to be so enthused about the little blond nappy-creature?

'Could we read?'

'What would you like to read?'

Hermione thought. 'My favourite book is _Hogwarts, a History_. We could read that.'

'Let's choose something a bit less...factual. Bellatrix, do you think _The Mystery of the Cave_ would be too much?'

Bellatrix was mildly startled that she cared whether it would scare the girl. It would be intolerable to have her sleep interrupted by nightmares, she decided. She had important things to be doing.

'We'll try it, but if it's too much, we can stop.'

'That sounds good.' Rodolphus called for the book to be brought, and handed it to Hermione. 'Would you start?'

Bellatrix didn't want the girl to get up. 'I'm comfortable if you are.'

And so they stayed like that most of the afternoon, reading.

Downstairs, Scabior, dressed in his new finery, was receiving his marching orders from the Dark Lord. Man of the world, indeed, he thought, as he hied his way back to the common room.

Ever since he'd undertaken to teach that cunt Reg what happened to blokes that put a bastard in his sister's belly and then tried to run out on her (and how was Scabs to know that spell would kill him? He'd only meant to take the bastard's lying tongue) his life had been on a downward trajectory.

And now it had looked up again. Second in command sounded pretty good. He'd be working with Lestrange, too. Funny how his life had sort of woven round the other's bloke's, wasn't it?

He barged into the common room. 'Oi, Chuck, guess what's appened?'

'Whas that?'

'Second in command, I am. Inquisitorial squad, is Lordship calls it. Means we're snatchers.'


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Love to Countess Black and reviewers**

**It's been commented that Hermione seems awfully docile and accepting of things. I agree, but keep in mind that most of us are both adults and in possession of knowledge Hermione doesn't have. Even a very smart child is still a child, and apt to make a child's errors.**

Hermione jumped up as Narcissa came in. She felt a bit better about the Lestranges, but Narcissa still struck her as the most normal person round, and she leapt at the chance to spend some time with her.

'Hello, my love.'

'Hello. I'm glad you're here.'

'I'm glad to be here. Bellatrix tells me there was an incident yesterday.'

Hermione went pink. 'Are they going to tell _everyone_?'

Narcissa laughed. 'It's a very small community, sweet. And I am your mother's sister.'

Hermione followed Narcissa to the divan and sat next to her. 'It was horrible.'

'What happened, darling?'

Hermione shifted. The cuddling had helped, but she was still plenty sore, and not very happy about it. 'I just wanted to make sure my parents know I'm all right.'

Narcissa sighed. 'Oh, dearest, didn't I tell you we'd ask Uncle?'

'Yes, I know, but it ...'

'Seemed like a good idea at the time?'

'Something like that.' Hermione nibbled her lip. 'You aren't very angry with me?'

Narcissa put an arm round the child and kissed the top of her head. 'Of course not. You've been punished and that means we all forgive you and care about you just like before, doesn't it?'

Hermione nodded. 'It _hurt_.'

Narcissa kissed the top of her head again. 'Will it help you remember not to do something so dangerous in the future, would you say?'

Hermione nodded emphatically. 'I definitely don't want that to happen again.'

Narcissa smoothed the girl's hair. 'Love, had you really never been smacked?'

'Never. I didn't like it.'

'You weren't meant to. Now, what shall we do today?'

'Aunt Narcissa?' The mode of address was far from lost on Narcissa, who pretended not to notice. 'Love?'

'They said that my parents-the muggle ones-were gone. Do you think they're all right?'

Narcissa inhaled. 'I should hope so.'

'You don't think...'

'Think what?'

'They've left, do you? Gone away?' Narcissa understood at once. What the child was really asking, deep down, was whether the muggles had abandoned her. Was she loveable? Had they left because of some imaginary naughtiness on her part?

'No, darling, I don't think they've gone away, or if they have, by choice.'

Hermione relaxed imperceptibly. 'Then we'll find them someday.'

'We can hope so, dearest.'

Downstairs, the Inquisitors were ready for their first day on the job. In his sleek new robes, with his boots polished to a killing sheen and his top hat tipped rakishly to the side, Scabior was a sight.

Lestrange smiled at him. 'Are you ready, Lemuel?'

'Sure am, sir. Ready as I ever bin.' Behind him, the twenty five handpicked soldiers in the war against dissention were likewise preparing themselves. Lestrange threw a handful of Floo powder into the great fireplace in the Hall and cried 'Ministry of Magic' and they followed him, eager for the bloodletting that was to come.

In Wiltshire, Draco Malfoy was slightly troubled. He knocked on the door to the study and was bidden in. His father smiled at the sight of his son and Draco returned the smile.

'Something wrong, love?'

'Yes, Father. Well, not really, not personally, but I was wondering...' Draco sat down on the little divan parallel the desk and his father joined him, praying it wasn't a girl. He wasn't ready for Draco to like girls.

'It's all right, Draco.'

'Why did Granger try to run away? Those people are muggles.'

'Hermione, love. We need to remember she's your cousin and my niece, no matter how shockingly she behaves at first. And how did you hear about that?'

'That creepy bloke with the top hat that came last night. I heard him and the werewolf talking it over.' He didn't mention having given them each a galleon to tell him.

'Draco, why do we have rules for you? You aren't in any trouble, love, just answer the question.'

'Because you care about me and want me to be safe.'

'That's right. And it makes you feel safe, doesn't it, to have people who care what you do?'

'Yes, Father.' Draco's brow was slightly furrowed, not really sure where this was going.

'And because you're used to doing things the way we do them, is that correct? You trust us?'

'Of course I do.' said Draco, and rested his head on his father's shoulder a moment to show that he most certainly did trust him and Mother. Lucius smiled and put an arm round the boy, hugging him.

'Now imagine some people whom you'd never met, with a different way of doing things came and told you that you had to go and live with them. They might be good, caring people who love you, Draco, but would you accept it? Or would you try to come back here?'

'I'd come back.' Draco said it so flatly that Lucius didn't doubt it. He raised an eyebrow at his son, who said 'Oh.'

'That's right. And Hermione still has a lot of pernicious muggle ideas your aunt and uncle are trying to help her get rid of.'

'Haven't they explained about muggles to her?'

'If someone told you that Mother and I weren't good people to take care of you, would you believe it?'

'No.'

'Neither will she, at first.'

'I suppose, but doesn't she feel better being taken care of? All clean and nice, with elves to look after her?'

'She has to get used to it first, love. Once she does, she'll understand.'

'Couldn't you go and explain to Hermione, Father? It makes sense when you explain it.'

Lucius kissed the top of the boy's head. 'I'm touched by your faith in me, darling, but I daresay it would be better for her parents to do. And don't you try, either.'

Draco looked offended. 'Of course not. I am almost twelve.'

'Of course you are, and your discretion is beyond reproach. But a reminder never hurts.'

Draco nodded and rested his head against his father. 'I'm glad nothing like this even happened to us.'

The heart of the matter. 'So I am. Now go and amuse yourself, hmm?'

Draco nodded and ran to get his broom for some early morning flying.

Hermione's tongue was poking from her mouth as she concentrated. "Is that right?'

'Exactly right. Well done.' Narcissa had a firm belief in the principle of 'soonest begun', and had brought a book of beginning French grammar. Hermione was busy conjugating 'to be', and doing quite a good job at it.

'Every Pureblood lady can converse in French. It's very important for when you're married. Your husband will bring people home, and you'll need to show them how polished you are.' With any luck, the answer would be very, very polished. With her flawless blood and Narcissa's careful training, Hermione would make a splendid marriage.

'What about when I bring people home? What will my husband do to impress them?'

'Darling, when you have lady friends over, your husband will be at work. And at night, you'll entertain couples. The men will too tired to do anything else. That's why ladies need to be so accomplished.'

'But what about when I work?'

Narcissa laughed softly. 'Sweetheart, we wouldn't let you marry anyone who couldn't support you totally. Don't worry about that at all.'

'But I want to work. My muggle mother does. She's a dentist.'

'A Pureblood lady doesn't soil herself with labour, darling. It's our job to be a leisure.'

'There are women Death Eaters.'

'Yes, love, there are.' And Narcissa had decided that she'd do whatever it took to prevent Hermione becoming one. She was a sweet, gentle child, and Narcissa wouldn't have that ruined.

'She's very good at it, isn't she? My Wizarding mother, I mean.'

'Yes, precious, Bellatrix is very good at it. But most of us aren't called to that. We're called to further the Cause by marrying other Purebloods and having babies.'

Hermione wrinkled her nose. 'That sounds boring.'

Narcissa couldn't help but laugh at how honest the girl was. 'But isn't, darling, I promise. Now, have you finished? Then let me look it over and we'll try something else.'

Narcissa scanned it. Everything was perfect. 'Well done, love. Now, stand up and walk across the room for me. Yes, like that. Now, watch what I'm doing and try to mimic me.' She raised her head, put her shoulders back a bit and moved, slowly and smoothly across the room, hands gently corralling her robes.

'Do you see? A lady should look as though she floats across the floor when she walks.'

Hermione tried. 'This is harder than it looks.'

'It is, but you'll learn. Now, shall we try to sit down?'

Afterward, they had some pumpkin juice. 'Aunt Narcissa?'

'Yes, darling?'

'Why are these things important? Isn't it what's inside?'

'Of course it is. But we show people what's inside by what's outside, and knowing how to move shows that we come from nice people who taught us well.'

Hermione nodded. 'And that's what men want when they get married?' Hermione had always been told it was about similar interests and enjoying one another.

'Amongst others, love. Don't worry, you've plenty of time. Now, show me how you hold your goblet.'

Bellatrix came back just as Narcissa was leaving. She hugged her sister and nodded approval at the day's curriculum. 'Just as well. I'm hardly qualified to teach her that sort of thing.'

'Now, Trixie, don't be silly. You were a very accomplished dancer in your day.'

'Only because most of the boys were such clods.' Bellatrix shed her robes and sat down in her shapeless black dress eyeing her daughter. 'Were you a good girl, Hermione?'

Hermione beamed. 'I was. And I got an O on the French, too.' She showed Bellatrix her conjugations with pride.

'Excellent.' They bid Narcissa farewell and sat in slightly awkward silence, until Bellatrix said 'So what else did you learn?'

'How to move. Mother? Why are you a Death Eater?'

'Because the Dark Lord will save Wizarding Britain.'

'No, I mean, Aunt Narcissa says I have to learn all this so I can make a good marriage and then be a housewife. Are you a housewife too?'

Bellatrix considered. 'Once we've a house, I suppose I will be.'

'Will I have to do both?' Hermione looked slightly worried, and Bellatrix clapped her shoulder. 'By the time you've grown, there won't be any need. The Dark Lord's enemies will have been conquered and all will be peace.'

'And then we'll both be housewives?'

Bellatrix laughed a little. 'We'll see, won't we? Meantime, let's talk about magic. Elf, bring my daughter's wand.'

Hermione's arm felt whole again. She swished experimentally and then turned to Bellatrix. 'What should I show you?'

Bellatrix summoned a cup. 'Conjure a flame for me.'

Hermione did. 'I've used this one loads of times.'

'Oh? When?'

'When Snape tried to knock Harry off his broom, for one. I, er, sort of set his robes on fire to make him stop.'

Bellatrix stared at her child incredulously. 'You set Severus Snape on fire?'

'Yes, Mother.' Hermione was startled when Bellatrix doubled over, clutching her belly. 'That's priceless!'

'You aren't cross?'

Bellatrix laughed until she could answer. 'Not a bit. You think he's an arse too?'

'He's definitely cruel. He used to practically make poor Neville cry every class.'

'Neville?'

'Longbottom. He's a bit of a muppet, but in a good way.'

The long ago irony was not lost on Bellatrix, any more than it had been on the aurors. 'Ah. Is that all he did? Snape? He didn't hit you or something?'

'No. Was he always this nasty?'

'Yes.' Bellatrix drank a little pumpkin juice. 'What about the others? They taught you well?'

'Mostly. Binns isn't very good.'

'Never was, from what I can tell. It's almost time to go down for lunch.' Hermione stood and donned her outer robes, sliding into a pair of shoes.

Bellatrix rose and donned her outer robes as well. 'Have you seen your father today?'

'No. Is something wrong?'

'Not that I know of. Just wondered.'

They made their way to the Hall, where the elves were setting out trays of roast beef, tureens of gravy and mounds of fluffy potatoes. They sat at the dais, waiting for the others to come home.

The fireplace roared and Rodolphus stepped out, followed by Scabior and the others. 'Good afternoon, ladies.'

'Hello, Father.'

'Rodolphus. How did it go?'

'Well, well. Shall we eat?'

Greyback strode into the Hall, chuckling. Hermione instinctively froze. There was something scary and grotesque about him, something that made her skin crawl. He came closer and she made herself relax, sensing that it would be a bad idea to show this wild looking man fear.

Greyback could smell the girl. Her fear was delicious, but so was the bravado she was using to cover it. He smiled at her, thinking it a shame she had to be Lestrange's get. Otherwise he would have inducted her immediately-here was a girl worthy of running with his pack.

'Afternoon ladies, Lestrange.' He took his place on the other side of Rodolphus. From the various corner, people were streaming in, Inner Circle on the dais, peons at the House tables.

The Dark Lord finally came in after everyone had sat down. The group rose until he'd taken his seat, and Snape next to him. 'Severus, do trade places with Bellatrix for the moment. I need to ask him something.'

Snape nodded and sat next to Hermione. 'Miss Lestrange.'

How odd, to be addressed that way. 'Professor Snape.' He nodded dourly and proceeded to ignore her, while she more or less returned the favour.

Below them, the wolves sat at one table, the convicts another, low ranking Death Eaters a third. More and more were coming out of the wood work, out of exile, or just coming, asking to join. There was a muted buzz of conversation that seemed to mock the raucous, joyful noise the students had made.

Hermione ate her food, glad that something hadn't changed, at least. Professor Snape asked her to pass the salt and she did. 'I hear you had a bit of an adventure.'

'Yes. Pepper too?'

'Please. Don't do anything like that again. You'll only get whoever helps you killed.'

Hermione nodded. This new world, she was coming to understand, was a high stakes endeavour.

'My parents will worry.'

'There's other ways.'

Rodolphus turned to check on his daughter and smiled. 'Love, you look so serious! Snape wasn't asking you to recite your lessons, was he?'

'No, Father.'

'That's good.' Rodolphus went back to his conversation with Greyback, and Hermione had a little more potatoes, wondering what Snape could mean. There was a trifle for dessert, and then the group broke, mostly to go back to work.

Hermione had decided to start on her summer work. Bellatrix was to stay home that afternoon, writing letters to various, vaguely named people. Hermione's quill worked busily as she wrote, sometimes asking a question.

In the dungeons, Snape was working on how to make his plan bear fruit. He brewed a bit and then hit on it. He sat down to send a letter to Lucius Malfoy, asking him to procure some things he was running low on, and slipping in a mention of Draco, asking if he might have questions about his summer work. It was a start.

In Wiltshire, Narcissa packed the robes in one box and the dolls in another and sent both boxes, shrunk small, with an elf, along with some other things she'd procured for the Lestranges to use.

In Trelawney's old quarters, Bellatrix let Hermione re-enlarge the crates of things and then explore them. Hermione proudly showed the robes they'd chosen for Bellatrix, and politely exclaimed over the dolls, which actually blinked and moved. Bellatrix took her wand back, but half a loaf is better than none.

'Did you have many? Dolls?'

'Some. Never really interested, I suppose. That was Meddie, more than I.'

'Meddie?'

Bellatrix swore mentally. 'My other sister. She died.'

'Oh. I'm sorry to hear that.'

'It was long ago. Enough lessons for right now. We'll take a walk.' She put her things away as Hermione did the same, and they went down the stairs and onto a battlement.

'Everything looks so small from here.'

'Puts things in perspective.'

Hermione nodded. 'Harry flew up here once on his broom. He liked to go up onto the towers and then fly down again. He got ticked off, though, because Sprout caught him and thought he'd scare the Professor that lived here.'

'Did you know her? The Trelawney woman?'

'No. Everyone said she was mad.'

'Diviners usually are.'

'Could she really see the future? I mean, is it possible?'

'Depends on who you ask. I say it's a bunch of hippogriff's wallow, myself.'

Hermione nodded. 'I don't think I'd like that. Seeing the future. You'd see an awful lot of disappointments and tragedies, wouldn't you?'

Bellatrix was pleased by the insight. 'Probably. And I'd rather depend on facts than intuitions.'

'Me, too. I like to know everything I can about things.'

'Is that why you ask so many questions?'

Hermione looked aside. 'I suppose so. I don't feel afraid if I'm asking questions.'

'Don't. Feel afraid. We don't mean to hurt you.'

'I know. But that first day, the lady was being hurt.'

'Lady?' Bellatrix's eyes narrowed. 'What lady was this?'

'In the Hall. She was screaming.' Hermione shivered at the memory of the woman's shrieks and moans. Bellatrix leant over and took her arm, not terribly gently.

'Why were you down there to start out with?' Bellatrix was torn between annoyance and a kind of vague displeasure. She wouldn't have wanted Hermione to see that, amongst other reasons because it made her job harder.

'An auror came to get me, and then Scabior stabbed him. And then another came and pulled me over the ward and told me to hide.'

Bellatrix nodded. 'And did you?'

'I tried to. I ran down the corridors. There were people everywhere, and parts of, of people.' Hermione was holding the stone battlements with panicky tightness. Bellatrix wondered what Narcissa would do in this situation.

'What happened then?'

'Someone put me a niche but I couldn't stay because there were noises. And then those things came.'

'Dementors, you mean.'

'Yes. And the elves took me to the kitchen.'

'And you heard what happened?'

'Yes.' Hermione was looking at some distant point, trying to erase the images in her head with the scene of Hogsmeade below, and the soft air. Bellatrix softened her hold and then awkwardly stepped back and opened her arms. 'Do I hug you now?'

Hermione stepped into the embrace and laid her head on the woman's shoulder. Bellatrix hugged her, trying to make herself relax so the girl wouldn't cry or something disturbing like that.

'What hurt her like that?'

'A spell.'

'What had she done?'

It was on the tip of Bellatrix's tongue to be honest-that the Vance bitch hadn't really done anything. But that would probably incite some sort of absurd muggle prejudice against violence or start her bawling, so Bellatrix stepped back and thought fast.

'She was part of the group that took you from us. They're dangerous. We couldn't wait for them to attack first.'

'But she didn't try to hurt anyone?'

'She would have.'

'Was it the Order?'

'Yes.'

'Why are they bad?'

'Another time. Has Cissy told you about our family?'

'Not much. I have an uncle and cousin on her side.'

'Yes, you do, and another uncle who's your father's brother. More generally, though?'

'No.'

Bellatrix motioned her into the castle again. 'The Blacks are an old, proud family. Your grandfather, for example. His name was Cygnus Black, and he...'

Rodolphus came home an hour before supper, which was to be served by family, as opposed to the communal lunch in the Hall. He took off his outer robes and embraced wife and daughter.

'Well, Hermione, what did you learn today?' Hermione's face lit up-Rodolphus had asked the right question. She eagerly regaled him with all the things she'd learnt, ending with a recitation of her Black antecedents.

'Wonderful, lamb. Go and have a rest before supper, and let me have a word with Mother.'

As soon as the door had closed, Bellatrix cast muffiliato. 'Well, how was it?'

'Would you could have been there. We made strides today, real progress.'

Bellatrix sighed with envy. 'And I stuck here writing letters.'

Rodolphus grinned. 'Not for long, Trixie. I've heard something.'

'Oh?'

'His Lordship will tell you all about it, I'm sure.'

She raised her wand. 'Rodolphus! Don't think I'll hesitate to cruciate you.'

'I know you won't. It's what I love about you.'

Bellatrix ignored him. 'A hint, then. A hint, Rodolphus.'

He smiled cryptically. 'I suppose a small hint would be possible.' He leant down and whispered something in her ear. Bellatrix's face lit up. 'Truly?'

'Of course.' He swished, ending the spell. 'Hermione, darling, come out. We'll read until the food arrives.'

Hermione didn't need to be told twice. She stood next to the divan, feeling a bit shy with Rodolphus. He patted his lap inviting and smiled. 'Mother's turn to read, isn't it? Come and sit on my lap.' She sat down, feeling cautiously, and jumped a bit when he started to rub her back.

'"And Lord Vargo, with his Brave Companions, set off to the Forks to return to the castle, with the Golden Knight tied across his saddle and the Maid behind...'

Hermione wasn't quite sure what she made of Rodolphus, who'd hurt her and cuddled her both. She liked having her back rubbed, though. She found herself relaxing a bit, and when he reached up to gently guide her head to his shoulder, she didn't protest.

In the dungeon, Snape had got a reply. Lucius was fine, Draco understood everything, but did Hermione? Also, please find kind enclosed the various ingredients.

Snape nodded and decided to let things take their course. He noticed the careful way Gr-the girl was moving at lunch, and he recognised it from his own mother, who no matter the degradations imposed on her by life, had never lost her carefully drilled way of moving and sitting, as though she floated above the ground.

This wasn't Bellatrix, obviously, who moved like the predator she was, nor Rodolphus. This was Narcissa, and so on her his plan would hinge. Lucius would mention the letter, Narcissa's mind would do the next part, and then he'd be where he wanted to be.

And that was precisely how it played out. The next afternoon there was a knock at the door to his laboratory. Lucius Malfoy poked his head in and smiled at his friend. 'Hello, there, Severus.'

Snape smiled back. He was genuinely fond of Malfoy, who'd taught him all the social graces he had but never used, and a plethora of other things as well. 'Lucius, come in.'

'Draco sends you his affection, and also a Quidditch magazine he thought you'd like.'

Snape nodded. His godson did such things, and the fact Snape was only neutral about Quidditch didn't stop him from being glad to be remembered. He put it down on his table and motioned for Malfoy to sit.

'Pain potion.'

'I can imagine, with all these people here, there'd be a lot of need.'

'You've no idea. And Narcissa?'

'Sends her affection as well. She's been trying to help Bellatrix and Rodolphus with their girl.'

'Is it not going well?'

'Oh, well enough. As well as one would expect. She's bright, certainly, but rebellious.'

'She always was. Ran about with Potter and Weasley boy.'

'I'll remind Rodolphus to warn her against boys and such.'

'I never had the impression they were inappropriate.'

'Not at this age. But later?'

'Quite. What brings you by?'

Malfoy sounded too casual, as he always did when he was up to something. Snape mentally grinned. Yes, come on, out with it...

'You know, the muggles taught Hermione nothing she needs to know. I wonder if you'd be willing to oversee some practice in basic brewing. Just home remedies, nothing special.'

'Surely she won't need the knowledge for at least a few years.'

'Of course not, but she could use all the extra practice she can get. And we'd compensate your time.'

Snape pretended to consider. 'I could, I expect, when not busy with other things. But I shan't tolerate any cheek, make sure she understands that.'

Malfoy nodded. 'Of course. Do remember her circumstances. And Narcissa's already making strides, I understand.'

'You've not been to see her?'

'We think it best to ease her into things slowly. Too much too fast could cause a relapse. I suppose you heard about the other day?'

'It's not a terribly large castle. That Scabior fellow, was it not, who caught her?'

Malfoy nodded. 'Gutter trash, naturally, but a Pureblood. How strange the two might co-exist.'

'He seems to be marginally cleverer than his fellows.' Snape rose and took off his brewing apron, donning his coat. Malfoy rose and made to follow him.

'Mmm, I'm not saying he isn't smart, for what he is. Rodolphus couldn't have chosen a better kneazle's paw, in some ways. But he has the air of the sort one executes as a warning. I expect he loves violence, more than anything.'

'And plunder.'

'That as well. And it's all for the best, I expect. It isn't like we can't give him that.'

'Indeed.' And they went upstairs without another word spoken of serious matters. Inside Snape was jubilant. His plan had worked. Now for the hard part.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Love to reviewers and Countess Black**

**Forgot to mention last chapter that the plot of 'The Mystery of the Cave', at least that section, is a shout out to 'A Storm of Swords' by George RR Martin. Snape's remarks about the gutter are a misquote of Oscar Wilde's.**

** NB: To answer a question, the glamours that the aurors put on Hermione were designed to make her age difficult to pin down, not to signifcantly alter her appearance. They deliberately selected muggles who resembled the Lestranges enough in colouring, height, etc that Hermione wouldn't stand out and relied on others to see a resemblance.**

Hermione beamed as she raced down the long gallery. Beside her, Rinky was frowning darkly, sure this was inappropriate and terrible, but equally unwilling to ruin Miss's good time.

Hermione rounded a corner and nearly ran headlong into Scabior. 'Ello flower. No hard feelins, I hope, from the other day?'

'No.' Hermione didn't like this fellow. If she'd known the word insinuating, she'd have applied it to Scabior. As she didn't, she opted to use the training she'd been getting from Narcissa.

'It's lovely to see you again, Mr. Scabior, but I have an obligation I must meet. Good day.'

Scabior laughed. Listen to the little chit, already sounding like quality! He fell into step beside her. 'Yer mummy know where you are?'

'Yes, she does. I've an elf with me.' Rinky made himself visible, glaring. Scabior ignored him. 'Awright then. You headin for lunch?'

'Yes.'

'I'll walks with you. Not safe round ere, what with the wolves an all.'

'Wolves?'

'Werewolves, doan you know? Greyback an is boys is all werewolves.'

'Oh.'

'Not that they'd urt you, mind. Not you. But still.'

Hermione mulled this over. 'Why aren't you at work?'

'Got sent back t talk with Greyback. Yer daddy'll be ere soon enough.'

'Yes.'

'Doan be afraid, flower, I ain't gonna urt you, not ol Lem. Jus curious, is all.'

'About what?'

'All sorts a things. Like why a nice lil girl like you was tryin to run out the door.' Scabior wasn't all that much taller than Hermione, and his look was both level and strangely without his habitual mirth; Hermione found he wasn't quite as scary this way.

'I don't want to talk about it.'

'No? Done sumthin bad, then?'

'No. And anyway, I've not done it again.' And she hadn't, either. As she'd predicted, they'd been a lot more careful about making sure that Hermione had no chances to get away.

And anyway, Rodolphus had been right, Hermione was willing to admit. She had to wait until she could be sure that she'd have help before she ran headlong into danger.

'I knows that. But yer a smart girl, aint you?'

'People always say so.'

Scabior nodded, his point proved. And he was willing to bet that Lestrange had tanned the girl right and proper for what she'd done, and rightly, too. He looked at her sidelong, with her serious little face and glaring elf.

'You reminds me a my sister. Er name was Nora.'

'Was she older or younger?'

'Younger, an smart as anythin. Used to be able t do charms an such you'd not believe. But stubborn. Foughts like a boomslang, when we was tykes. Like you did, scratchin an kickin an all.'

'I didn't hurt you?' Hermione frowned. She might have thought this bloke a little weird, but she didn't want to hurt someone, definitely. Scabior snorted at the idea a girl who weighed perhaps four stone could actually hurt him.

'No, flower, you aint. I bin t Azkaban, takes quite a lot t urt me these days.'

'Is it very bad there? Azkaban? With those things?'

Scabior nodded. 'Very.'

'Were you there a long time?' Unwillingly, Hermione found herself wanting to know. How did a person live surrounded by those awful creatures?

'A year or so. Ad twenny four to go, I did, fore yer daddy's mates got me.'

'What had you done? I mean, you needn't answer if you don't want to.'

Scabior laughed. 'I'll tell if you do.'

'I wanted to make sure someone was all right. Two someones.'

'I taughts this cu-bas-_bloke _a lesson about manners.'

They were at the Hall. Scabior gestured for Hermione to proceed him, shaking his head. If he was Lestrange, he'd keep a damned good eye on the little chit. She'd lead some fellow a merry dance someday, for certain.

Hermione chewed over the encounter all day. That night, she worked on the scarf she was making as they listened to the radio, as they did every night. 'How's the scarf, love?'

'It's all right.'

'Scabior tells me you ran into one another this afternoon. Did you enjoy chatting with him?'

Hermione tied off her row before she answered. 'He's nice to me, but also a little weird.'

'Oh? Weird how?' God help him if he'd said or done anything. Rodolphus kept his face smooth and cheerful, aware that Bellatrix had always pricked up her ears, so to speak.

'He's very pleasant, but he did stab that man. I'm not sure how it can be both.'

Bellatrix set down the paper, which she'd been reading in order to check the scores for Quidditch, and said 'There's a war on, girl. There's a lot of pleasant people doing unpleasant things these days.'

Rodolphus wanted to step in before she decided to give Hermione some examples which might prove a bit much. 'What Mother is getting at, love, is that war causes people to do things they might not otherwise have done.'

'But why do people need to be hurt? Couldn't we just sit down and talk about it? Make a compromise?'

Both parents studied one another. 'Ideally, yes. But what happens when one side won't even try, Hermione?'

Bellatrix nodded. 'They weren't precisely trying to negotiate, either, were they?'

'I suppose not.' Hermione looked deeply troubled, and Bellatrix wondered whether this was a good time for some explanations. She raised an eyebrow at Rodolphus and he flicked his wand to turn the radio down.

'It's all very complicated, love, even for most adults. But the short version is that sometimes people simply won't be persuaded that something is for the best, and so they need to be convinced in other ways.'

'Like what?'

Oh dear. 'Well, we have to be quite forceful with them sometimes. It's unfortunate, but...if someone meant to hurt another person, would you have the obligation to stop it? A helpless person, say. A child.'

'Yes, Father.'

Bellatrix took up the lesson. 'Well, those people who came meant to hurt a great many wizards and witches.'

'How?'

Bellatrix ignored her. 'Remember when you asked what Death Eaters believe? This is your first lesson. Part of being a Death Eater is believing that it's only right and fair for people who are good at magic get to work in a way that will make a difference.'

'Why did the people who attacked not like that?'

'Because they belong to a group who doesn't think everyone should get a voice in how things are run.'

'The Order?'

'Exactly right. Where did you hear that?' Rodolphus would clearly need to speak to his subordinates about the fact that his daughter was about and needn't be exposed to certain things.

Hermione shrugged. 'Round the castle. There were a couple of men talking about it. One of them might be called Travers.'

'Ah.'

'Why don't they think everyone should have a voice?'

'Another night. It's nearly bedtime. Go and get ready.'

Hermione set aside her knitting and went to take her bath. She was troubled by what she had heard. She'd seen Hagrid, and he didn't seem the type who thought some people shouldn't get a voice.

The elves washed her hair and bathed her, and she came out in her nightgown, smelling of violet soap and powder. The Lestranges both smiled when she came unbidden and offered her forehead for kisses.

'All right, precious. Lights out at nine.'

Hermione nodded and went into her bedroom, climbing under the covers. She picked up the book she'd started reading and went to her place, propped against some pillows the elves had scavenged for her.

At nine, the Lestranges went to tuck their child in. She was bright eyed, chewing her lip gently as she put her bookmark back in and waited for them to come and bid her good night.

'What're you up to, then?'

Hermione started. 'Oh! Thinking about the book. I like the story, but the main character isn't very smart.'

'No?'

'No. And all she does is cry and let everyone else save her.' Hermione frowned indignantly and then snuggled back as Bellatrix tucked the covers under her chin and spelled the lights down.

Bellatrix grinned. 'Perhaps someday you'll write a better one, Hermione.'

Hermione nodded and closed her eyes. 'G'night.'

'Good night, love.' Rodolphus kissed her as wel for good measure.

They crept out and quickly warded the room to keep it quiet so she could sleep. In the sudden quiet of the parlour, they regarded one another a tad awkwardly.

'So you're happy with it? Your position?'

'Of course.' She settled back, relaxing a bit. Rodolphus came and sat beside her, gently taking her hand in his.

'If it's acceptable to you...'

' I'll get the elf to bring something.'

'Surely we don't need to take precautions.'

'Like we didn't with Hermione?'

'Touché. Do what you think best, of course.'

She nodded and sent an elf for some contraceptive potion. Rodolphus watched his wife down it, throat working. Vulnerable throat, white throat, soft throat.

She led him into their bedroom and warded everything, silencing it just in case. With no ceremony, the two undressed and slid below the covers. Rodolphus moved atop his wife and carefully, almost primly, made the necessary alchemical adjustments to transmute two into one.

It was over in minutes. They scourgified themselves and lay silent, feeling the castle moving round them and under them. 'Bellatrix?'

'What?'

'We've a house.'

'Where?'

'Lincolnshire. Aunt Cunegarde is willing to let us move in.'

'Willing? Old bitch ought to be grateful we've let her stay, moving in like she owns the place.'

'Quite, but what can one do? Rabastan will come too, once he's done meeting with the giants.'

Bellatrix nodded in the post-coital darkness. 'Has she changed anything? Cunegarde?'

'I should be surprised. She mainly lives in her rooms, I'm told.'

Bellatrix nodded again. 'There's a relief, at least.'

Rodolphus put a hand to her arm. He was glad they were going back to his family home. His elderly great aunt was a small price to pay for them to have their own house.

As it happened, they were summoned just before dawn, and Hermione woke quite alone, except, of course, for her elf. Rinky frowned, not sure he approved of Miss being awake at such an hour.

'Hello, Rinky.'

'Hello, Miss. Going back to sleep?'

Hermione shook her head no. Once she was awake, she was awake. 'No. You?'

'Not if Miss is being up. Miss is wanting breakfast now?'

'No, thank you. You needn't be up just because I am, you know. I'm not a baby.'

'Miss is being big girl, yes. But Rinky is staying in case.'

'Case of what?'

'In case' said the elf firmly, and went to fetch some milk. Hermione drank most of it, wondering what the elf was so worried about. She rose and went through the indignity of being dressed. She was glad that her aunt had asked her elf to alter the robes, because they actually more or less fitted.

'Rinky? When we move, will you come with us?'

Rinky smiled down sadly. 'Rinky is belonging here, Miss. Miss is having elves at home.'

Hermione nodded, feeling sad at the prospect. 'I'll miss you, then. Will you come and visit?'

Rinky's eyes teared. 'Miss, Rinky is being honoured. But wouldn't be right, elves visiting witches and wizards.'

'Why not?' Hermione sat still and submitted to the elf's tugging of a hairbrush through her dense nest of hair, and his failing yet brave attempts to tame it with a ribbon.

'Rinky is house elf.'

'Yes, of course, but that doesn't mean you can't be my friend.'

Rinky sighed and set down the brush. Miss really _didn't _understand, he reminded himself. He would have liked to stay with her as her servant, or to be able to visit her, but it wouldn't be proper.

'Hermione? Love?'

'Here I am.' She stood up and gave Rinky a final smile. 'We'll talk later, all right?'

'How well you look, love. And was your sleep good?'

'It was. You?' Hermione nestled against her aunt and then sat down, waiting to be instructed in whatever the day's lesson was to be, hands in lap.

'Aunt Narcissa?'

'Yes, love?'

'Why can't Rinky come and visit me once we're in our house?'

'Rinky?'

'Yes. He said he couldn't visit a witch.'

'Rinky is a house elf, love.'

'I know. But why can't he come and visit me?'

Narcissa licked her lips, trying to explain something she'd always taken for granted. 'Darling, elves exist to serve us. We don't socialise with them.'

Hermione frowned. 'Why not? He's very nice.'

'Because it wouldn't be fitting. Just like we don't do certain things because they wouldn't be nice.'

'Why wouldn't it be nice?'

'Because people of our social status are expected to behave a certain way, darling.' Narcissa smoothed the child's forehead lightly. 'Shall I ask your father to consider asking for Rinky so you can take him with you?'

'Yes! I mean, I would like that. Asking for him? Is Rinky a _slave_?' Hermione looked so appalled and horrified that Narcissa wished she'd changed the subject, if only to spare the child's feelings.

'Not precisely, love. It's complicated. Anyway, I'm sure the Dark Lord wouldn't mind very much if you took the elf with you.'

Hermione was still working this over in her mind. 'Is that why he's always telling me not to do for myself? Because of place?'

'Yes, exactly.'

'Why does it matter if no would know, though? Like whether I comb my own hair? No one sees that, really.'

'Because it's below your dignity to perform menial labour. People of our status have considerations that go beyond those things. And once you're older, you'll need to dress nicely every day, and part of that is making sure your hair is perfect. The little people look to us, Hermione, for cues on how to dress and act. Remember that.'

Hermione considered. 'Why do they care? There's more important things in life than clothes and hair.'

'Yes, of course there are. It's a little hard to explain, darling, but-we communicate about ourselves by how we dress as much as how we act, and looking a certain way sends the same sort of cues as how we sit or using a soft, ladylike voice.'

'Oh.' There was something very disturbing about all this, something that Hermione didn't like. She nibbled her lip thoughtfully and said 'It's important so people get the right ideas about us?'

'Yes, amongst others. Pureblood ladies act and dress a certain way because it shows the world how we'd like to be treated.'

Hermione knew she would spend a lot of time mulling this over later. She sighed, feeling as though she'd landed on Mars or something. 'Everything is really very complicated sometimes, isn't it?'

Narcissa laughed. 'It only gets worse as you get older, Hermione. That's why we must prepare you, so you'll be able to navigate the problems that come up.'

Hermione nodded and sat up straighter. 'I'm ready if you are, then.'

'Let's talk about dinner parties, shall we? The first thing...'

Severus Snape was beginning to hate being the de facto guardian of the Dark Lord's eleven year old body. At the moment, Snape was watching as the Dark Lord fidgeted through a meeting. His mind didn't fidget-his body simply had an excess of energy which had to be expressed.

'And then hang the bodies from the front of the buildings as a warning, McNair.'

'Yes, my Lord.'

'That's all, you're all dismissed.' The Dark Lord slumped back, and Snape rose and discretely made his way to Rodolphus, who had been called from his post for the meeting.

'Hello, Severus. How are you?'

'Well enough. Has Lucius spoken to you?'

'About what? If it's that thing in Leeds, he'll have to wait, because there are at least five other-'

'No, it's about the girl. Narcissa thinks it advisable she learn some basic brewing. I am amenable, with your permission.'

Rodolphus felt mildly pleased by the gesture. 'We would appreciate that, Severus. I can't give you anything at the moment, but-'

Snape waved him away and then turned to go back to the dungeons without another word. Rodolphus felt a tug on his sleeve and his wife's face, glowering, came into view, not quite at his shoulder.

'What was that, then?' Bellatrix hated Snape. She could have lived with his filthy parentage, but not with his smugness, his patronising attitude, his arrogant belief in his own equality. She could tolerate it in Lucius because of his name, but in a Halfblood? Never.

'He's offered to teach Hermione some basic brewing. Your sister's idea, apparently.'

'Hmmph. I don't trust him. Like trusting a boomslang with a room full of bubotuber shoots, if you ask me.'

'You think he'll eat Hermione?' Rodolphus, used to his wife's sometimes weird and irrational beliefs, raised an eyebrow. Now if she'd said Greyback, he might have agreed.

'No, Rodolphus. I mean he's up to something.'

'Which of us isn't?'

'If you're going to be an arse, I'll just go upstairs.'

Rodolphus snorted. He loved to punch his wife's buttons, and was probably the only person who might have without getting maimed. 'I'm sure it will be fine. It's Snape, after all.'

'Just what worries me.'

Snape himself was not overly worried. He wasn't precisely sure what his plan was now, only that this would further it. He set out everything they'd need and waited until two o'clock, when the girl was shown in by an elderly and ill tempered looking elf, who hovered in the corner, as though he expected Snape to do anything but teach Hermione a simple sore throat remedy.

'Hello, Professor.'

'Miss Lestrange. Tell me, what are the properties of coltsfoot?'

Hermione recited them without missing a beat. She seemed, he thought, well enough, which was his whole reason for asking. He'd been unsure what the result of releasing a child to the tender mercies of the Lestranges, but she seemed quite un-maimed, and so Snape was willing to consider it, at first blush, not the unmitigated disaster it might have been.

'Your materials are on the bench, and the instruction is on the blackboard. It should take you an hour or so. Begin.'

Hermione nodded and began the first step, crushing three milksap pods and putting them into the cauldron. 'So how do you find your life here, Miss Lestrange?'

Hermione added a pinch of blister-beetle powder. 'Fine, Professor. You?'

Snape busied himself scourgfying already clean surfaces. 'All humanity, Miss Lestrange, lies in the gutter. Some people choose to look at the stars.'

Hermione added a bit of minced salamander gall to the pot. 'I don't follow.'

'Nor should you, at your age. Have you got any questions so far?'

'What gutter? And do I mince the ginger roots or do I chop them finely?'

'Chop them. The human condition.'

Hermione nodded as though she understood. 'Oh. And now the ashwinder toes?'

'Indeed.'

Hermione stirred the cauldron nine times anti-clockwise. 'Professor?'

'Miss Lestrange?'

'What did you mean at lunch yesterday?'

Snape checked her progress. It was a soft purpley-blue, just as it should be. 'Your escape attempt was ill-reasoned at best and incredibly foolish at worst.'

Hermione frowned sharply. 'Everyone's told me.'

Snape nodded. 'Have you stopped to ask yourself why?'

Hermione was annoyed that her normally nasty teacher was making a stab at being avuncular. 'Because there are bad people who hurt children, and one can't tell them on sight.'

'No. Because your parents are the most feared Death Eaters in all Britain, and no one would help you. Anyone who did would be killed for their trouble. Add those button fungi now.'

Hermione added her fungi. 'They are?'

'Absolutely. Have they not told you?'

'No.'

'Your mother is the right hand of the Dark Lord, and your father only slightly less.'

'What about the others?'

'What about them?'

'You're always with him.'

'Yes.' Snape dipped the ladle in and raised a little potion. It gleamed mellowly in the dim laboratory, perfectly brewed. 'I am that most useful creature, a potions master.'

'Useful? Doesn't the Dark Lord keep you close because you're his friend?'

Snape shook his head. 'No one is friends with the Dark Lord, Miss Lestrange. And now, neither have you any friends. It would be dangerous for them, and they know it.'

Hermione hid her hurt at that. 'I have too! Harry and Ron are my friends!'

'Potter is gone to some nebulous ether, and Weasley's family has apparently fled the country. Don't count on either of them to help you.'

Hermione slammed down the potion stirrer. 'Why are you always so _nasty_?'

'Because _life _is nasty, and I, child, am offering you a bit of insight into it. You'll need all your cunning to survive, and attempting to escape via the front door does not indicate you've any natural affinity for intrigue.'

Hermione took up the stirrer again. 'How does having no friends help?'

'Because there will be people who attempt to use your desire for companionship to manipulate you. Don't let them, and never assume they can't be bought. Everyone has a price.'

'I don't.'

'You're a child. Someday you will.'

Hermione silently continued with the potion. 'Ron is gone?'

'He and all his family, probably to Romania. Expect no help from that quarter.'

'And my parents? My muggle parents?'

'No word.' Snape knew precisely what had happened, but even he would not go quite that far. If nothing else, because it would ruin his other plans. He had to admit a degree of admiration for the girl, who grimly continued on her with her potion.

'Then who is trustworthy?'

'The elves, as a rule. Narcissa Malfoy strikes me as a woman of enormous discretion. Perhaps a few others.'

'How does one tell?'

Snape looked at the girl. 'Trial and error.'

'Oh. Why are my parents the most feared Death Eaters in Britain?'

'Because they are good at magic.'

'So was Professor Dumbledore, and no one feared him.'

'No?'

Hermione stopped and cocked her head at Snape. 'Did they?'

'Some did. Some would have been wise to.'

Hermione huffed and worked on the potion a while. 'Professor?'

Snape motioned impatiently at her and Hermione inhaled. 'How did you hear about Ron?'

'I've my sources. I expect you'd like to hear more.'

'Yes, I would.'

'Do you remember when I said that everyone has a price, Miss Lestrange?'

'I-yes.' Hermione felt sort of strange. Was this something bad? She prepared to run, in case it was, having a very vague idea of what she'd always been warned against.

Snape snorted. 'Stop that. I'd just like some information in return, is all.'

'What sort of information?'

Snape didn't answer right away. Instead, he flicked a phial over and filled it. The potion was perfect, as he'd known it would be.

'Nothing specific, but keep your ears open. I'm curious to hear what the gossip going round the castle is.'

'Why me? Shouldn't you ask another adult?' Hermione wasn't sure how she felt about all this. Should she tell Narcissa? Or...what other adult could she trust?

'People notice adults. They'll speak in front of you. And you've an elf.'

He motioned to the glowering elf n the corner, who said nothing. Hermione was still frowning. It boded well for the child's intelligence, he thought, and her courage, that she was still asking questions rather than just going along.

'And you'll tell me things in return?'

'Quid pro quo. And potions, naturally.'

Hermione nibbled her lip. 'Aunt Narcissa says that she's going to ask my father to ask for Rinky, so he can come to our new house. Would you ask the Dark Lord to say yes?'

'It could be arranged. Would, perhaps, be benefical. Your first real lesson, Miss Lestrange: why? How could that benefit me?'

Hermione considered. 'Because then I'd owe you one, and get better information.'

'Yes, and?'

'Then Rinky would want to help you.'

'Yes, and?'

Hermione shook her head. 'Don't know.'

'Because if the elf serves you directly, then he'll only report to you. And to whomever you order him to, naturally.' Snape let this sink in. Hermione nodded slowly.

'What about my parents?'

'Leave all that to me. I'll see you tomorrow, and have something new to tell me, won't you?'

Hermione followed her elf out, clutching her phial of sore throat remedy, and Snape prepared to set part two in motion.


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: Love to reviewers and Countess Black**

**One of the problems with having an eleven year old protagonist is that much of the infrastructure is beyond her scope. Some chapters will have more emphasis on political affaires or state building simply because other events will lack context without them. In real life, I'm studying political science (the science of government), so this is very exciting to me. For those who find it less so, my apologies.**

Snape set down the goblet. 'My Lord? It would be most generous of you. And such a small thing, an elf.'

'Quite. Tomorrow, then, at lunch.' The Dark Lord's eyes were drooping. Damn this tiny, useless body! He stood, blinking, and then made his way to the bedroom without another word. Snape watched him go. The limitations on the Dark Lord's power were a left hand gift, to be sure.

That started a sort of blossom of thought in Snape's mind, one he resolved to follow as soon as it was expedient. For the moment, though, he was well pleased.

The next morning, Hermione bounced with excitement at the news of a house. 'Really?'

'Yes. You'll have your own rooms and everything. Won't that be exciting?'

Hermione nodded. 'And Aunt Narcissa can still come and visit?'

'Of course she can. And my aunt lives there as well. Great aunt, really. Cunegarde, is her name. She's a very _worthy_ woman.'

'Worthy?'

Bellatrix dropped her voice and said 'He means Cunegarde's old as Medusa and twice as bad to be round for any length of time.'

'Bellatrix! Aunt is a lovely woman.'

'For a gorgon.' Hermione giggled and Rodolphus shook a finger in mock scolding. 'If you both don't stop, there'll be no pudding this evening.'

Hermione turned to Bellatrix. 'Does it run in the family?'

Rodolphus stifled a chuckle. 'Best hope not, pet, else you'll turn into one too.'

At lunch, everything was business was usual until pudding, when dishes of clotted cream and strawberries were brought in.

The Dark Lord turned to Snape. 'Severus, do you expect now is a good time?'

'I daresay, my Lord.'

'Very well. Hermione, dear child, come here a moment, won't you?'

The Hall got quiet. Hermione's eyes darted to Rodolphus, who nodded. Bellatrix was beaming excitedly, delighted beyond speech that her daughter was being singled out for some special honour.

'Your parents have told you the news, have they not?'

Hermione bowed, as she'd been instructed, and then said 'Yes, my lord.'

'And are you very excited, my child?'

'Yes, my lord.'

'Excellent. I've seen fit to present you with a small token of this school, should you come to feel overwhelmed. Elf, come here.'

Rinky appeared, bowing, heart hammering in his little chest. 'You serve the girl now, do you understand? When she marries, you'll go with her, and then her children.'

'Through which line, my Lord, if I might ask?' Snape could foresee arguments made by frizzy-haired children that didn't exist yet. The Dark Lord nodded in remembrance and said negligently 'Let the girl choose, when the time is ripe.'

Hermione grinned with excitement. 'Thank you, my Lord! I was afraid Rinky couldn't come with me!'

The Dark Lord waved modestly. 'Quite all right, my child. Go and rest while the adults speak of other matters.' Hermione bowed and then almost bounded out of the Hall, to the amusement of the watchers-one rarely sees boundless enthusiasm and energy at Death Eater affaires, after all.

Rodolphus was somewhat less pleased about the whole thing. 'I'd rather we'd have bought it.' They were walking through a deserted section of castle after the lunch meeting, preparing to go and visit the house after Hermione's lesson with Snape.

Bellatrix spun, wand fixed. 'Do you mean to criticise the Dark Lord, Rodolphus? Whom we went to Azkaban for? Is that what you meant?'

Rodolphus knew his wife was the better dueller between them. 'For God's sake, keep your voice down.'

'THEN- STOP- IT!'

'All I meant was she might try something ill considered, is all. And the elf could have helped us to make sure she didn't.'

'Oh.' Bellatrix replaced her wand and continued to walk as though nothing had happened. 'Yes, I suppose so. We'll just have to be careful, is all, and ward everything to keep her in.'

Rodolphus shook his head. 'And Narcissa will keep her busy, I'm sure. Not to mention Snape.'

'Strange, isn't it, that he'd give up his Saturday?'

Rodolphus shrugged. 'What else has he got to do?'

As it was, Hermione was currently being walked to the dungeons by her new servant, who was thrilled. The elf was gently deflecting Miss's questions about his attire.

'Are you sure? I could knit you a jumper. Or a little poncho.'

'Towel is being fine, Miss.' He wasn't being threatened with clothes, not really, and so Rinky found the whole thing touching and cute. Miss seemed a very sweet girl, and he was glad to be able to help her, with his generations of wisdom and experience.

'Professor Snape!'

'Surely, Miss Lestrange, you know a Pureblood lady does not _chirp_.'

Hermione wouldn't be stopped. 'A Pureblood lady also doesn't spy, but I've one new thing for you.'

Snape bit his tongue to keep from letting the corners of his mouth quirk. 'A spy doesn't chirp, then. What is it?'

'I didn't know what you'd want, but Travers was talking about the Order. My Wizarding father says they're bad. Are they?'

Snape sat down and motioned to the tray of ingedients. 'We're moving onto headache potion. The castle currently uses thirty phials of pain potion a day, on average, and about eighteen are usually headache potion. And that is very much a matter of prospective.' Hermione sat down and started her potion, still cheerfully excited, and still determined to learn.

'Is that right? The information?'

'It's a start. Never forsake a chance to learn something about someone which might prove useful. And evaluate the source, always. How did Travers seem to you?'

'He's nice enough, I suppose. Not as friendly as Yaxley, but he doesn't seem stupid, either. Selwyn seems that way sometimes.'

'Yes?'

Hermione nodded. 'He doesn't laugh at jokes, he always wait a second and laughs because others are laughing.'

'Quite. What I meant was "how did Travers seem at the moment?" Was he drunk? Was he angry?'

Hermione shook her head. 'He was talking to bloke with bright red hair, and he said something about someone named...Mad-eye?'

'Yes.'

Hermione frowned. 'What does it mean?'

'The second lesson, Miss Lestrange: Sometimes knowledge is a very dangerous thing to have.'

'You aren't going to tell me?' Hermione grimaced as she carefully dropped in the frog's eyeballs and gave the potion six stirs.

'Not at present.'

'Was it good enough, though?'

'It was' Snape made a peculiar face 'acceptable. Barely. For the first time.' Hermione bit her tongue, knowing that from Snape, that was an effusive compliment.

Snape was inwardly very pleased by the girl and her obvious intelligence and observational skills. Between his training and Narcissa Malfoy's instruction, not to mention the magical education Bellatrix would be unable to resist passing on, the child would be a truly formidable threat to whomever she set herself against.

Hermione asked things related to the potion until the end of the lesson. 'Professor?'

'Miss Lestrange?'

'Thank you. For Rinky, I mean.'

'Remember your first conclusion? It's still true.'

The Lestrange homestead was a dark, forbidding pile of stones in Lincolnshire, the main keep of which dated from directly after the Conquest. Hermione's first impression was that it looked as thought it had crouched there and staid, a huge pile of stones, which attempts to modernise or beautify had rendered instead uglier and even more ancient seeming.

Her second was that the old woman matched her surroundings perfectly. She sat rugged in an ancient fur on a chair which had been dragged there by elves, in a powder blue robe and nearly matching wig, face set in folds and droops of displeasure.

'Hello, Aunt Cunegarde.'

'Nephew.' The old woman tottered to her feet and held out a hand crusted with rings and clicking with bracelets. Rodolphus bowed and then kissed the woman's powdery cheek.

'How well you look, Aunt.'

'And yourself.' Bellatrix stepped up and pressed her cheek briefly to the woman's.

'Aunt Cunegarde.'

'Rodolphus's wife.' The old woman pulled back and studied her. 'You ought to do something about yourself, you look appalling.'

'I didn't want to outshine you, of course. It would be hard to do with all that cheap paste you're draped in, but one can dream.'

'Hermione' said Rodolphus, not wishing this to turn into an argument about who looked worse 'come and kiss your great great aunt.'

Hermione remembered what Narcissa had taught. 'Honoured to meet you, Aunt Cunegarde. Please be patent with me, for I am young and make many errors, which I beg you to correct.'

The old woman's face never changed. 'Why is she wearing her robes so short, Rodolphus? This isn't some sort of sporting house, for Circe's sake.'

Hermione jerked back, and Bellatrix put a hand to her arm. 'Listen, you mad old bird-'

'I'm mad? I? Which of us just got out of Azkaban again, you common str-'

Bellatrix drew on her. 'HOW DARE YOU, YOU DECREPIT OLD BITCH? I SHOULD KILL YOU RIGHT HERE!'

Rodolphus acted quickly. He swished before Bellatrix could get angry enough to kill his aunt. 'Expelliarmus. Bellatrix, go inside.'

Bellatrix stalked into the house like judgement itself, and Rodolphus smiled brightly at his daughter, who was so white in the face he was afraid she'd faint. 'Sweetheart? Go and help Mother.'

Hermione scampered inside, not sure which option was worse. Rodolphus dropped his voice. 'You will not insult my wife.'

'That woman is-'

'The rightful lady of this house. She has agreed to keep you on out of charity. I would remember that.'

He, too, turned and walked into the house. His aunt motioned to the elf. 'Inside, Linky.'

Bellatrix was in the main parlour, pulling dust sheets off the furniture, jaw clenched, Hermione standing awkwardly behind. Rodolphus came in and smiled, trying to defuse the tension. 'Love, shall we go and see your rooms?'

Hermione nodded cautiously. Was that the right answer? Bellatrix sighed and let the dust cloth drop to the ground. 'Well, come on. I shan't attack you, you know.'

The three tramped up the stairs and into the family wing, every step reminding Rodolphus of something. He led them past the master bedroom and to the rooms at the end, the ones that had belonged to the daughters of the family as long as anyone could remember.

Hermione was tugged a little from her fear by sheer wonder. 'It's just like a fairy story room.' She looked round at the tapestries, the huge bed, the window seat, the vast teak wardrobe.

'Is it? Explore, precious, won't you? Mother and I will be right back.'

Beside Hermione, Rinky looked determinedly at the dust and general disuse. Malfoy house elves would come later and clean the serious dirt, but for the moment, he would do what he could.

Hermione sat heavily on the window seat, throwing up clouds of dust. 'Rinky?'

'Miss?'

'That was scary, wasn't it?'

Rinky nodded. 'Very scary, Miss.' He shirred softly, so softly that it was barely at human hearing range, and watched as Miss processed what she'd seen. 'Does this happen often? With wizards?'

'No, Miss.'

Hermione nodded. 'I hope I don't ever make Mother angry like that, don't you?'

'Yes, Miss.' Hermione rested against the cold stone and let her eyes close for a moment.

Rodolphus and Bellatrix were poking about in the master suite, which was nearly untouched. 'Was that scene in the courtyard necessary, Bellatrix?'

'Ask your aunt.'

'Must you rise to the bait every time?'

'It's my nature. You know that.'

'Ordinarily it would be fine. But the child was disturbed.'

'She knows I wouldn't hurt her.'

'She was afraid.'

Bellatrix huffed. 'I'll talk to her, then. She needs to understand how things are.'

'I think she's rather gathered you and Aunt hate one another.'

'I won't have that old woman being nasty to Hermione. If she keeps it up, I'll have her locked in her rooms and fed through a slit in the door.'

'She's 117, Bellatrix.'

'Then she wouldn't be missing much, would she?' Bellatrix turned and stalked out. Rodolphus sat down and sighed. He would have to run interference, clearly, because this looked like a morass at best.

Hermione jumped a bit when the door opened and Bellatrix half stormed in. The woman made herself calm down a bit and then forced a smile. 'Like your rooms?'

'I do. There's all sorts of things to look through.'

'Like to poke about, do you?'

'Yes, very much. You?'

'Yes. You're...well?'

Hermione nodded. 'Yes, Mother.'

'Probably nothing would have happened. Out there.'

Hermione nodded cautiously, not knowing what to say. She looked at her shoes instead, and Bellatrix, at a loss for what to do, gave Hermione a few awkward pats on the arm. She wished Narcissa was there so she could ask what to do. She's scared the child; did mothers do that?

At Hogwarts, they were welcoming an apostate home. Having decided to sweep the homes of various 'state enemies' and also some others. One such search had turned up the younger Crouch, maggot pale after ten years of confinement, and giggling in a shrill and disturbing fashion.

Having ensconsed dear Barty in the infirmary, the others spread out. Scabior went to check some of the places he'd never been, more out of restlessness than anything. He wandered, and in due course his wandering brought him to Gyffindor Tower.

Singing a loud and thoroughly off colour song, he saw something move from the corner of his eye and drew his wand. 'Flower? Zat you?' He hoped not; there were bad men about. He ought to know, being one.

It was not the girl, but a sleek grey rat, looking more than a bit down at the heels (well, paws). The little creature moved closer and rose on it's hind legs, begging. Scabior laughed. 'Well aren't you clever, then? Sum tyke left you, yeah?' He squatted and held out a hand.

The rat seemed almost to understand. It cocked it's head and then clamoured into Scabior's palm, whiskers twitching. Without warning, it dove into a pocket and came out with a bit of cracker Scabior had forgot about.

'Heh. Spose there's not no arm in keeping you about a while. What'll we calls you, mate?'

The rat went back to get any crumbs he missed. 'Mebbe I oughts to think on it a bit.' The rat, in apparent agreement, went to sleep in the pocket. Scabior went back to wandering.

The Lestranges returned to the castle a final time. She was sad to leave the school, which she'd loved since she saw it, and the familar if not precisely friendly faces about her, but she had a house to explore, which eased the sting.

And her lessons with Snape would continue, which was good. She helped Rinky pack her things, and then settled down to read and wonder a bit. 'Rinky?'

'Miss?'

'Have you ever lived in a Wizarding house like that?'

'Yes, Miss. Was being born in one, and serving in one until 1985.'

'What happened then?'

Rinky looked sad. 'Being too old. Master Dumbledore is buying Rinky and bringing here.'

Hermione got up and hugged the elf. 'I didn't mean to make you sad, Rinky.'

'Is being all right.'

'Why is Aunt Cunegarde so mean, do you think?'

Rinky looked round the guest room. 'Being afraid. Is very old, Miss. Everything changing very much, is scary.'

Hermione nodded. She liked change. Why wouldn't someone? On the other hand, she imagined being as old as Aunt Cunegarde would make a person grumpy.

'My Nan was old, and she was never grumpy.'

Rinky loved that Miss asked questions and thought about things. 'Do you suppose Professor Snape would want to know?'

'Perhaps. Miss is letting Rinky brush hair? Is messy.'

Hermione huffed. 'I like it messy.' But she sat down all the same and submitted to having it brushed and smoothed out, because Aunt Narcissa told her about how important it was to look nice and neat.

Rodolphus came in and sat on the bed. 'Almost done, precious?'

'Yes, Father.'

'That's a girl. Tell me, do you like the house?'

'It's very old, isn't it?'

'Very. I'm sorry for Aunt Cunegarde. She's rather...obstreperous.'

'Has she always been?'

Rodolphus nodded and felt a little surprised when Hermione sat down in his lap. He still didn't really act like her Dad, but he probably wouldn't threaten to kill anyone. Probably being the operative word.

'Will we see her very often, Father?'

'No, love. Though it would be very kind of you to go and visit sometimes. She's really very lonely.'

'Why?'

'Because she's outlived everyone, darling. Her husbands, her children, her friends. We're all that's left.'

Hermione frowned. 'That's awful. Has she always had blue hair like that?'

Rodolphus laughed out loud. 'No, sweetheart. Let me tell you about when I was a boy. Your uncle and I would go and visit, and we'd...'

In Dumbledore's former quarters, the Dark Lord was pacing. He picked up the boy's wand and swished. 'Legilimens!'

Nothing. He could feel Snape's mind, but everything in it was an impenetrable blur of sounds and images he struggled to understand. He finally put the wand down, seething. 'Enough! Leave me, Severus, I must think.'

Snape bowed and silently traced his way back to the dungeons. He closed himself in his quarters and sent an elf for some tea. Thoughtfully, he gnawed the shortbreads the elf brought him, considering his next move.

The Dark Lord was constrained, nearly powerless in his new form, but the others needn't know that. He could take the direct route and simply slip something into the Dark Lord's food or drink-or even just hold him down and pour a phial of something down Potter's throat.

But if he did, then Potter himself would never return. Snape doubted such a thing was even possible, but he wanted to be sure of that before he assassinated the Dark Lord. And who would fill the void?

Not Snape, certainly. The obvious candidate was Malfoy, with his blond good looks and air of authority, but Snape wondered whether the man's ego would be a problem. Rodolphus was a fighter, not a statesman, and his fanatical loyalty would never allow for a betrayal.

He could, of course, opt to wait, find ways to subtly hinder the Dark Lord as his body grew and become more powerful. It was, after all, possible to arrange an accident if it looked as though things weren't going the way Snape wanted them to.

Snape frowned. His mind kept circling back to the idea of Potter. Surely there was a way to find out what had happened to him. He frowned and rubbed his eyes, sighing, feeling a pang of sorrow that he ruthlessly suppressed. He was doing his best for Lily, that had to be enough.

If he opted against an outright coup, he'd need to make some long term plans. For one, Wizarding Britain couldn't stay closed forever-they would need trade, and they would need allies.

The Dark Lord, thank God, had the attention span of a child as well as the powers of one. He would agree to whatever Snape-and Malfoy-suggested. How to persuade Malfoy, then?

Trade, of course. He would back Snape's plans in return for fat trade subsidies, ideally. Snape would start making discreet inquiries, and then deal with the sticky problem of diplomatic ties a bit later.

A knock came at the door. 'Sir?'

'Come in, Scabior.'

The man stepped in, looking as unctuous as Snape remembered. 'Evenin sir. Lestrange sends is compliments.'

'I presume, Mr. Scabior, you've not come as Lestrange's errand boy.'

'Not atall. E wuz wonderin whether you'd be attendin the meetin tonight.'

'Meeting?'

'Nothin formal. Come as you are, like. Special entertainment.'

'I shall have to decline. I shall be brewing if his Lordship doesn't require my attendance.'

'Awright then.' As Snape watched, a grey head poked from Scabior's pocket, pink nose twitching. 'Ello there, chum. What's doins?'

'Is that a part of the official uniform these days?'

'No, sir. Jus found the lil fellow in the dorm.'

'Oh?'

'E doan ave no one else, after all, and it's not like e'll eat much, yeah?'

Snape reached out a hand. 'I've seen this rat before. Which dorm?'

'Gryffindor, sir. All by imself, e was, scrabblin about.'

Snape nodded. The rat jumped into Scabior's palms. It didn't act like rat Snape had ever seen-it's eyes seemed too...something.

'May I see?'

Scabior handed the rat, squeaking, over to Snape. The rat thrashed wildly, gnashing and wriggling. 'Now, chum, you be nice.'

Snape tightened his hold. 'It's missing a toe. That's strange.'

'Is e? Musta been a cat.'

'I should be surprised. Why don't you let me take it and examine it for anything further?'

Scabior nodded. 'Would you? Be right decent of you, sir.'

'I've a potion which will rid it of any vermin, as well.' Snape couldn't have cared less about the rat, of course, but Scabior might be worth cultivating. And something about the rat was really very strange.

It took Snape almost forty five minutes to get rid of Scabior, but he finally managed it and, having sent the rat ahead with an elf and ordered it caged in advance.

After the promised flea dip, during which the little bastard tried to bite him, Snape finally stunned the damned thing and began to examine his books for any explanation of the weird behaviour of Scabior's new pet.

'"Chum", incidentally, is a very stupid name' said Snape sourly to his subject as he fruitlessly skimmed a third book. Nothing at all. He frowned. Perhaps the rat was simply very intelligent. Stranger things have happened.

But it nagged him. 'Elf.' One appeared, bowing, and Snape waved as it irritated. 'Fetch me the Gryffindor Tower elf.'

A second elf appeared, bowing as much, and Snape said 'Whose rat is this?'

'Being Master Ron Weasley's, sir.'

'And how did it loose a toe?'

'Has always had toe missing, sir, since it was being Master Percy Weasley's rat.'

'How long was that?' Rats, Snape knew, lived to be two, or perhaps three. The elf's face worked. 'As long as Peasy is knowing Master Percy, sir.'

Snape shook his head. 'That must be wrong, a rat doesn't live that long.'

'Peasy is sorry, sir!' The elf began to sob, and Snape waved it out and swished his wand. 'Go.'

Nothing about this made sense. Snape finally just grunted and swished a diagnostic spell. Had Arthur Weasley tested some kind of muggle drug on it? Had the auror-Weasley used it to try out some estoric hex?

The spell flashed green and then a pulsing red. Snape cursed and cancelled it. 'Unreadable? This is positively the stupidest thing I have ever...' His mind was working it over, digging out nuggets of insight from the flashes which rocketed his brain like a lightening storm.

'Unless...' A smile slowly crossed his face and he raised his wand again and murmured something. A flame flared under a burner and Snape flicked at the rat, hovering it over the flame, not close enough to burn but close enough, hopefully, for the effects of whatever weird magic the thing was under to reveal it-how else would the creature have survived as long as this?

The rat screeched and writhed. Snape's instincts saved him next, because, as he watched, the rat flowed, changing, and then, to his shock, assumed a human form. Snape raised his wand and snapped. 'Incarcerous!'

The figure fell. 'Severus? Severus Snape?'

'Pettigrew? You're _dead_.'

'No, not dead. When Sirius attacked me, I...'

'Cut off one of your fingers and then hid. Animagus, are you?'

'Yes, but please, don't tell anyone!'

'If Black didn't kill you, what did happen?'

'I, uh, you must understand, you see, that, that...'

Snape rose. 'Well, the Dark Lord will sort it all out, I'm sure.'

'NO! NO, NOT HIM!'

Snape's mind was swirling. 'What did you do, Pettigrew?'

'I-'

'What-did-you-do?'

Pettigrew fell to his knees, blubbering. 'I never meant him to!'

'Get _up_. Meant whom to do what?'

'I only meant them to take the boy!'

Snape's mind was swirling at a sickening pace. 'You gave them up. Not Black, you.'

'I didn't mean-'

'Shut. Up.'

Snape could kill him. Tell Scabior the rat ran. No one would know. It would avenge Lily. Wouldn't it?

Snape smiled darkly. He and the rat were, at some level, brothers. 'Get up. You're mine now.'

'Severus, I-'

'Shut up. You'll spy for me during the day and then report back to me at night. You'll do what I tell you, when I tell you, how I tell you. If someone needs to die, you'll do it for me.'

Pettigrew was expendable, unlike the Lestrange girl or Scabior himself. And Snape would use him that way, and, once he'd outlived his usefulness...perhaps a special entertainment could be arranged.

Snape was still smiling. 'Well, "Chum", shall we go over your first assignment?'

'I don't...'

'You do now.'


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: Love for reviewers and Countess Black**

**WARNING: Per CB, I am obliged to ask you have your brain bleach open and ready. The author gives no guarantees that you will ever view rats the same way again.**

** Also, old timey words.**

Bellatrix raised her eyebrows at her husband and set down her fork. 'A dinner party, Rodolphus? You want me to throw a _dinner party_?' She said it in the tone that others reserve for "multiple murder" and being Bellatrix, she might have preferred that alternative.

Rodolphus finished his bite of fish.' Yes, so the others might come and visit. It would be very gracious of us to invite His Lordship, would you say?'

Bellatrix was torn between the pleasure of His Lordship's company and the whole idea of playing the housewife. She glowered darkly, sipped some wine, and glowered a bit more.

Beside her, Hermione was studying the table cloth. She had no wine to sip, of course, but other than that she felt a bit like Bellatrix, not at all interested in what would probably be a boring night of starchy clothes, conversation no one would explain, and people asking her stupid questions.

From the other side of the table, Cunegarde made a sour, triumphant moue with her mouth. 'Hmm, what a surprise, my nephew's wife is as poor a hostess as she is at everything else not related to this little cause of hers.'

Bellatrix's hand tightened on her knife, but only for a moment. 'Rodolphus, perhaps we ought to have dear Cunegarde removed, she's raving again. Such a shame when the brain goes in old age, isn't it?'

'Listen here, you insolent little hussy-'

'Hermione, precious, how were lessons today?'

'Fine, Father. We made bruise salve. I brought some home for the cabinet, in case we need it.'

'And another thing, why does a girl need all this education? You'll never marry her off if you keep spoiling her this way.'

'Yes, it's much better to make sure she's a nubile idiot. Everyone knows men love women who can't carry on a linear conversation.'

'In my day, girls' mother taught them everything they needed to know.'

'In your day, dragons roamed free and people lived in caves. Let me think about it, Rodolphus.'

The next morning, Narcissa smiled as her niece bounded down the stairs, remembering halfway that a Pureblood lady does not bound, and slowly down to walk a bit more sedately. It was awfully hard to scold, though, when the guilty party was hugging one's waist and talking excitedly about what she'd read the night before.

Narcissa sat down and listened as Hermione described her current book.

'Darling, I hear you went and visited Aunt Cunegarde yesterday. Is that true?'

'Yes. She's even grumpier in her rooms than at meals.'

Narcissa nodded. 'Well, I'm very proud to hear that. What did you discuss?'

'Why the world has gone downhill since Minister Finster back in '43, Aunt Narcissa.'

Narcissa covered an unladylike snort with a cough. 'Goodness, that sounds very...informative.'

Hermione nodded, eyebrows shooting up in emphasis. 'Yes. Father says she's a very worthy woman. What does that mean? Mother says it means she's like Medusa.'

Narcissa couldn't cover her laugh this time. She sipped her juice and tried to summon a polite way of explaining the old woman.

Hermione didn't mention that it had been Snape's idea. She would have happily foregone the virtue of visiting the old woman to spare herself the endless tirades and complaints.

One of the advantages of the arrangement between them, Hermione reflected, was that she could tell Snape literally anything and he'd keep it private. She'd felt free to express her discomfort with the woman.

'I don't see why she's so nasty to Mother all the time. All they do is fight. Father says it's because she's very old. Do you think so?'

Snape checked the potion. He was glad his ruse had worked, but the last thing the child needed was basic instruction. He'd been giving her third year potions since their fourth lesson and they were rapidly becoming too easy.

'I'm sure I don't know, Miss Lestrange. What have she and your mother been fighting about?'

'Everything. The temperature of the soup, the fact the elves left a window open, the way Aunt Narcissa is teaching me, _everything_.'

Snape could believe it. Cunegarde had, as he recalled it through his friendship with Rodolphus's cousin Evan Rosier, always been a demanding, shrill voiced harridan.

'Then you've all the more work to do, charming her, haven't you?'

Hermione's face fell. 'Professor, Aunt is _horrid_! I've just told you-'

'That this is excellent training. If you can pass muster with Cunegarde Lestrange, you can pass anywhere. And she'll be lonely, which makes her that much likelier to share information without thinking to whom she speaks.'

Hermione chewed her lip. 'And then you'll give me some information about Ron?'

'I'll find out a few facts, yes. And you'll do the same for me.'

Narcissa smiled, drawing her niece from reverie. 'Are you very excited about the party, Hermione?'

'I suppose so, Aunt Narcissa. '

'Draco will be there. You and he might spend some time together, hmm?'

'Yes, Aunt Narcissa.' Hermione wasn't quite sure how she felt about that, but for her aunt, she would try.

The day of the dinner party dawned cool and calm, promising a night of good weather and stars that night. Everything was more or less ready, but the women did a last check, carefully including Hermione in their works.

'What will you wear, Trixie?'

'The grey is clean.'

'It's a party, Bellatrix. What about the salmon, with a rope of pearls?'

'Narcissa.'

Hermione grinned into her hand. She liked watching the women fuss at one another, especially when Mother tried to pull a rank as the elder of the two (the fact Aunt Narcissa was nearly half a foot taller never dissuaded Mother).

'Hermione, which should your mother wear, darling?'

Hermione considered. 'What about the deep blue? Those are pretty.'

'Bellatrix?'

'Ganging up on me, are you?' But she smiled a bit, and gave Hermione a squint which was her version of Narcissa's approving look. Hermione squinted right back, to Narcissa's amusement.

'And what will you wear, Hermione?'

Hermione looked at her mother. 'I don't know.'

Bellatrix shrugged. 'Perhaps you'd help, Cissy? I'm pants at this.'

'Really, Trixie, slang? Perhaps something to coordinate?'

Hermione nodded obediently, not caring very much either way, truthfully. Her mother's squint deepened approvingly-one could tell by the angle of the head-and she gave the girl a pat.

'Go and rest a bit, would you?'

Hermione's eyes darkened a bit, but only for a second. She threw her arms about her aunt, and, after a hesitation, she wrapped her arms round her mother for a second as well.

They waited for her footsteps to fade before Bellatrix turned to Narcissa. 'Something happened the other day, Cissy.' And she started to tell her sister, wishing she could have made sure Hermione hadn't seen the incident in the courtyard.

Meantime, Snape had brushed his rusty black dressrobes and put his mind to other things. Namely, he was poring over schematics of Azkaban prison, face grim.

Snape's mind kept circling back to the fact of Pettigrew's guilt and Black's innocence. This could be used, perhaps, but how?

For himself, Snape didn't care whether Black rotted in the deepest bowels of that hell. But if managed properly, Black could be a lifeline into what the other side-and there was an other side, of that Snape had no doubts-was doing, and provide valuable links to what would surely set itself up as a government in exile before long.

But how to manage it? How to have a hand in both pies, that was the question. Snape rose and stripped down, stepping into the shower for the party he'd somehow been dragooned into attending against his will. At least he'd get to see the girl and watch her watching the others.

Had he been a different sort of man, Snape might have found himself as charmed by the girl as others did, which would have been disastrous. Narcissa, he gathered, had quite fallen, which was all well and good for a doting aunt but not for a spymaster, and especially not a man running Wizarding Britain.

Which was why he was insistent that Hermione regularly visit her father's great aunt. The old woman was of that generation, stern, implacable and unyielding, which would give no quarter for mistakes of even the most gentle and accidental sort. The girl was getting a wholly different education from the old bird, one that, while painful, would certainly stand her in good stead.

And then there was Scabior. Snape had had the man in school, and was familiar with the details of his crime. He was sure the fellow would be useful to him. It was Scabior's apparent interest in the girl, no matter how (admittedly) innocent and fraternal, which worried him. He had no reason to suspect the man of anything inappropriate, and the girl _was _Lestrange's daughter, but still...

He shook it off, dried his hair, and dressed quickly, and went to await the Dark Lord's pleasure.

Hermione, dressed in bright peacock blue robes, squirmed as Rinky smoothed the last curl into place and adjusted the thin silver band in her hair. She was excited to be going to a party, even if she had to spend the night with Draco Malfoy, who was a pillock.

Rinky opened the door and they walked down, Hermione taking care to walk sedately, with her shoulders back and her neck at the right angle to show it to advantage.

Narcissa beamed as her niece walked carefully down the stairs. She was resplendent in deep sapphire, to go with the other ladies, and she opened her arms as soon as she saw the girl.

'Darling, you remember your uncle and cousin.'

Hermione looked up at her uncle, who towered over her, and made herself smile. 'Good evening, Uncle.'

'Good evening, Hermione. How are you?'

'Well, and you?'

'Very pleased to be here. You've met Draco, I'm sure?'

Draco nodded. 'H'lo.'

'Go and get to know one another until it's time to greet the guests, children.'

Hermione led Draco toward the chairs at the other end of the room.

'Have you finished your summer lessons yet?'

Draco nodded. 'They were easy. You?'

'Yes.' They stared awkwardly at one another for a moment, almost out of things to discuss. Draco decided he'd clearly have to be a good example, just as Father had said.

'May I see your rooms?'

The three ( Rinky was chaperoning) tramped up the stairs. From the other end of the corridor, there came an enormous racket of shouts and shattering china, the old woman's voice ringing ill temperedly over it all.

'What's that?'

'Aunt Cunegarde. She's throwing things at her maid again.'

'Why?'

Hermione shrugged. 'She's 117 and grumpy.'

'Oh. Where are your things?'

Hermione gestured about them. 'I don't have much. Mainly I spend my time in the library.'

'Aren't you bored without anything to do?'

'No. I spend time with your mother, and visit Aunt Cunegarde, and read. We've a good library here.'

'Oh. What did you do for fun before?'

Hermione looked at the rather scuffed rug. 'Muggles have other things. Mainly I read, but I liked to listen to music, and to watch telly sometimes.'

'What's telly?'

'Like a radio with pictures.'

Draco decided to move onto another topic before she cried or something and he got blamed. 'Can I see your library, then?'

When Bellatrix went to check on the children, she found them both in the library, poring over an old atlas. '...to York in under a day, which was fast then.'

'Was he successful?'

'Barely. It almost killed him, he was under fire from the goblins the whole time. They call him Hotbroom, in the history books.'

Bellatrix cleared her throat. 'Almost time to receive, Hermione.'

Hermione turned. 'Hello, Mother.' Draco turned as well.

'You're my Aunt Bellatrix.'

'Yes.'

'We met when I was a baby.'

'I was there the day you were born.'

'Really?'

'Yes.' Hermione waited politely for them to finish the conversation. She had been practicing her responses all day. She wanted very much to make Aunt Narcissa proud of her, and to let Draco know that just because her other parents were muggles didn't mean they were bad people, or had raised her poorly.

The first person they saw was Cunegarde, in fuchsia robes and a rope of diamonds that hung nearly to her wizened stomach. 'There you are, girl! Sneaking off with boys already, are you?'

'No, Aunt Cunegarde.'

'Hmmph. You're a fast piece, like that mother of yours.' The old woman's face screwed up. 'And you're Abraxas Malfoy's boy, are you?'

'No, Madam. Abraxas was my grandfather. My father is Lucius.'

'That's what I meant. Go and get me some punch, boy, I'd have a word with Rodolphus's daughter.'

The old woman stared at Hermione with gimlet eyes. 'I've my eye on you. One misstep and I'll cane you myself, understand?'

Hermione forced herself to remember that Snape had promised her word of her friends. 'I won't do anything wrong, Aunt.'

'You'd best not.' The old woman gave her fierce glare and then frowned sharply. 'And see that you help your aunt and that woman your father married, you're a Lestrange.'

Hermione stood beside the other ladies, offering her cheek for kisses and making pleasant conversation with the people who came in via Floo, dropping their capes for the elves to pick up.

Scabior, got in a truly stunning shirt of bright ochre, dark green trousers, and a waistcoat of burnt sienna, with matching robes and his top hat, decorated for the occasion with a ribbon rosette.

He bent over the hands of all three ladies. 'Ello ma'am, Madam Lestrange, Miss.' He tipped Hermione a wink and wandered off to find some gin and a few friendly faces to drink it with.

At Hogwarts, Snape was briefing Wormtail. 'And do make sure you get copies of all the papers, I want to know what's been going on at Bellatrix's end as well. I'll get you at dawn, in the same place you're dropped.' Pettigrew nodded, face a sickly grey, and changed into Wormtail. Snape scooped the rat up and shoved him into a concealed pocket, buttoning it shut in case the bastard got any ideas about running off.

He stepped through the Floo and came out a few moments later, slightly sooty but none worse for the wear. 'Bellatrix, Narcissa, Miss Lestrange. How nice.' In Snape's utterly neutral voice, any emotion could be read.

He looked down at his star pupil, his little spy, and said 'Miss Lestrange, would you be so kind as to introduce me to your great- great aunt? It has been some years.'

Hermione nodded. 'Mother, may I?'

Bellatrix nodded. 'That's fine.' Snape's solemnly led Hermione across the floor to the place where the old woman rested in state on her chair, glowing like a fever spot in the midst of the room.

'Aunt Cunegarde, this is Professor Snape, of Hogswarts School. Professor Snape, my great great aunt.' Snape bent over the little claw, thinking the situation even more ideal than he might have imagined.

The old woman wouldn't fall prey to the girl's charm. She would sharpen her ruthlessly, like a whetstone, and in the end, with all these forces, Hermione would like a diamond, glowing but hard, polished to a sheen. He'd have to see that an appropriate setting was found, a place Hermione's brilliance could shine.

'Honoured, Madam. Evan always spoke well of you.'

'Friends with Evan, were you? His little Halfblood friend?'

'Yes, that's me.'

The old woman stared at him for a moment. 'You've risen in the world since we last met. See you don't get above yourself. And you, girl, why have you left the receiving line? It's not for a Lestrange to ferry a Halfblood about; let an elf do that.'

Hermione swallowed, mortified, and scared the Professor's feelings had been hurt. 'Aunt, Professor Snape gives me lessons every day. It's the least I can do to show my thanks.'

The old woman snorted and Hermione grabbed Snape's sleeve and tugged to hurry him on. 'Snape!'

'McNair, Akantha, how nice to see you. Thank you, Miss Lestrange.'

Hermione slid back into her place. 'Aunt Narcissa! Aunt Cunegarde was very rude to Professor Snape.'

Narcissa frowned and patted her niece's arm. 'Professor Snape's thick skinned, Hermione. He'll be all right.'

Draco, who was standing beside his father, overheard this and sidled closer. 'The old woman was rude to _Snape_?' That was, as far as Draco could see, a death wish. His eyes flicked to his Head of House and godfather, who was chatting with Walden McNair and his wife.

'Mother, may Hermione and I go and see the gardens before dinner?'

Narcissa looked at Bellatrix, who looked back. 'The elf will be there.'

'Both of you stay on the path, and don't get dirty or romp about.'

'No, Mother. We'll just chat.'

The children wandered out the doors and onto a terrace which led to the gardens, which were overgrown from five years of neglect.

'That old woman is a dragon!'

Hermione laughed. 'Yes, she is, but it's a good chance to practice my manners.'

Draco nodded. 'So we're cousins. That's strange. Like something out of a book.'

'Yes.' They wandered carefully on the gravel, Draco thinking it was dreadfully plain with no peacocks or fountains or statues, and Hermione thinking that she'd never been in nicer gardens-all wild and green, like a jungle.

'We haven't always got along, Malfoy, but I hope we can now.'

Draco stopped and sat on a bench. 'We're cousins, of course we'll get along.'

Hermione had never had cousins, and wondered how he could take it for granted. 'Your mother's nice.'

'My mother's wonderful. So is my father. What's yours like?'

Hermione considered how to be both truthful and polite. 'He's very tall. And he likes to read out loud.'

'Well, yes, but I mean, is he very strict with you?'

'No, not really. He doesn't like it when I do something he thinks is dangerous, but otherwise he's all right.'

'Fathers are like that.' Draco had a million questions about muggles and everything to do with them, but he was mindful of Father's dictum about tact. He fiddled with the sleeve of his robes.

'That creepy bloke in the top hat, what's his name?'

'Scabior.'

'He's sort of weird.'

Hermione nodded, not wanting to talk about what she'd seen him do, and the incident where he'd taken her back. 'A lot of them are.'

'Well, they're criminals, you know. Not like us.'

Hermione said nothing, just looked at the moon, which was three quarters, hovering above them, shining on the water of the little pond.

'What's Mother teaching you?'

Hermione sighed and started to explain what it was to be a Pureblood lady.

Snape sipped his rum punch and people watched. Akantha McNair had drunk too much and was swaying a little as she talked with Adelbert Nott. Rodolphus was chatting with Lucius Malfoy and Scabior, and his wife was sitting beside the Dark Lord, smiling adoringly.

Snape handed his empty glass to an elf and asked discretely where the necessary was. The elf pointed him to a small room down the corridor. He slipped out of the salon and made his way down. Perfect.

He opened his robes and set Pettigrew on the ground. The rat panted pointedly, glaring up at him with beady little eyes. 'I couldn't precisely drop you in the salon, you know. And don't get caught.'

The rat squeaked indignantly and took off with a flash of tatty grey fur. Snape drew out the flask of potion and downed it. It would neutralise the affects of the alcohol he was imbibing, which would leave his mind clear to observe those round him. He wondered whether any of the others would have done so and doubted it. The potion was expensive, and hard to make besides.

Coming out, he was treated to the sight of Alecto Carrow and Jonas Avery, kissing passionately in a niche. He shook his head and pretended not to see, wishing he could rely on whiskey to dull the pain of that particular visual.

An elf appeared and whispered in Bellatrix's ear. She waved a hand at it. 'Then find my daughter and nephew. before you announce it, idiot.'

An elf appeared, bowing. 'Young Master, Miss, is time for dinner.'

Draco stood. 'We'd best hurry or they'll scold.'

Hermione wished she didn't have the leave the garden, which was cool and calm and nice, for the party, which she suspected would be dull and long. But she rose and followed, thinking that Draco would know if anyone would.

'There they are. Did you enjoy the garden, children?' Rodolphus smiled and gently touched his daughter's hair. They both nodded. 'You're my uncle, then?'

'I am. Rodolphus Lestrange. You're Draco?'

'Yes, sir. Nice to finally meet you.'

'The same. You'll be sitting between your father and myself this evening, so we'll get to know another.'

The elf rang a bell, and the group moved almost as one toward the dining room, partnering off automatically. Hermione found herself between her mother and Narcissa as the cream of Death Eater Britain filtered in, laughing and talking.

Dinner itself was delicious, and not nearly as boring as Hermione had feared. She listened quietly, aware she could parcel some of this out for days to Snape, especially as they were seated at opposite ends of the table.

Alecto Carrow, the female Death Eater she'd bit, was across from her. The woman was looking very intently at a nondescript man called Avery, who was beside Yaxley but kept casting her longing glances.

And, of course, there was Aunt Cunegarde, whose stentorian voice rang over them all like the sound of a firebell. 'Shameful, the way these young people are today!'

Polite nods. 'And the way they dress! A beggar child wouldn't have been seen like that, in my day!'

Upstairs, a sleek rat, growing fat again on wheat crackers, biscuits and cut fruit, was sliding through the corridors of the house like an illness. He poked his whiskery face in corners and climbed into nooks and crannies, sniffing for anything of value.

He found little of note in most of the rooms, though he absently recorded the smells he encountered, including a very attractive female rat with whom he shared a few moments of flirtation, flicking his ears and twitching his whiskers attractively.

The female indicated that she was willing, and Wormtail climbed atop her, grunting, as he dug into her nape with his sharp little teeth. He'd not had a good roger in forever, and when he was done, he groomed her head in thanks and then, almost as an afterthought, asked with his tail whether she knew where the Humans slept.

The female led him along a series of cracks and water pipes until they came to the master bedroom. The female hesitated, scared to go where the Man-stink was on everything, so Wormtail, with a little bow of thanks, slid out and down the wall, watching for elves.

He concentrated, his form ripping and changing as he stood, a man, and started to poke about. He went to the desk, which was open, and began to rifle as quickly and neatly as he could.

He got several letters and copied them onto the clean parchments Snape had given him, making sure to replace everything as neatly as possible. He thrust it all into his coat pockets and then changed back, returning to his startled paramour.

She cocked her head in wonderment. Was he a Rat, or a Man, or something else?

Both, he signalled, and neither. And, because of that, he would appreciate her discretion in this matter.

Of course, she twitched back, and invited him to share some nice mouldy fruit she'd got from the kitchens. They had a good meal and another quick tup, for, the lady rat had determined, such a rare specimen would give her strong young indeed.

The guests would be staying the night, of course, since most of them would be too drunk to Apparate. The odds a spontaneous raid would take place were also high, which was why the hot cocoa the children would be served was laced with a gentle sedative. Just enough to deepen their sleep and assure that no untoward noises would ruin their rest.

In the meantime, they changed into their bedclothes and decided to play a game of chess. Downstairs, the party was starting to get a little loud-the after dinner coffee was more brandy than anything, and someone had started a chorus of 'Odo the Wizard' that was probably a bit spicier than some of those attending might have liked.

Hermione set out the pieces. 'White or black?'

'Black. Are you excited about second year?'

'I suppose so. You?'

Draco shrugged. 'Not really. I'd rather we learn the interesting things, but that doesn't happen for another few years after the coming one.'

'We have to learn the basics first.'

Draco huffed. 'You and Mother.'

'She _is_ teaching me.'

Draco nodded and they started to play. 'What have you asked for? For your birthday?'

Hermione raised her eyebrows. 'It's not until September.'

'No, it isn't. Father says it's in June, because of...you know.'

'I'd forgot. I don't know. Usually we went on trips for the day.'

'Trips?'

'Bath, Stratford on Avon, you know.'

'Oh.' Draco thought that sounded terribly boring. And anyway, he suspected her parents-her _real_ parents, not those muggle impostors-wouldn't have time at the moment.

'Or the seashore. I like the sea.'

'I don't. I get sunburnt, and the sand gets everywhere, and there's gulls and whatnot.'

'That's the fun of it, though.'

'I'd rather see a city. I like cities.'

Hermione moved her piece. 'What about you?'

'I wanted a new broom. I'm to be Seeker, you know, if I'm lucky.'

Hermione, who didn't care about Quidditch, nodded politely. 'That's exciting for you.'

An elf popped in. 'Young Master, Miss, is almost bedtime.' The elf sat down the tray and the children both drank their cocoa.

'Thank you, Neery.'

Hermione rose to see her guest out. Draco would be sleeping in the room next to her parents, across from the bedrooms occupied by the Lestranges. 'Good night, Draco.'

'Good night, Hermione.'

The two of them parted ways, and downstairs the party got louder and drunker. There was, indeed, a raiding party sent at just after eleven. Which was good, as it saved Rinky the moral quandry he was facing.

Miss lay face down, sobbing, the talk of her parents, however oblique, making her ache mercilessly. He'd been ordered not to tell anyone, but his first impulse was to find Madam Narcissa and then punish himself.

Narcissa, of course, was not on the raid. She'd taken something herself and gone to sleep, preferring to deal as little as possible with the baser side of all this.

All the same, Rinky was disquieted. Miss lay worn-out after her crying jag tapered off, chest hitching. 'D-don't tell anyone, Rinky, promise?'

Rinky nodded regretfully. 'Rinky promises.'

The sedative was finally taking hold, and Hermione, sighing, rolled over and slept without another word.


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: Love to reviewers and Countess Black**

**Mea Culpa: To answer the question many of us have been forced to comtemplate, in this universe, animagi are sterile in animal form, but fully capable. Frankly, most of them don't want to. Wormtail's a freak. **

**NB: Bellatrix is stil a legilimens, but (again, in this universe) it's not the safest venture, especially on a child, and not something to be attempted casually. So Snape might eventually teach Hermione how to occlude, but not until he has to.**

**NB II: A 'coming out' used to be a party to celebrate a girl reaching the age to start courting. An at-home was a day every month when a woman was socially 'in' and would host her friends to play cards, gossip and snack. **

Hermione poked her head into the trunk and came up with a delicate set of peach silks, spangled with glass beads as delicate as frost. 'This one's pretty, Rinky. Do you think?'

'Very pretty, Miss.'

Hermione set it aside for closer inspection and dove back into the trunk with enthusiasm, coming up with a mantle in pale buttery yellow. She stopped and held it up, debating, and put it with the peach.

After she'd found a nice pile, Hermione shucked off her own robes (still Trelawney's rather tatty fake velvets, cinnamon brown and a bit threadbare) and tried on her selections.

Handing the ones she liked to the elf, she dug about again and found some for Bellatrix. 'Mother's hair is so dark, blue really makes it stand out, don't you think?'

Rinky could hardly hide his smile. Miss had undertaken to find some new things for the ladies, to vary their wardrobes a bit at Aunt Narcissa's suggestion. The family vaults had been unfrozen, and new elves were on the way, including a seamstress elf.

With Rinky toting her finds, Hermione came back downstairs and made a beeline for her room, kicking off her shoes and opening the wardrobe so they could hang everything up.

Rinky pulled a fresh robe from the few that hung on the hangers and helped Hermione off with hers, which was dusty. She was biting her lip. 'Miss is being all right?'

'Yes. I don't want to go and see Aunt, do you?'

'No, Miss.'

'But Snape will be cross with me if I don't. And anyway, it's a good deed.'

'Yes, Miss.'

Hermione, feeling a bit self pitying, sighed and then sat down for Rinky to give her hair a brush. The elf dragged a hairbrush threw the thick nest of curls, smoothing everything and then putting a band in to control the wisps, which we already startng to frizz already .

Hermione thanked him and got up, already cheerful again. 'Well, soonest begun, like Mum always says, right?'

Rinky spelled the door open. In his heart of hearts , he knew the muggles weren't alive anymore, if they'd been at all since this thing started. He looked down on his little witch, walking briskly, smiling at the other elves, and felt a terrible pang.

Hermione knocked on the door to Aunt Cunegarde's rooms and was huffily bidden enter. 'You're two minutes late, girl. Have you no sense of time?'

'Sorry, Aunt. I was getting ready.'

'And what were you doing that you weren't ready, hmm? Grubbing about in the dirt like some common peasant child?'

'No, Aunt Cunegarde. I was in the attic.'

'The attic? What in the world were you doing there?'

'Exploring' said Hermione, hoping she'd be invited to sit down. 'It's brilliant up there.'

'And got dirty playing in the dust, like a scullery elf.'

'Not very, Aunt. There's lots of clothes and such up there, and trunks, too.'

'Hmmph. Well, sit down, don't just stand there.' Hermione lowered herself carefully on the divan as her great great aunt gave her a gimlet eyed look of mingled pleasure and annoyance.

'Did you like the party, Aunt?'

'It wasn't a candle on the parties I had when my husband Clovis was alive. Now, _those_ were parties. Your mother doesn't have nearly the acumen that women in my generation had for these things.'

'What sort of parties did you have?'

The old woman sniffed and held up her lorgnette. 'My moon viewings were famous. And my at-homes! Every third Wednesday, the very best people would come and join us for tea and cakes. Not like today, with the young people thinking they're too good for all that.'

'What else did you do?'

'Balls. My father, Aeneas Lestrange, spent ten thousand galleons on my coming out, and that was when money was worth something.'

'What's a coming out?'

The old woman huffed. 'A party for when a girl enters society. Your father will throw you one, once you're ready to wed.'

Hermione, who thought of her future marriage in only the vaguest terms, nodded. 'Oh.'

The old woman gestured at the elf, who brought forth her work basket, which was full of the fancy work her eyes were too dim to do anymore. 'It's past time you learnt how to do a bit of sewing. That posh aunt of yours thinks herself too good to teach you, but I'm not.'

'Aunt Narcissa isn't like that. She just never learnt.'

'Don't contradict your elders. I would have been ashamed, had my husband been forced to buy shirts and such. Well, don't just look at me, pick it up.' The elf Linky showed Hermione the basics, and in ten minutes, she'd made a simple seam.

'So you've no excuse, for your hands to be idle, have you? Keep you from running off with boys. And another thing, did you see the way that McNair woman was dressed? I swear, you young people, in my day...'

In London, Bellatrix was grinning. She was sitting next to her husband in the office they shared, and munching on a chocolate cauldron with the look of a contented cat.

'I really missed these.'

'As did I.' Rodolphus dug into his own with relish. . He gave his wife a smile and she smiled back, blackened teeth on full display.

'Are you excited for tonight?'

'Of course.' Bellatrix reached for another chocolate, changed her mind, and had a violet cream instead. Her mouth tasted of flowers these days rather than tooth decay, and it felt like triumph to her. She put down her box of sweets and said 'Aren't you excited, Rodolphus? Wish we could go right now.'

Rodolphus smiled. 'Naturally, but it will be all the sweeter for waiting, I would say.'

A functionary knocked and then poked his head through the half open door. 'Madam Director? There's a situation in Bramsgrove which requires immediate attention.'

Bellatrix Lestrange, Field Director of Suppressing Unrest, nodding crisply. 'Call Mr. Yaxley and Mr. Travers, and tell them to assemble the team, then. We'll be departing in five minutes from Floo number 14.'

Hermione took her supper with Aunt Cunegarde, which was, bluntly, a nightmare, as the woman spent most of the meal correcting the way she did everything.

Finally escaping to her rooms, Hermione went to her little sitting room and sat in one of the chairs. 'Rinky?'

'Miss?'

'You're very old, aren't you? I mean, older than most people.'

'Being 203, Miss.'

'You must know about the things Aunt was saying, then. Would you help me understand?' Hermione had brought her work with her, and pulled out the cloth, frowning.

Rinky nodded. 'What is Miss wanting to know?'

Hermione smiled at her elf-friend. 'Everything. And how do I tie it again?'

Rinky settled next to Miss and showed her the knot. Hermione mimicked him, and said 'When I get married, do I really have to do all of this?'

Rinky considered. 'It is depending on whom Miss is marrying.'

'I hope I marry a man who doesn't like parties, then. And buys his shirts ready-made.'

The elf tried not to snort at the baldness of what she'd said. 'Miss is having elves to be doing the work.'

'It's silly, though, to make so much extra work.'

'Elves is liking extra work.'

'Oh. Then I'll have to have lots of parties. But ready made shirts.' Hermione nodded firmly and worked on another seam. Rinky looked down at her and felt a swell of love in his chest for her.

'Tell me a story, then? About a party or something?'

Rinky settled in to play Scheherazade for his Miss, determined to ignore the pangs he suffered whenever he thought of Miss's night-time pains. With luck, the muggles would fade for her, until one day they'd dimmed enough to slip away entirely. It would be for the best, he thought, and started a story about the great Christmas rout he'd helped to orchestrate back in 1871.

At the Ministry, Scabior was preparing for the night's interrogations. He swished his wand and the cell glowed blue. It was a slickly damp cell far below London, low enough down that running water could be faintly heard.

Scabior flicked again the lights flared up. They were officially arraigning the prisoners, and interrogating them in a place where the Dementors couldn't bother the questioners.

Unofficially, it was to be a special entertainment. Scabior felt a tingle of excitement. He reached down and brushed his swelling erection, deciding he'd find a cheap whore once his work here was done.

Everything warded, he ascended the steps, whistling a cheerful tune to himself. He felt a squirm in his pockets. 'Ello, Chum. You're goin ome before tonight. Otherwise you might gets out an make a ruckus, yeah?' The rat squeaked and nestled closer. Scabior reached in and stroked his velvety ears.

'You're a good rat, you are. Mebbe I'll shows you t Flower an let er old you a bit. But not t keep. Rat's no pet for a lil girl, you asks me.'

At Hogwarts, Snape was still looking at his schematics. He resembled nothing so much as a great shiny black bug, feelers twitching, as he put up his head and breathed deeply. He'd have to time this just right, do everything precisely the right way. No room for error here.

The knock came at his door at ten to seven. 'Ello, sir.'

'Scabior, come in. I've the phials right here.'

Snape motioned to the mugs that were sitting on the table, filled to the brim with goblin made ale. 'Join me, would you? You needn't meet up with the others until seven thirty, is that right?'

The man nodded and smiled appreciatively. 'Thas right. Generous of you, thinkin a me at a time like this.'

'Not at all.' Snape smiled, watching as the man drained his mug and then collapsed, right on cue. Snape spelled his body onto the divan and petrified him, just in case. Then he plucked a hair from the man's head and dropped it into the phial of Polyjuice.

He held out his hand. 'Pettigrew?'

The rat appeared and stood, changing back. Snape silently handed him the phial.

At seven thirty, a detachment of handpicked Snatchers, lead by Lemuel Scabior, Floo'd to Azkaban prison to collect the surviving members of the Order of the Phoenix for special interrogation.

Scabior stayed behind to cover their retreat, and shoved a piece of paper under the door of a cell. No one noticed. The prisoners were dropped off and Scabior returned to Hogwarts, where he knocked on Snape's door.

Snape was relaxing, drinking another mug of ale. 'Excellent. Back you go, rat.'

He went to the prone man on the divan and, un-petrfed him, prizing open his mouth and dumped the antidote down his throat.

Scabior shook his head. 'What appened?'

'That headache potion I gave you must have interacted with the ale from earlier. Best hurry back, and thank you for telling me.'

'Tellin you?'

'That the prisoners are at the Ministry. I'll let his Lordship know.'

Scabior pretended he knew what was going on. 'Thank you, sir. I'll tells Lestrange everythin here is good.'

'Do that.'

Bellatrix and Rodolphus got home after one AM, redolent of soap and powder, to cover the smells of less savoury activities. Bellatrix was in a black mood. She threw off her cloak and stalked to the bedroom, stripping to her underwear and then putting on her nightdress.

'Bellatrix?'

'Not _now_, Rodolphus.' She started to pace, feet nearly a blur under the hem of her nightgown. She inhaled and exhaled deeply, pacing. Rodolphus changed into his own nightshirt and said soothingly 'I know you're frustrated, Trixie.'

Bellatrix spun. 'Frustrated? No, I'm not frustrated. I'm angry.'

'So am I, but this is not the way.'

'THEN WHAT IS?' Bellatrix drew and swished savagely, and a row of knick knacks exploded violently. Rodolphus wondered whether he'd have to disarm her when she put her wand down and sat, head in her hands.

'Bellatrix? Trixie?'

'Go away, Rodolphus. Just go away.'

When Narcissa arrived the next day, the situation was very little better. Bellatrix was stalking about, face set. It was Saturday, and she might have welcomed the chance to work and get out of the house. But everything was quiet, and so she stayed in her rooms, pacing, livid, and kept well away from anything breakable.

Narcissa set Hermione to working on her nouns and knocked on the door to her brother in law's study. 'Rodolphus?'

'Hello, Narcissa. Is everything all right?'

'No. Whatever happened last night?'

Rodolphus inhaled deeply. 'We interrogated some prisoners.'

'I know. I mean, why is Bellatrix upset like this? She wouldn't even see me.'

'They didn't have the answers she wanted.'

'What did she want?'

Rodolphus looked distant, past his sister in law and into his soul. 'Someone to blame.'

'She has, hasn't she?'

He shook his head. 'I don't claim to understand how her mind works, Narcissa. I never have.'

Narcissa nodded and returned to her niece. 'Hermione, love?'

Hermione put down her quill. 'Yes, Aunt Narcissa?'

'Your mother had a bad night last night. Perhaps it would be best to let her have some space, all right? It's nothing that you did, love, I promise.'

Hermione bit her lip for a second. 'Mother is angry a lot.'

'Yes, she is.'

'Because of Azkaban.'

'Partly. Your mother has not had the easiest time, love. Our own mother could be a little...well, she was not the most affectionate person where Bellatrix was concerned.'

'Why?'

Narcissa squeezed the child's hand. 'I wish I knew, love.'

Bellatrix kept a lid on her simmering anger for the day. She even managed to emerge long enough to bid her sister a farewell. Snape wasn't coming that day-he had to attend the Dark Lord, he said-and so the child was quietly amusing herself in her room. She wouldn't be going to see her other aunt until after dinner-the old lady felt bilious.

Narcissa's elf had an armful of silks. 'Need new curtains, Cissy?'

'Hermione likes to play in the attic, and so I suggested she find some old things to remake, and she did. She's picked you out some lovely things.'

'Oh. That's good.'

'Bellatrix? Perhaps you'd like to take your supper in your room tonight?'

'What does that mean?'

Narcissa stepped into Bellatrix's rooms. 'Hermione is fragile, Bellatrix. Don't scare her.'

'Doesn't anyone think I can do the simplest thing where the girl is concerned?'

'Of course I do. But you've always had a temper, Trixie, and you know it.'

'We'll be fine, Cissy.' Bellatrix's face had a tight, hard cast to it, and Narcissa found herself murmuring a prayer that Trixie was right. 'And you know that Lucius and I are going to the McNairs tonight, don't you?'

'I remember. We'll be fine, Cissy, really.'

Hermione took Narcissa's advice. She laid very low, reading in her sitting room or else moving the dolls to make it look as though they'd been played with. The very air seemed to be pregnant with something dangerous and dim, but present in ways Hermione couldn't define.

At supper she was quiet, but so was everyone else. Even Cunegarde was uncharacteristically low key. Hermione had already progressed from simple seams to slightly more complex ones, and she decided after supper she'd bring them to show the old woman.

Armed with her own little basket of fancy work, Hermione and Rinky made their way through the darkly lit corridors of the great house, feet silent on the carpets, the walnut panelling seeming to absorb all sounds.

Hermione knocked on the door. 'Well, come in, then, girl.'The old woman gestured imperiously at the divan. Hermione handed over her work and Cunegarde studied it.

'Passable, I suppose. Does that snooty aunt of yours feel as though we've the right to know why your mother's in such a state, or are the Blacks above all that?'

Hermione wanted to scream at the old woman. 'Aunt Narcissa's the nicest person I know. And she had a bad night last night. Mother, I mean.'

'Serves her right, all this running about. I don't know why your father tolerates it. If you weren't the very picture of Klytemnestra, I'd be inclined to doubt you, truth be told.'

'Klytemnestra?'

'Your grandmother, my niece by marriage, and also through our relative Fulvia Wilkes Mulciber, who was her mother and my cousin.'

Hermione was young enough not to quite understand the insult. She nodded politely. 'Oh. And my grandfather was Achilles, is that right?'

'Yes, of course it is. That whole thing with your parents and uncle nearly killed him, you know.'

'Azkaban?'

'What else ? Not that I've ever sided with those muggle lovers, mind you. So far as I'm concerned, they got what they deserved.'

Hermione bit her tongue. 'I'd like to hear more about your coming out, Aunt, if you would.'

The old woman ignored her. 'It'll be a better world once every one of them been taken care of, and then decent people can walk the streets again.'

'Taken care of?'

'Made to behave. They've all got above themselves, just like that Halfblood friend of Evan's. No good can come of that, you mark my words.'

Hermione was terribly confused. 'But Professor Snape's a Death Eater. He's earned his place, hasn't he, because he's so clever?'

'Clever, yes, I'll grant you that. But what good does it do a person of his station? Better he be humble and obedient. And the muggles! They way they behave, killing each other all the time. Our supervision is for their own good, you know.'

Hermione closed her eyes, willing the old woman to shut up, or vanish and leave her alone. It didn't work. Cunegarde kept on like Hell's own metronome.

'And the filth they live in! Like animals, stupid and dirty.'

Hermione could stand no more. 'That isn't true.'

'Oh? Are you contradicting me, little miss?'

Hermione thought fast. 'No, Aunt, of course not. But I've not seen that all of them are like that. Only a few.'

'"Only a few?" Those people that kidnapped you, you think that was acceptable?'

Hermione shook her head. 'They didn't know! It wasn't their fault!'

'Not their fault? Then whose fault was it?'

'The Order. The Order did it.'

Cunegarde relaxed a bit. 'Perhaps they did, but what sort of people take a strange child into their home? Your parents could have been degenerates or worse.'

'They were good to me.'

'More the fools they, then! Taking in a strange child and spoiling her as they did you, and then vanishing like some sort of dodgy peddlers. What kind of people do that?'

Hermione went rigid. 'They didn't go away because they _wanted_ to. The Order took them.'

The old woman shrugged. 'Probably they couldn't deal with having a magical child. Not that I blame them. It was simply too much for their limited minds to accept.'

Hermione stood up, thoughts of Snape forgot, thoughts of being a good spy gone, just needing to get away from the woman before she said something that couldn't be taken back.

Rodolphus was sitting at his desk when Hermione burst through the door, breathing hard. His wife was in the chair, face fixed in a scowl, and muscle memory reacted far faster than either of their conscious minds could remember they even had a child, let alone that this was she.

'Really, girl, must you burst in without knocking? We might have hexed you! And don't you know better than to interrupt the adults when we're having a private talk?'

Hermione went very still. At least, she reminded herself, the woman wasn't yelling. Yet. Her eyes found a spot on the carpet and wouldn't move from it. 'I'm sorry. I should've knocked.'

'Yes, you should, and-'

'Bellatrix, thank you. Hermione, is something wrong?'

If Hermione had been prepared to open up to either of them, she wasn't now. She shook her head. She'd wait, was all, until Narcissa could come. Or Snape. Someone sane.

'You're lying.'

'Yes. I, ah, Aunt Cunegarde...it's not important. Maybe we could talk about it another time.'

Bellatrix was prepared to demand to know what the mad old bitch had done, but before she could, Rodolphus said, very gently 'Darling, why don't you go and have a nice hot bath, hmmm? And then someone will be up to talk about your day, how does that sound?'

Hermione nodded and left without another word. At one level, her feelings were catastrophically hurt, but, like her grief for her parents, she was only somewhat aware of it. Another part wasn't surprised at all, as though she'd always known at some level that this would happen.

As soon as the girl's footsteps had faded, Rodolphus turned and looked at his wife. 'Well?'

'What would you have me do, then?' Bellatrix started to pace again. 'It was your stupid aunt that upset her.'

'You're her mother, Bellatrix.'

'Don't you think I know that? Fat lot of good it does. You'd think I meant to murder her every time she looks at me.'

'You think scolding her for no reasons helps?'

Bellatrix stopped. 'Think you're better at this than I am? You're not.'

'I never said-'

'You needn't .' As Rodolphus watched, his wife's eyes seemed to shimmer a moment. She turned on her heel and strode out without another word.

Hermione let Rinky help her off with her clothes and into the tub. The elf bathed her as rapidly as possible, and, smelling like violet soap and a bit of talc, Hermione came out in her nightgown.

Hermione climbed under the covers and laid back, closing her eyes. She felt rather than heard Bellatrix approach, and when the door opened, she rolled on her side and pretended as though she was sleeping.

Bellatrix sat down in a chair she spelled from over near the wall. The girl was faking, that much was obvious. She reached out and made as though to touch her cheek, stopping her hand a second before they would have touched skin to skin.

The girl didn't move. Bellatrix leant down and tugged the duvet higher, tucking her in more tightly. 'You're the best thing I've ever made' she wanted to say, and 'We only wanted to spare you pain' and 'It kills me that you love Narcissa more, but I understand it' and 'We never wanted children. I wouldn't have wished this' and 'I'm glad you're here' and 'Why don't you ever hug me?' and 'I'm trying to love you. It's not you, it's me'

But she didn't. She was Bellatrix Lestrange, and there was no softness in her, not even for her child. All she could offer Hermione was what anyone could see-fierce resolve, and loyalty, and toughness. But perhaps it would be enough, in the end.

Bellatrix reached down and put her hand on the girl's back, feeling her heart. It was fragile, like a moth in her palm, but it wouldn't be stopped. And the child had a toughness too, one which spoke to Bellatrix at the deepest level-she wouldn't give in and she wouldn't stop.

'It's all right, Hermione.' It wasn't enough. Bellatrix wished she could kill the muggles over and over, because of all the things she resented about them, the fact they'd have known how to soothe the child while Bellatrix didn't hurt the most.

'It's all right.' And they'd got nothing useful from any of the damned aurors, either. Bellatrix wanted a focus for her rage and helplessness, her incompetence in the face of this thing which she was not prepared for and which there were no rules to guide her.

'It's all right.' Parents always lie to children. Hermione knew it, too, because her breath hitched and she rolled over, big eyed. Rodolphus's mother's eyes, large and brown and liquid.

'I'm sorry, Mother.'

'You're a good girl, Hermione.' Bellatrix summoned one of the dolls and held it out to her child, who took it and set it beside herself. Shouldn't she kiss the girl or something? It would feel false, even if the sentiment wasn't.

Hermione closed her eyes and Bellatrix crept for the door, extinguishing the candles with a single flick of her wand.

That night was the full moon, as it happened. In Wales, Greyback's band chased Lady Moon through the trees. At Hogwarts, Peter Pettigrew feasted on chilled grapes and water crackers. And Sirius Black, the notorious murderer, escaped Azkaban prison and swam towards freedom and Hogwarts.

No one but Snape knew that, of course. They had their own battles to fight, and so here we leave them, poised on the edge of a world changing event, whether they knew it or not.


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: Love to reviewers and Countess Black**

**NB: I'm sick of writing 'In this universe' so from now on, assume that unless something specifically states 'Per JKR' or something, okay?**

**To answer a question: Yes, Purebloods do have to know basic self care. Until Dumbledore took over, many children brought elves to school with them as status symbols, but Dumbledore abolished the practice because it was causing problems and seperating the Purebloods from the muggleborns too sharply. Most Purebloods regard this as an unreasonable concession demanded of them, so while they're all capable, as a matter of preference, anyone who can afford it uses an elf.**

When Narcissa came the next morning, she was nearly mauled by Hermione, who flung her arms about her aunt and held on for dear life, saying nothing. Narcissa hugged back, rubbing gently, and said 'Hermione, has something happened?'

Hermione nodded, not letting go. She rested her head against her aunt and closed her eyes, feeling safer now that Narcissa was here and would protect her from...things.

Narcissa murmured softly and guided her niece toward the divan. The child immediately sat down in her lap and rested her head against Narcissa's neck. Narcissa pressed the back of Hermione's head with her hand and started to hum.

Hermione had slept poorly, and the combination of comfort and affection was too much to resist. Her eyes closed and she began to breath very evenly. 'Aunt Narcissa? You won't leave, will you?'

'No, love. I'll stay right here.'

Hermione had been sleeping peacefully for about five minutes when Bellatrix came in. She looked about as well as her daughter, face paler than usual. It didn't precisely take an Arithmancer to work out that the two were related.

Narcissa put Hermione down and covered her with a blanket from the back of the divan. She and Bellatrix sat in chairs close by, and she enclosed them both in a Silencing spell, which would permit Hermione to see them and they her while allowing them some privacy.

'What happened?'

Bellatrix summarised in a flat voice everything that had transpired.

'Oh, Trixie. What did Cunegarde say, exactly?'

'She didn't say. Hermione.'

'Did you ask?'

Bellatrix shook her head, curly hair bouncing a bit. 'She didn't want to talk to me.'

'Did you offer?'

'I came up. She pretended she was asleep. I can't do this, Cissy.'

'Can't do what?'

'I can't be her mother.' Bellatrix was staring straight ahead, watching her child from the corner of her eye, trying to keep her voice even. Narcissa took her hand. 'Of course you can, Bellatrix.'

'Can't. She doesn't want me. Wouldn't even tell me what was wrong.'

'Of course she does.'

'No. She wants you. Or the elf. Or the muggles. But not me.' There was no grief in her tone, but a kind of dry and terrible bitterness that spoke more of resignation than anything.

Hermione stirred. 'Aunt Narcissa?'

Narcissa dissolved the bubble. 'Sweetheart? Are you all right?'

'Yes. Hello, Mother.'

Bellatrix nodded. 'Hello, Hermione. Having a nap?'

'Just for a minute. I don't, usually.' Bellatrix looked between her sister and daughter, wondering what happened now. Narcissa smiled brightly and said 'Love, why don't you and I spend a little time together?' Hermione sat up, still very tired, and watched cautiously as Bellatrix slipped out the door and walked away. Narcissa caught her eye for a second-she'd ferret this out and tell her older sister what had prompted this.

'Darling, what happened?'

Hermione summarised the conversation. 'Is that true?'

'What Cunegarde said, you mean?'

'Yes. Did they really leave because I'm magical?' Hermione was staring at her hands, unwilling to look up. Narcissa cringed internally and resolved to give the old woman a telling off, 117 or no.

'I don't think so, love.'

'Then why haven't they tried to get in contact? They've not written or anything. They could write care of the school and it would find me.'

Narcissa took the little girl's hand in hers. 'Darling, it's possible they've been...well, hurt. Had their memories wiped, or...'

Hermione shook her head. 'Then why hasn't someone found them? Their-their bodies, if nothing else.'

Hermione, though Narcissa with a painful kind of pride, was such a clever little girl. 'I have no answer. I am so sorry.'

Hermione nodded, suddenly looking exhausted. 'I am too.'

'Why didn't you want to tell your parents? They're very worried.'

Hermione shook her head. 'No, I don't think so.'

'No?'

'They've got their work, Aunt Narcissa. And I was an accident.'

'Who told you that?'

'No one. But they...they don't...they didn't mean for it to happen. Else they wouldn't have gone to prison. And she would have known. Mum-Mrs. Gra-she always said she knew from the first she was going to have me. But we know now that wasn't true.'

'And if she-my wizarding mother, I mean-if she'd wanted me, she would have known. I don't blame them. My others parents didn't want me anymore. Why should these?' Hermione's voice was very calm, as flat as Bellatrix's had been.

Narcissa felt like she'd been punched. So this was what was hiding under Hermione's cheerful exterior. She reached out and Hermione flinched. 'I can't.'

'Can't what, love?'

'Please, I can't.' The child's legs curled up and she wrapped her arms round them and rested her face in her lap.

'Why not, Hermione?'

Hermione's answer was muffled in her skirts. She put her head up and said 'Because then you'll leave me, too. I don't want to go through this again.'

Narcissa's eyes stung. 'Oh, love, come here. Shhh, just come here. Only a second, sweetheart.'

Hermione moved closer, watching her aunt, not sure what she should do. She badly wanted to crawl into her aunt's lap and go back to sleep, but she knew it was a bad idea. She'd not been able to restrain herself when she'd first seen Narcissa, but she didn't want to be a bother. If her muggle parents could leave her because of something she couldn't help, what are the odds her wizarding parents would want her if she was annoying or disrespectful or disobedient?

She got a bit closer and let Narcissa settle her again in the woman's lap. She was still tired, but she didn't want to go to sleep. She wanted to enjoy the feeling of security, because she could lose it at any time. She knew that now.

Narcissa had officially upgraded it from a telling off to something involving a few of the nastier hexes she knew. 'Shhh. Shhh. Do you need to cry, love?'

Hermione shook her head. 'I'm too upset. Is that wrong?'

'No, darling, it's not. Maybe rest a bit more?'

Hermione tensed a bit. 'You'll be here when I wake up?'

'I promise.'

The girl clamoured down and consented to being tucked back in. Narcissa called for something to help her get to sleep, and when she left, ordering the elf to summon her the instant that Hermione woke, or ideally before.

Bellatrix was in the library. Rodolphus was on some errand or something (probably off to chew the proverbial fat with someone, she thought) and the women had the house quite to themselves.

At least, thought Narcissa bravely, Trixie took the news better than one might have expected. 'She _said_ that? To Hermione?'

'Yes, apparently.'

Bellatrix was headed for the door. Narcissa leapt up. 'Trixie, don't!'

'I'm not going to wake her, Cissy. Children need rest. Don't they?'

'They do, but we both know where you're going, Bellatrix. Don't. Let Rodolphus do it.'

Bellatrix ignored her. 'Bellatrix, please! This is not the way!' In her current mood, Trixie might not just yell at the old woman-she could kill her.

'Then what is?' Bellatrix sat down on the landing, like a child. 'Tell me, Narcissa, what should I do?'

Narcissa sat down next to her sister, right on the steps. 'Reassure her, Trixie. Reassure Hermione that you love her and would never, ever leave her.'

'She knows that already.'

'Does she? How?'

Bellatrix blinked. 'Because...because...God damn that decrepit old bitch to coldest edge of the Great Wastes.' She looked at her sister, who was, and would always be, in her mind, a ruffled little girl, even younger than Hermione, begging for Bellatrix to let her climb into her bed.

'She really thinks we'll leave her?'

Narcissa sighed. 'Wouldn't you, if you were her?'

'I'd be too angry. Is she? Angry?'

'Not that she said. Is telling her out of the question?'

Bellatrix looked aside herself. 'We'd thought it easier this way, I suppose.'

'It's not. She needs to know they didn't leave her because of something she did. Otherwise, I'm not sure she'll ever be all right again.'

'You're being dramatic, Cissy. She'll get over it, surely.'

Narcissa was no seer, but her conversation with Hermione had given her a window into the child's future; she could see a long, grey vista, coloured by insecurity and doubt, constant dread. Did people _really_ love her? Would they, too, vanish when she ceased to be convenient for them?

And worse than that, a low, worried voice demanding she earn the love of those round her again and again, suppressing herself, making herself useful, afraid, always, that it was not enough, never safe, never open, a life lived in a state of hiatus, waiting for the other slipper to drop.

'No, Trixie. She needs to know.'

Bellatrix half rose and then sat back down. 'There were pictures of her all over the house, you know. She was their world.'

'That's part of the problem, I daresay. She doesn't understand what happened. It came out the proverbial clear blue sky.'

'Did she say that?'

'She didn't need to.'

Bellatrix rose and started up the stairs. 'Trixie?'

'Cissy?'

'I thought you weren't going to.'

'I'm going to go my child, Narcissa. But not until I've had a talk with the old woman.'

Cunegarde was being read to when the door burst open, and her nephew's wife stood before her, hair frizzing everywhere. The woman flicked her wand and a hush fell.

'The _only_ reason I haven't killed you is because Hermione couldn't stand to lose anyone else.'

'It was necessary. The girl needs to be taught. And anyway, you wouldn't dare.'

'Give me a reason-ever-and I'll put something in your food. See how high and mighty you are as your guts squirt out of you and your skin blisters off.'

Cunegarde looked hard at Bellatrix. 'I shall tell Rodolphus about this.'

'As though he'd believe you. Or care.'

'The girl-'

'The girl is eleven. And probably the only person who'd care if you did die, so I'd treat her a bit better. Because the day she doesn't care anymore, I'm dosing you. Remember that.'

The rest of Hermione's day went smoothly. Bellatrix had a number of tasks to do, and left her sister and only child together in order that Hermione should have time to re-adjust a little.

Narcissa left just before supper, promising Hermione she'd be there in the morning and that Hermione could always owl if there was an emergency. The new robes were almost ready, and Narcissa told Hermione about them, distracting her with something innocuous.

Supper that night was simple, as Rodolphus had firecalled to let them know he was detained. Over soup and sandwiches, the ladies studied one another, until Bellatrix said finally 'Tell me something?'

Hermione swallowed her mouthful of prawn bisque. 'Yes, Mother?'

'Why do you go and visit that old woman? You can't like her.'

'No, but I feel sorry for her. It would be terrible to be old and alone.'

'Her behaviour is half of it. She's always been this way, ever since I was a child.'

'You knew Aunt Cunegarde when you were young?'

'Your grandmothers were friends. I'd come here to visit, and she'd be here.'

'Did you know Father as a child, too?'

'Of course.'

Hermione ate a bit more. 'Mother?'

'Hmm?'

'Were you sorry to hear you had a child?'

Bellatrix blinked. 'What?' The girl looked uneasy, and she held up a hand. 'Who's filled your head with such rubbish, is what I mean.'

' I just wondered. I know you've important work to do.'

'Well, yes, we do, but I wasn't sorry.'

'Were you afraid I might interfere with your work?'

Bellatrix ate a bite to give herself some time. 'You know, people in my line of work usually don't have children. I was surprised, but not a bad surprised.'

'Death Eaters don't have children?'

'Mostly they do, but only one or two. And usually both members of the couple aren't Death Eaters, just the man. Men can father children more easily than a woman can carry them in this line of work.'

'You didn't know you were pregnant?'

'No. I had some problems with certain things.' She wasn't prepared to explain menstruation. That was a Narcissa thing, definitely. 'Medi-wizards always told me I couldn't, and it never occurred to me.'

Hermione nodded. 'But you would have been happy?'

'Yes' lied Bellatrix, who would have been absolutely furious had she known. 'And so would your father, and your grandparents, and my mother.'

'And Aunt Narcissa and Uncle Lucius.'

'Yes.'

'Where are my grandparents?'

'Your grandmother Klytemnestra died in 1983, and Achilles died four years later. My mother, your Grandmama, died in 1980.'

'I'm sorry, Mother.'

'Thank you.' Bellatrix felt a slightly annoying surge of pride at how thoughtful the girl was. Not that she could take the credit, but still, it was nice. And when it came time for Hermione to marry, it would be a credit to them.

'What did you and Narcissa talk about?'

'Garden parties, and my lessons with Snape.'

'Snape?'

'I asked whether I'd actually get to use any of what I'm learning. She said sometimes. And I asked whether I'd have to make all my husband's shirts like Aunt Cunegarde said.'

Bellatrix snorted. 'Don't take Cunegarde seriously, girl. She lives in the past.'

'Why does she live with us? Doesn't she have a house?'

Bellatrix signalled the elf to give her more soup. 'She did. But someone had to mind this place after Achilles died, and so she moved in to keep the place from being seized and auctioned.'

'They can do that?'

'Not anymore, since the Dark Lord started to reform the Ministry.'

'And you're part of that?'

'Quite.'

Hermione absorbed this. 'I'd like to help people like that.'

'You will. Everyone's got a place, my girl, from the highest to the lowest.'

At Hogwarts, Snape, using information got from his rat-spy, walked to the base of the Whomping Willow. Just as he'd suspected, there was a large black dog there. Snape stepped into the light and raised his wand. 'I know it's you, Black. You can change back directly and help me or I'll call the Dementors. You've to the count of five. One, two-'

The dog melted and a shadow of Black's former handsome self emerged. '_Snape_?'

'That's right.' Snape kept the wand trained on Black. 'I know everything. And if you want to avenge yourself, then you'll do just as I say, how I say.'

'Why should I trust you?'

'Because you've no choice, you fool. Come here, we're Apparating.'

He Apparated them to Spinner's End and let them in. 'The bathroom is the last door on the right. There's a clean toothbrush on the top shelf of the medical cabinet, and I'll find you something to wear.' He called an elf from Hogwarts.

'Fix a small bowl of porridge and some dry toast, and weak tea with honey. Then make sure the cabinets are warded and tell no one what you see here, understand?'

The elf bowed and hastened to obey. When Black came down twenty minutes later, smelling much better, he gobbled down the hot food and then stared at Snape.

'Why are you helping me?'

'Because you've something I want, of course.'

'What's that?'

Snape summed up the situation, leaving out the part about Pettigrew's new life as Chum the rat. Black listened to the whole thing without much emotion. 'And so that's the price of freedom, is it?'

'Not quite. I'll need regular reports, for one, and also the occasional act of sabotage.'

'I won't work against my friends.'

'What friends? They turned on you en masse, Black.'

Sirius finished the last of the tea. 'They'll figure out I've escaped.'

Snape smiled. 'Will they?'

It was the parchment. Knowing Black would take the bait and run, Snape had got the corpse of one of the 'special interrogation' team's latest victims from one of Scabior's boys for a galleon bribe and a swift Obliviate, and then Transfigured it, using every ounce of his magical acumen to keep it stable for twenty four hours.

Even as Black had fled, the Dementors had been gathering, scenting death, and when the thing changed back utterly, mangled beyond all recognition, they would bury it. As of tonight, Sirius Black was dead, officially and by nearly every other measure.

Black listened to all this with impassivity. 'Ah. You always were a devious sod, Snape.'

'And you a bullying little ponce, Black, but we've no time to reminisce. You'll spend some time here getting your strength back, and then I'll find something for you to do.'

Black nodded. 'All right.'

Snape felt suspicious at best. 'You're taking all this with remarkable elan, Black, for a man whose life was destroyed utterly and then was saved from Azkaban.'

Black looked at the table. 'It's a lot to take in, Snape.'

'Quite. If you need to contact me, use this elf.' And with that, Snape left the man and the elf there, knowing it was well warded and otherwise safe for the nonce, which had to be enough for now.

In Leicestershire, Rodolphus turned to McNair and smiled. 'Really, Walden, you never fail to outdo yourself.'

'I do my upmost.' The man poured a bit more brandy for them both as the elves cleared away the remains of their fun. Both men were wearing clean clothes, and he said 'I wonder, Rodolphus, how you would feel about discussing a marriage between your daughter and my son?'

Rodolphus nodded. 'Your boy is what, twenty or twenty one?'

'Twenty two in November. And your girl is ten?'

'Something like that. She's really closer to about twelve, all things being equal. And mentally I think she's forty or so.' They both laughed.

'By the time she came of age, Wetherell would be twenty nine. He's a rising star in the Department of Magical Transportation, blood is pure on both sides, good looking.'

'I wouldn't let her marry until she was at least eighteen, of course.'

'Of course. And the terms would be, I assure you, most generous.' McNair badly wanted this match, and while his family was cash poor, they had resources enough to compensate when it came to land, houses and the like.

'Of that, I had no doubt.' Rodolphus wouldn't commit just yet-with her exquisitely pure blood, good looks, fortune and adorable personality, Hermione was, without a doubt, the most valuable heiress in Europe, or at least in the top ten.

There was a knock at the door. Both men tensed until Rabastan's long frame came through the door. Rodolphus jumped up, grinning, and hugged his little brother.

'Hello, Rodolphus.'

'Rabastan, you look well. And the giants didn't even squash you flat.'

'Not for lack of trying. McNair, so good to see you.'

'And yourself. I'm trying to convince your brother that a marriage between our houses would be very useful to us both. Do work on him, won't you?'

Rabastan grinned. 'No use, my friend. Rodolphus here is like a stone once he's resolved something, even if it's to wait before he decides.'

'Ah. More's the pity for me, then. I shall have to wait a bit.' He motioned for them to sit down, and the three shared a bit of gossip and snacked on cheese and olives. The Lestranges finally had to excuse themselves, so Rabastan could finally meet his niece, if nothing else, and then Floo'd home to Licolnshire.

Bellatrix heard the Floo go and gently tugged Hermione to her feet. 'It's your father, girl. Let's go and greet him.'

Beside Father was a man who was obviously her uncle. They looked like two peas in a pod, almost identical for all the other man was a bit shorter and clean shaven. Rodolphus smiled and motioned to his child. 'Come and meet your uncle, my pet.'

Hermione came up and looked at her uncle. 'Hello, Uncle. It's good to meet you.'

'And yourself, Hermione. I regret I couldn't come earlier.' He hugged her, marvelling at this continuation of their line, how cute she was.

'Darling, it's almost time for bed, hmm?'

Hermione nodded. 'Yes, Father. Goodnight, Uncle Rabastan.'

'Goodnight, Hermione.'

They watched her go up the stairs, and then the adults sat down. 'How did it go with the giants?'

'Well. I think they'll side with us.'

'What good could they possible be to us?'

He shrugged. 'Trixie, it's not the giants, it's what they represent.'

'I suppose.'

Rodolphus nodded. 'Hermione had a bit of run in with Aunt Cunegarde last night. Did you ever find out what that was about?'

Bellatrix's hand tightened on her cup. 'The old bitch decided to tell her that the muggles ran off because she has magic.'

Both brothers stared at one another for a second. 'That's terrible. Is Hermione all right?'

'No.' Bellatrix inhaled. 'As a matter of fact, I'm going to go and talk to Hermione about it right now. It was good seeing you, Rabastan.'

'And yourself, Bellatrix.'

Hermione was reading. Bellatrix walked in without knocking and sat down on the edge of the bed, using the stool to hop up.

'About earlier...you know that the muggles didn't leave because you're magical, don't you?'

Hermione put her book down. 'Then why did they?'

Bellatrix took the child's hand as she had often seen Narcissa do. 'Don't know. But I don't think it was because of something you did.'

Hermione's eyes teared. 'But why haven't they tried to get in touch? Don't they...' Her voice dropped and she almost whispered the next part. Bellatrix winced internally. She was making a fine muck of this, no doubt.

'If they didn't, they did a good job hiding it.'

Hermione blinked, and then, very softly, 'Mother? Are they dead?'

'I wouldn't be surprised.'

A second later the child was attached to her, head in her neck, sobbing, arms clutching like she was afraid Bellatrix would vanish. Bellatrix felt awkward, as though she might somehow break the girl, but also a bit less helpless than before. A bit.

Hermione held onto her wizarding mother as tightly as she could. Her chest was heaving, sweat dampening her back. Her heart hurt, but part of herself was aware that the feeling she felt most was relief, relief that she hadn't been left after all, though she knew as long as it couldn't be proved either way there would always be a little fear, or thought she knew. But that was for later.

Rodolphus and Rabastan, headed upstairs, heard a sound from the direction of Hermione's rooms. Rabastan excused himself and Rodolphus, worried, let himself in.

'All right, shh, shh, what's happened?'

Hermione didn't answer. Bellatrix shook her head at her husband, lowering her eyebrows and sort of grimacing her with her mouth to let him know to drop the subject.

He sat down on her other side and touched Hermione's damp back. 'Pet, shhh, shhh.'

He gestured to an elf, who came back bearing a phial from their bare potions cabinet, a phial which glinted green-gold. He waited for the child's sobs to taper off and then said, very quietly 'Hermione, when you're ready, I'd like to hug you, all right?'

Hermione nodded but made no move to climb off of Bellatrix, who felt strangely glad to have her there. After what seemed like hours, the girl sat up, and Bellatrix traded places with her husband.

Rodolphus held out the phial. 'This will help you fall asleep, love. There's the girl, all of it.' Hermione handed back the phial and got a bit closer, in hugging range. She slowly leant into Rodolphus, not quite sure how she felt.

Rodolphus held her until she relaxed a bit. The Soothing Syrup was beginning to take effect, he could tell. The girl didn't protest or resist his setting her in his lap, or when he started to rub her back lightly.

Hermione felt very calm. Her insides hurt from crying so hard, but the potion was making everything seem calm and fuzzy and nice. Her eyes were starting to droop, and she nestled closer, breathing deeply.

Rodolphus kept rubbing and waited for her to relax totally before he carefully tucked her back in and spelled the lights out. The Lestranges waited to speak until the door to their rooms had closed.

'Trixie?'

'She's guessed they're dead. No point in pretending anymore.'

'No.' He sat down and motioned for the elf to tug off his boots. 'She doesn't suspect...?'

'No.'

He changed into his nightclothes. 'You know, McNair's asking for Hermione. For his son.'

Bellatrix snorted. 'Really?'

'Yes. I'm not inclined, are you?'

'I'd sooner marry her to one of your brother's giants.'

He laughed and slid into bed. 'My thoughts precisely.'


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: Love to reviewers and Countess Black**

**For clarity's sake: Cunegarde's first husband was Allard Wilkes. Her second was Clovis Mulciber, so she mentions both intermittantly.**

Rinky wasn't sure how he felt about Snape. He admired the man's cleverness, and knew Miss was happy to be resuming lessons, which pleased him, but there was something in the potions master that made Rinky's skin prickle a bit.

He finished the plait and tied a scrap of ribbon on the end. Miss insisted on wearing her oldest and plainest things for lessons, which was, thought the elf with pride, a sign of her clear intelligence.

He opened the door and they crossed the threshold. The potions master was looking at them with mild interest, setting out pans of things. Miss didn't smile, but she kept her composure, another mark in her favour.

'Hello, Professor.'

'Miss Lestrange.' They sat down and Snape explained the day's lesson. 'And what have you got for me?'

Hermione considered. 'I think Alecto Carrow likes Jonas Avery. _Like _likes, I mean. And Draco doesn't care for Scabior very much.'

'I see. Did he mention why?'

'He thinks he's creepy.' Hermione grated bat toenails with no visible emotion, and then stirred them into the brew of hedgehog lungs and adder scales. 'He didn't say why.'

'And you? Do you find Scabior creepy?'

'Sometimes. He's always nice to me. But he stabbed an auror. And hurt someone else, I think. Before.'

'Yes, he did.'

Hermione continued her stirring. 'Mother says it's because war makes nice people do bad things.'

'What else did you notice?'

'People are scary when they drink too much.' Hermione gave a final stir and then set the stirrer down. 'Madam McNair was flirting with the red haired man. Looking at him like Alecto.'

Snape filed that away for future reference. 'That's valuable to know. Can you tell me why?'

'Because Mr. McNair wouldn't like it?'

'Precisely. And so if McNair was starting to be a danger to you, what would you do?'

Hermione thought. 'I would make sure he found out.'

'By telling him?'

'No, because he might not believe me. Could I give them a love potion and then make sure he saw them kissing?'

Snape nodded impassively, delighted inside. His little spy, his star pupil. But something else was wrong. 'What else has happened?'

Hermione told him about Cunegarde. 'And so they...they're probably dead.' Her voice shook ever so slightly but her face stayed smooth.

'My sympathies.'

'Thank you. Do you suppose they are? Dead?'

Snape tested her potion. 'I couldn't say. But if they are, they are beyond your help or that of any mortal. If they are not, the best thing you can do is continue what you're doing.'

'How would it help?'

'The Dark Lord has no love of muggles or muggleborns. The more information you give me, the more I can influence policy.'

Hermione nodded and added her next ingredient. 'Professor?'

'Hm?'

'Why do you ask me about Scabior so much?'

'Life lesson three, Miss Lestrange: Good is not nice. I simply want you to be aware of that.'

'Will he try to...hurt me?'

Snape wondered what she knew of that, or thought she knew. He cocked his head and studied her. 'Has he tried?'

'No.'

'Then I shouldn't think he would, but just because someone is perfectly fine in one context does not guarantee their sanity in another.'

'Is that why Mother gets angry sometimes?'

Snape had no intention of demanding the girl spy for him where her parents were concerned, at least not unless it was necessary. He adopted an expression of complete neutrality. 'Something like that.'

'I was sorry about Aunt Cunegarde, Professor.'

'Don't be. She'll prove useful someday.'

'She's teaching me to sew. And she says things. Who's Evan?'

'Was. Evan Rosier. Your father's cousin. He was a potions master too, a good friend of mine.'

'I'm sorry.'

Snape shrugged. 'It was long ago. How should you twist this thing to your advantage, as far as your aunt?'

Hermione poured the potion into phials, one for her family, the rest for Snape and the denizens of Hogwarts. 'Not visit for a few days?' That's what she wanted him to say, at any rate. She hated the thought of the old woman, whose rooms reeked of perfume and old candle wax and a tinge of urine.

'No! Go back today and act as though nothing's happened. It will touch her.'

'And she'll want me to want to see her because she's lonely.'

He allowed her an approving sort of jerk of the head. 'Precisely. And how do you think your mother reacted when she heard about all that?'

'Anger. Mother has a temper.'

'Yes, she does, and she doesn't hide it. Now, do you think she'd hold back with Cunegarde just because she's old?'

'No. She yelled at her, didn't she?' The girl stopped and looked at her professor, wanting to be right. She could feel the thrill of the chase and imagined herself astride a horse, chasing not foxes but facts, a pack of dogs (not beagles, but big, happy, drooly bags of fur and love, like Hargrid's Fang).

'I should assume so.'

'And Mother threatened to kill her right after we moved in. So maybe she thinks it would be safer if I liked her.'

Had Snape been a different sort, he would have leapt up and danced, delighted by the child's natural facility for these things. How had the Hat not gone Slytherin with her? She was smarter than half his House combined. Of course, he knew the answer, but it still rankled him.

Instead, he gave the usual dour nod. 'Quite.'

At the end of the lesson, Hermione stood and smiled at her professor. 'See you tomorrow, Professor. And thank you.'

He waved her out, pretending not to care that she'd expressed more concern for him than anyone had in almost twenty years. And that his mood hadn't lightened, just a bit, when she smiled.

He returned to Hogwarts and immersed himself in the minutia of governing. Most of the governments of Wizarding Europe had recognised the Dark Lord as the legitmate ruler of Britain, and were requesting audiences in order to start the process of diplomatic relations.

Others had and likely would not. Romania, where most of the exiles had gone, had declared the Dark Lord's regime illegitimate, and opened it's doors to refugees, assuming they could escape past the cordon with which the Dark Lord had surrounded Britain. Others had done nothing, preferring to stay neutral until they knew better which way the wind might blow.

There were internal problems as well, but those were basically under control. Snape turned his attention to the trouble of Walden McNair, who was petitioning for his wastrel of a son to be affianced to the Lestrange girl, despite the ten years between them.

Snape frowned. This wouldn't do. Wetherell McNair was as bad as Akantha, and almost as ugly. He put his mind to it and started answering letters to foreign offices. He perused the letters Pettigrew had stolen for him, in order to have both sides of the conversation, and replied accordingly.

There was the issue of the school, as well. How would they start it again? Where would the Snatchers go? Snape worked tirelessly for nearly three hours and then stood, stretching, prepared to put his scheme into motion.

The Dark Lord was reading in Dumbledore's quarters. 'Ah, Severus, how good to see you.'

'And yourself, my Lord.' Snape spent twenty or thirty minutes explaining the various small problems he'd devised solutions for, and then moved casually in for the kill.

'My Lord, Walden McNair has asked you to command the betrothal of his son, Wetherell, to Hermione Lestrange.'

'Oh?'

'I must advise against it.'

'Oh?' The Dark Lord said again, with polite disinterest.

'I'd thought to suggest we use the girl to further our aims diplomatically. Perhaps offer her to the Bulgarians or the Egyptians in return for stronger ties between us.'

The Dark Lord waved imperiously. 'I leave it to you, Snape.'

'And with my Lord's permission, I should like to send her to Beauxbatons for the same reason. It would look well for the cream of our young ladies to be seen abroad, does my Lord think so?'

The Dark Lord smiled. 'You think to whet their appetite for English witches, do you? See to it, and make sure the parents know it would please me greatly for them to consent. It's hardly fitting for the Lestrange girl to be in Gryffindor like it is.'

Snape slipped out, knowing he'd sacrificed the girl to save her. Which would make it little easier, but some things were necessary, if not pleasant. If anyone knew it, it was Snape.

In Lincolnshire, Hermione was working on a simple little shirt. 'A baby shirt' said Cunegarde 'for after you're wed. You'll need to show your future husband how industrious you are, and this is an excellent way.' The old woman had been quiet, almost tolerable the whole time.

Hermione finished the first stretch of hem. 'Aunt Cunegarde, tell me about your coming out?'

The old woman nodded stiffly. 'I'd just turned seventeen. My robes were peach silk, spangled with beads of Italian glass, with slippers of gilded kid, and my elf plaited seed pearls into my hair. In those days, it reached my knees, and I wore it in a style called...'

Hermione worked as the old woman talked of long dead people and long dead fashion and her beloved Mother, whom she'd adored more than anyone else. 'Of course, she died not long after. Hierophant's chorea.' Hermione thought she saw something like pain in the woman's rheumy eyes, but only for an instant.

'And my father, your great great grandfather, how handsome he looked! He'd chosen the best young people, and I danced all night. My first husband, Allard Wilkes, we danced three times. How graceful Allard was.'

Hermione kept sewing, feeling as though she'd intruded. Part of her felt sorry for the old woman. Another part was curious-why had the girl in the peach silk robes become bitter old Cunegarde?

'What happened then?'

Cunegarde snapped back to herself. 'Nothing for you to concern yourself with, girl! You've made a mess of that seam.'

Snape came after supper to see the Lestranges. 'And so the girl will go to Beauxbatons for the rest of her education.'

Neither of them reacted much. 'If the Dark Lord commands it, we will obey.'

Rodolphus nodded. 'Quite. And Hermione ought to know French. Perhaps she can marry one of the French branch of the family.'

Bellatrix snorted. 'Really, Rodolphus? Your great great grandfather's by-blows?'

'That woman was a St. Just. The other side is quite as pure as we, bastards or not.'

'Hmmph. Daddy is turning in his grave at the very idea.'

Snape held up a hand. 'It would be far more likely that we would need an alliance with some central European power.'

Bellatrix frowned. 'You're going to marry my daughter to some rustic boyar?'

'Not at all. There are some very prominent families who are not opposed to our way of life. They'd be honoured to be affiliated with your line.'

'Who wouldn't?'

Rodolphus was nodding. 'Hermione is very young yet. It wouldn't be for some time.'

'Of course' agreed Snape, who knew sentimentality when he heard it. 'And who knows? Perhaps she'll end up married to Draco or Galvin Goyle's son after all.'

They both expected some sort of scene when they told her the news, but Hermione took it with remarkable calm. 'All right.'

'Darling, haven't you any feelings about this?'

Hermione set down her baby shirt. 'No, Father.' Her friends had all gone, and being there without them would have been worse than a new place with no memories.

'We'll visit you every weekend.'

Bellatrix was squinting at her daughter quite heavily. 'I am so proud of you, Hermione. We must all make sacrifices for the Dark Lord, and you've just the right attitude.'

Hermione looked down. 'Will you come and see me, Mother?'

'Yes, of course. And you're making a better world for Wizarding people everywhere. Remember that.'

'Yes, Mother.' Hermione's forehead wrinkled slightly. 'How?'

'Darling, when you're older, the Dark Lord will honour us by helping you find someone to marry, isn't that wonderful?'

Hermione nodded sceptically, not sure how she felt. She didn't really like boys (not _like_ like) yet, and so the idea of marriage was pretty nebulous to her at best. But she supposed it sounded all right, and since it would be at least seven whole years, practically a lifetime, she wasn't terribly worried.

'Yes, Father.'

They both smiled, deeply relieved that Hermione hadn't got upset. Neither of them was precisely thrilled, deep down, at the fact she'd be leaving the country, but she'd have gone back to school eventually, and if this was how they were called to serve, than that's what they would do.

Hermione herself was philosophic about the whole thing. 'Professor?'

'Hm?'

'Remember how you said I'd owe you one for Rinky?'

'Yes.'

'I'm going to France for you. Aren't I?'

'One could view it that way.' His antennae were coming up, like a beetle's. Was she up to something? It should prove diverting, if nothing else. Hermione finished adding her rook's feet to the cauldron and then looked at him.

'When the time comes, would you make sure the Dark Lord chooses a good husband for me?'

Snape had expected literally anything but that. 'A bit ahead of yourself, Miss Lestrange, aren't you?'

She shook her head. 'I don't want one that's mean. Or stupid.'

'Though, of course, not one smart, either. So you can, what's the saying, rule the roost?'

Hermione smiled. 'You're good to sizing people up.'

'As will you be, if you continue to let me teach you. My choice would not be the things girls dream of, be aware of that. No pretty boys or good dancers, nothing of that sort.'

'But kind' persisted Hermione 'and smart. I don't want to be bored.'

'I wouldn't let you be.' Something occurred to Snape. 'What makes you think I will have final choice, Miss Lestrange?'

Hermione shrugged. 'Because the Dark Lord doesn't seem as though he'd pay attention to those things, I suppose.'

Snape nodded. 'There is, of course, a price.'

The girl went pale. 'You don't want Rinky?'

Snape stifled his laugh. 'Of course not. I want information.'

'About what?'

'The usual. And get as fluent as possible as rapidly as you can, the more accomplished you are, the more I've got to barter with.'

'I feel like a wheel of Stilton.'

'Such is woman's fate, Miss Lestrange.'

Hermione bit her lip, as though to say something, and asked about the minced niffler's brains in the potion, instead.

Narcissa was less pleased to hear that Hermione was being sent away, though if it spared her Akantha McNair as a mother in law, it was for the best. She and Hermione settled on a sette in the ladies parlour, snuggling as Narcissa gently drilled her about the correct way to deal with a social disaster.

'People really do that? Sick up everywhere?'

'They do. My roses are warded before every party just in case.' Hermione wrinkled her nose. 'That's horrid. When I'm married, I'll hex anyone who sicks up on my books.'

Narcissa laughed. 'I think you would. One simply tries to keep intoxicated guests to cleanable surfaces, is all.'

'Ugh.'

Narcissa pressed a kiss on the girl's head. 'Love, are you really not afraid about this thing with France?'

'No, Aunt Narcissa. I've been before, and really, it's not so far. Will you be all right?'

'Of course I will, and there's no reason we can't meet up in France, hmm?'

'Could we?' Hermione beamed excitedly, and Narcissa's heart broke a bit. She didn't want the girl so far from home, honestly. She wanted her nearby, but she could hardly say anything, especially with Hermione so game about the whole thing.

'What about Rinky? He'll miss me.'

'I'm sure Rinky will be fine, love. He can always go and visit at Hogwarts, if he wants to.'

'He can?'

'That's up to you. You're his mistress, after all.'

Hermione nodded. 'Aunt Narcissa, does Professor Snape have an elf?'

'I don't believe he does, darling. It would be very generous of you to loan him yours, and Severus would never mistreat an elf.'

Hermione nodded thoughtfully. 'And Aunt Cunegarde? Will someone visit her?'

'I'm sure someone will' reassured Narcissa, who suspected that the only one who'd visit willingly was the Grim Reaper.

'I can write letters, I suppose.'

'It's most generous of you to worry, sweetheart. You're sure you're not feeling sad about any of this?'

Hermione looked at her aunt very levelly. 'If my muggle parents are dead, then nothing can help them, and they'd want me to be good and kind because they were. If they aren't, my behaviour makes it easier for people to see they're cared for. Doesn't it?'

Narcissa's eyes filled and she hugged the little girl tightly, heart too full to speak. Hermione hugged back, hoping that she wouldn't go to Hell for telling a lie, even if it wasn't, exactly.

Hermione wasn't the only one to have got some personal news. Rabastan had got word that he was ambasador to Sofia, in Bulgaria. After the giants, he decided, Bulgarians held no terrors for him, and he took the whole thing with equanamity.

Snape considered this his masterstroke. He would have a hand in both pies, with Black spying on the exiles and Rabastan sending home reports about the official doings of the Bulgarian government.

The only one who wasn't currently pleased was Cunegarde, who hadn't had company for years and would miss the girl's daily visits. Not that her behaviour altered in any way, of course. She would be hard on the girl for her own good, so no one would say that the Lestranges didn't turn out the most beautiful and accomplished witches in all Britain.

'Sit up straight, girl! And don't make that face, you'll get wrinkles.'

'I'm twelve.'

'You're eleven at best, and don't contradict me. '

'Aunt Cunegarde, may I have another story?' Hermione's baby shirt was nearly done, and soon she would be ready for embroidery, and the first silk undergarments she'd make for herself.

'Hmmph, you think me Scheherazade. Very well, what shall you hear?'

Hermione considered. 'Tell me the one about the summer ball in 1896. Was it very beautiful?'

'You know it was! The elves enchanted the crystal to look like ice, and we served sherbets out of them, all colours. Violet and pistachio, and rose and orange and cardamom, with glacee fruits and milk punch charmed to steam as though it were egg nog.'

'What did you wear?'

'I'm getting to it, don't be impatient. I wore silver samite robes and shoes of silver satin, with diamonds draped about my hair and round my neck. And my husband-this was Allard, still-he matched me. Except for the diamonds, of course.'

Hermione kept working. 'And then?'

'There was a cold collation, naturally, and we danced. Oh, we danced. Married or no, I was the belle of the ball.' Cunegarde's eyes were distant with remembered glory, and Hermione found herself feeling sorrier than ever for the woman.

'And everyone danced until dawn?'

'Of course they did. It was a sight, girl. Had you seen it, you'd not think anything of these little parties they dare call balls today. And the food! That was before everything had to be simple. We had such things in those days.' The old woman trailed off, and Hermione suspected she'd gone to sleep.

She rose and quietly picked up her basket, preparing to creep out the door. The old woman's voice stopped her. 'Don't move like a cattle drover. Slowly, gently.'

Hermione walked more softly and sneaked out, deciding to go and see her father in his study.

'Father?'

'Hello, darling. Come in.'

She did. 'Father, what happened to Allard Wilkes?'

He blinked. 'He's been dead almost ninety years, Hermione, why?'

'Aunt is nice when she's talking about him.'

Rodolphus sighed. 'She would be, yes. You'll be a big girl, won't you, and keep this to yourself?'

'Yes, Father.' Hermione set her work basket on the chair across from Father's, wondering what this was about, and then climbed into his lap.

'He died under some very unfortunate circumstances.'

'Unfortunate?'

'Hermione, I should be very angry if you mention this to your great great aunt, understand?'

'Yes, Father.'

'Allard died of a...disease he caught from...someone.'

'A woman?'

'Yes.'

Hermione's eyes went wide. Aunt had loved Allard, but had Allard loved Aunt? She found herself relaxing against her father for a second, breathing deeply. 'So Aunt is nasty all the time because her husband caught a disease from another woman and died?'

'Allard...kept company...with Eugenia Mink. A famous...' Rodolphus had no idea what the muggles had taught Hermione about the matters of the flesh, but he wasn't about to flatly say that Allard Wilkes had died of syphilis picked up from an expensive whore.

'A famous...?'

'Not a very nice woman, Hermione. That's all you need to know.'

Hermione frowned and mulled it over. 'Father, if he was married to Aunt, why did he want to spend time with the other woman?'

'Darling, I couldn't say.' He could, of course, but he definitely wasn't going to say that, thank you. More of a 'Mother' thing, wasn't it?

'So she's angry because it meant he didn't love her like she loved him?'

'Something like that, yes. And it made their children very sick, and they died young.'

Hermione huffed and leant against him, thinking the prickling of his beard wasn't so bad when one got used to it. 'Why is everything so _sad _?'

'Not everything love. There's good in the world still, even if it is hard to find sometimes.'

Hermione wondered whether she believed that. 'Like what?'

Rodolphus reached up to stroke her back lightly. 'Family, and friends, and having our own house, and being able to serve the Dark Lord.'

'Why does everyone call him that? It hardly sounds very welcoming.'

Rodolphus laughed out loud at the observation. 'It's not meant to, love. What about you?'

Hermione thought. 'Visiting with Aunt Narcissa, and looking in the attic with Rinky, and reading with you and Mother. And lessons.'

Rodolphus held her tighter. 'When you're older, love, we'll teach you some special lessons.'

'Magic?'

'Of course. Very special magic.'

'What kind of special magic?'

He patted her a few more times and then gently set her on her feet. 'Hexes and charms, love. When you're older.' He didn't mention that Dark magic performed before puberty could have terrible side effects-the girl was curious by nature, and might be tempted out a perverse desire to see whether it was true.

Hermione nodded and made her way for her bedroom, Rinky holding her little work basket. Rodolphus watcher her go, wishing there was some way for him to smooth the rough edge of life for her.

Hermione pondered through her bath. 'Rinky? Do you want to go and help Snape?'

'Does Miss want Rinky to?'

'I asked first.'

Rinky scrubbed her back. 'Rinky is wanting what Miss is wanting.'

'Miss is wanting to know what Rinky is wanting.'

The elf sluiced hot water down her back. 'Rinky can't go to school in France?'

'I don't think so.'

'Then perhaps Master Snape. There is not being anything for Rinky to do here without Miss.'

'All right. Let me talk to Snape, and see what he says.'

As it happens, Snape was delighted at the whole plan, not that he let on. 'I suppose I could take the elf. Perhaps it would clean the attic for me or something' he said impassively.

Which was, of course, not what he had in mind at all. By September, Black would be ready to go, and Snape could use the elf as a handler for the dog, when he started his spy mission, helping Snape to watch the refugees in Romania.


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N: Love to reviewers and Countess Black**

**The timeline has advanced somewhat, as more of the same might not be very interesting.**

**Also, as very little information is given about other schools, I have decided to simply invent out of whole cloth whatever suits the story and is not contradicted by canon. I think different cultures would do things very differently, so Beauxbatons is quite different from Hogwarts in many respects.**

**A spoony-man was a man (usually but not always the madam's boyfriend or husband) who worked in a brothel as the bouncer. Their main job was ejecting deadbeats, making sure the girls didn't get assaulted by johns, and dealing with the police.**

**NB: *_This_*(bolded italics with asterixs at the start and end of the paragraph in question) are for when characters are using translation charms to speak to someone in another language. **_This_** means the characters are actively speaking the other language. School rules prevent students from using translation charms except during classes and emergencies, to encourage fluency in French.**

**1st September 1992**

Rinky carefully sat the little hat on Miss's head, making sure not to muss anything. She smiled at him, and then reached for her wand, restored to her that morning. 'Are you all right, Rinky?'

The elf shook his head slowly, big eyes teary. 'Miss is being very careful?'

'Very' agreed Hermione, who'd had this same conversation with the elf every day for a month. 'And I'll write you letters at Snape's, and you'll come to see me when Mother and Father come.'

'Rinky is knowing.'

The elf picked up the carpet bag, Miss's things having been sent ahead, and carried down to the atrium. Cunegarde was sitting in her chair, rugged in her fur. 'That skirt is very short.'

Hermione pecked the old woman's cheek. 'I'll write you, Aunt Cunegarde.'

'You'll forget. Young people always do.' Hermione walked down the steps to where her parents were waiting. 'Ready, pet?'

'Yes, Father. Mother, you look very pretty.'

Bellatrix made a tortured face, having been forced into a green silk robe by Narcissa, and her hair styled by her new maid. 'You're as bad as Cissy. Come along then, we'll be late.'

Rodolphus handed the women into the carriage and they took off, toward the Channel. Hermione was rosy with excitement, smiling quietly.

'And you're sure you're not afraid?'

Hermione shook her head. 'It's an adventure. I like adventures.' Both her parents felt a surge of pride. Hermione stroked her carpet bag, where she'd hidden a few things in case she was afraid-a handkerchief with a bit of Narcissa's perfume on, her copy of _'Hogwarts, a History'_, and a supply of paper and ink for writing home, along with a month's supply of envelopes already addressed.

'Honestly, Rodolphus, it's France, not the Moon. She'll be fine.' Bellatrix's face moved into a scowl. 'And don't you dare prove me wrong, I've five galleons riding on this with Travers. Do you want Travers to win, girl?'

Hermione giggled. 'No, Mother.' Rodolphus glared at his wife, not sure she was teasing, but as the girl was taking it all in stride, why shouldn't he?

The ride was a short one, and by the time they'd arrived, the courtyard of the chateau was quite full, parents and children bustling everywhere. Rinky was sent in with the trunk, and the Lestranges eyed one another.

'Let us know if you've any problems, won't you?'

'Yes, Mother.' Bellatrix leant over and tugged the girl close. 'Never forget who you are or what you represent. Never!'

'I won't.' The ladies gave one another awkward hugs, and then stepped apart. Rodolphus leant down and put both arms about his daughter. 'Be a good girl, Hermione.'

'Yes, Father.'

'No boys.' Hermione giggled and stepped back, looking up at him. 'No boys, Father.'

'There's my good girl.'

Hermione bent to Rinky and took his little hand in hers. 'Be brave, Rinky. Or I might lose my courage.' The elf nodded, eyes brimming, and gave his Miss a final sad look before bowing and climbing into the carriage with the Lestranges.

A teacher was coming. 'Ah, hello. Come this way, please.' She spoke with only the lightest accent, and Hermione turned and, picking up her bag, followed without looking back.

The chateau was newer than Hogwarts, and lighter. Hermione joined a line of girls chattering a polyglot assortment of languages as they snaked through corridors that shone with sun, reflected off marble that seemed to cover everything.

The teacher led her charges to a small room where the largest woman Hermione had ever seen was waiting. She was almost as tall as Hagrid, without his air of friendly, laidback ease. She seemed no nonsense, almost forbidding, a bit like Snape.

'Ello, ladees, I am Madam Maxine, the 'eadmistress of Beauxbatons. Thees ees the last time you will ever 'ear me speek Eenglish. From now on, you will speek French, unless you do not know the word. 'Ow does one ask for a word en Français?'

Hermione's hand shot up. 'Comment dit-on?'

'Correct. For example, comment dit-on la chaise en Anglais? Mademoiselle?' She gestured to Hermione, and Hermione said 'Chair, Madame.'

'Indeed. You may ask any prefect that you see for 'elp. Dinnair is at seven o'clock. Go and find your rooms. Allons-y!'

The girls trickled out, much more quietly than when they came in. Hermione's room was in the White Tower. Unlike Hogwarts, there were no Houses here. Boys and girls lived separately, seeing one another only during classes. And each student had his or her own room, which they kept for the whole of their education.

Hermione opened the door and stepped inside. It was neat, restrained, very French, with a chine blue bed and white marble walls, and a white marble floor under it. She set down her carpet bag and checked to make sure her trunk had been delivered. Taking off her hat, she laid down on the bed, hands behind her, and shut her eyes for a moment, letting the newness of things break over her like a wave.

Hermione was not the only one to depart that day. Two stones heavier, Sirius Black, hair cut short, clean shaven, and wearing plain wool robes in a deep red, was waiting for his first assignment.

Snape looked him up and down critically. 'You look' he said thoughtfully 'like some sort of minor clerk or something.' He nodded to himself and gave Sirius a pouch of money and the papers which identified him as a resident foreigner, returning home for a holiday.

Black nodded and closed his eyes as Snape raised his wand and swished. 'Speak.'

Black did. His voice had the unmistakable tinge of an accent which might have been Romanian, enough to fool a casual observer.

'Remember, in and out. No stupid heroics, and no personal revenge, understand? And don't forget the counter spell, your other identity won't hold without an English accent.'

Black nodded. 'I understand, Snape.'

'Off you go, then. Elf!'

Rinky appeared, bowing, dressed in the tea towel Snape had given him. It bore a bogus family crest right over the heart, as was the fashion on the Continent. 'Do as you've been told.'

'Yes, Master' agreed Rinky. He took the weathered dragon's hide valise and held it to Apparate.

'Good evening, Black.'

'Snape.' And they were gone, with a 'Pop!' and the smell of the cologne Snape had got for Black to wear. Snape nodded to himself, pleased, and wondered which of his little plants would bear the first sapling.

Olympe Maxime was curious. She'd got a letter from Rodolphus Lestrange which alluded vaguely to some trouble which his daughter had had, and which had piqued her interest.

For herself, Olympe found the whole political crisis in Britain horrific, and would not have consented to take the girl for that reason had her sense of honour not demanded she refuse to practice the kind of prejudice which was now law across the Channel.

And the fact Severus Snape had sent a glowing letter didn't hurt, either. He thought the girl some kind of prodigy, and that was the tipping point. And so here she was, coming to see what the child was like.

In Madam Maxine's experience, the children of the very rich elite were of two sorts-either louche, good natured layabouts or spoilt, whiny troublemakers. She wondered which the girl would be.

She knocked. 'Come i-Entrez-vous!' The door opened and the little dark hair girl from earlier was standing there, looking up at the headmistress with an expression of interest. 'Bonsoir, Madame.'

'Bonsoir, Mademoiselle**.' **The headmistress flicked her wand and said **'* **_**Hermione Lestrange**_**?'**

_**'Yes, that's me. Please, come in**_**.'**

Olympe ducked to get in the doorway and looked down at the girl, who was small and fine boned, delicate looking, And smiling, surprisingly, with sincere friendliness.

_**'Would you like to sit down**_**?' **Hermione indicated one of the two chairs in the room.

_**'Thank you, my dear, but I only wanted to stop and see how you were doing. Tell me, how do find the school**_**?'**

_**'Very beautiful, Madame**_**.'**

_**'Yes. And your French**_**?'**

_**'Not as good as I'd like it to be, but my Aunt Narcissa was helping me, and she says the best way to learn is to be immersed**_**.'**

_'__**She's quite right. Headmaster Snape seems to think you a good student. Do you enjoy your lessons**_**?'**

The girl's face lit up. _**'Oh, yes! Especially Transfigurations. And Potions, and Charms**_**.'**

_**'What has the Professor been working on with you?**__'_

Hermione reeled off the last few things they'd worked on. Olympe was quietly impressed-the girl gave no indication that she believed her skills out the ordinary, and the things she'd mentioned were very advanced, the sort of thing one gave a fourteen year old to do.

'_**Excellent. If you're to need anything, do not hesitate to let Madam Dufour, your House Mother, know**__.'_

_**'Thank you, Madame**__.*' _The girl dipped respectfully, and quite against her will, the Headmistress found herself slightly charmed. Madame Maxime swished, and cancelled the translation charm she'd cast.

The child reminded her of a maiden aunt on her father's side, an old woman who'd retained the manners of the previous century, both formal and effortless looking. It would be interesting to see how the girl did with her peers.

Sirius handed his ticket to the dodgy looking bloke at the Portkey station, who studied it and nodded. 'Hope you enjoyed your stay, Mr. Banciu.'

'Thank you.' He nodded at the elf and they both clutched the Portkey, which was a lady's shoe, and vanished from sight, a dangerous fugitive and an elven minder.

An hour later, the pieces of his disguise hidden, Padfoot walked along the side of the road, tail wagging a bit as he sniffed interesting things, stopping to slurp the hand of a man who held out part of a sausage, and walking with him to see he got home all right. All sorts of criminals about these days, after all.

He found a familiar scent and followed it from the road and down into a valley, fighting the temptation to chase a squirrel or flush a rabbit for the fun of it. He kept sniffing, and quickly found himself looking at a small cottage in a clearing. He sneaked closer and got as near as he dared.

A shriek, thin as glass, rose into the night air, and he slunk into the shadows. 'It's a grim!'

'Bathilda' said a voice Sirius knew 'it's not a grim.'

'A great black dog, with eyes as yellow as a cat's!'

'You're seeing things.' Other voices were joined to the soothing babble. Some of the Man-smell was mealy, as though there were many children close by. 'Should we go and look, Dad?'

'No, Fred. Why don't you keep Bathilda company?'

'We can do that.' As Sirius watched, two nearly identical boys started to juggle something, probably, from the smell, potatoes, back and forth to make the old woman laugh.

Sirius slipped away and went back the way he came, giving into his desire to run. He raced through the tall late summer grasses and snapped at things that rose up in them, winging off after little mammals, meaning only to exercise them, not to hurt.

Back with Rinky, he transformed into a man again. 'Well, we've found the Weasleys at least.'

'Yes, sir.'

'What next?'

Rinky shrugged impassively. 'Whatever sir is wanting.'

'We'll go to Bucharest and find a room and then come back and find the others.' He had, despite what Snape had said, no intention of selling out his friends, but he did need enough to keep the bastard sweet.

And he'd been given quite a generous stipend, he had to admit. Not enough to, say, go to ground and buy fake papers, but enough to get a decent room in a not-terrible part of town and enough to eat at humble but clean places, and even enough for a clean but not young whore, whom he tipped well and was polite to.

His valise was equally well thought out. He donned new robes, these almost new, and became Aphasias Dint, a medi-wizard at St. Mungo's on holiday. He spelled himself a moustache and slicked his hair back before setting out, putting a pair of spectacles on to complete the disguise.

Elf in tow, but invisible, the newly christened Healer Dint wandered toward the British Wizarding Consulate, curious to see what he could sniff out there. He felt confident it would be something, but what something would be, he had no idea.

In London, Rodolphus and Bellatrix were eating lunch. She'd changed back into her usual things, and they ate their roast chicken and rice in silence, both of them deep in thought.

'Bellatrix?'

'Hmm?'

'Do you suppose we ought to go and see Rabastan for Christmas?'

'Could.' She gnawed on a wing, headless of the grease that dotted her robes. 'I'd rather he came here, though.'

'As would I. It wasn't so bad this morning, I thought.'

'No. But the old woman will miss her.'

'Rather. Did you really threaten to poison her that time? Cunegarde?'

'I did. Henbane and orris root decoction.'

Rodolphus pondered as he ate another serving of rice. 'A bit flash, wouldn't you say?'

Bellatrix huffed. 'And I suppose you'd choose something like Windlewort?'

'Or steeped adder fangs.'

'While we're being absurd, Rodolphus, why not just encourage the old biddy to take up stunt broom riding?'

Rodolphus sighed mournfully. 'We should all be so lucky.'

'You can say that again.' The door opened and Lucius Malfoy strode in, robes swishing. He looked almost indecently pleased with himself. 'Good afternoon Bellatrix, Rodolphus.'

'Malfoy.'

'Lucius, how nice. Do sit down.'

He did. 'Narcissa sends her fondest greetings. Was Hermione all right?'

'Better than all right. She's a stalwart little thing, to be sure.'

'Mmm. I daresay. I've some news.'

'Have you finally learnt to do your own hair?'

Lucius ignored her. 'There's to be a trade delegation. A number of them, actually, and I have been asked to host. Narcissa wanted me to ask whether you might like to share duties with us.'

Bellatrix snorted. 'That sounds simply delightful. "Would you like some more tea?"' She used her best simper and made a terrible, rictus like face. Both men rolled their eyes.

'Not like that, Trixie. More a series of negotiations.'

'Yes, and we all know how tactful _I_ am. Rodolphus?'

'Whatever our Lord requires, of course.'

His wife glared. 'You know very well I didn't mean anything opposed to that.'

'Of course' said Lucius, who wanted to keep the shrieking to a minimum. 'And normally we'd not ask, as you've given so much, but there's someone I think you both ought to meet.'

'Who's that?' Rodolphus smiled at his brother in law, whom he'd always rather liked, and the man smiled back. 'Martin Krum.'

'The Quidditch player?'

'No, that's his son. The father's the liaison for their Ministry. If you like one another, we'd like to broker a marriage between Hermione and the son. If Draco were a girl, Narcissa and I would do it, but...'

'How old is the boy?'

'Fourteen, and very nice, from what I've heard.'

'So Hermione will need to be there?'

'And your brother, yes. If she charms them, which she will, it would shore us up. And give some counter balance to Romania. They're still being difficult.'

Bellatrix's hands clenched. 'Oh, if only the Dark Lord wasn't so kind. I've not felt blood on my shoes for ages.'

Trust Bellatrix to turn a discussion about something happy into her own perverse bloodlust. Well, it couldn't be helped. Lucius turned to Rodolphus.

'Hermione's holiday starts on 15th December?'

'Yes, it does.'

'Then we'll invite them for the 20th, and host them until just after the New Year.' Lucius Malfoy, Head of Wizarding Diplomacy, rose and swept out again.

'Self important arse.'

Rodolphus sipped his water. 'This should prove interesting, at least.'

Hermione woke at seven and bathed in the tub of hot water that appeared in her room, and dressed in her uniform. Putting her bags in her rucksack, she set out for the dining room, which was a sort of semi-circle, with the teachers in the middle and the students seated youngest to oldest, with the very oldest at the ends.

Sliding into the place that had her name card, Hermione found the room was hushed, almost muted, after the cheery loudness of the Great Hall in the morning. The students ate and talked in quiet, polite voices. No food flew through the air, no one laughed or shouted to a friend across the room.

The food, at least, was good. She ate some eggs and porridge, trying to understand the things those around her were saying. Most of it was a blur, peppered with words that she understood.

The girl next to her caught her eye. '_Pass the salt, please?'_

Hermione did. _'I'm Hermione_.'

_'Yseult Ropion. My father's Eduard Ropion of Aix, yours_?'

_'Rodolphus Lestrange, of Lincolnshire, England.'_

This seemed to pique the other girl's interest. '_Really_?'

Hermione nodded, puzzled. _'Of course. Why_?'

_'Where do you live_?'

_'The White Tower_.'

The other girl shook her head. _'I live in the White Tower too. Why don't you come by this afternoon after class? I'm in the room farthest from the stairs, on the left_.'

It took Hermione a moment to translate. The other girl gently touched her arm. 'We'll _practice your French_.'

Hermione nodded excitedly. _'I would like that, Yseult_.' Something strange happened as she contemplated the invitation- part of her was calmly, coldly, parsing it. Snape's warning about people using her to advance themselves slithered into her mind, and she let it settled across some of her joy like a wet blanket-the pleasure of being invited by a peer gently bittered by caution and training.

She smiled again and ate some egg.

Narcissa was pleased to receive a letter from her niece so soon. Hermione spoke glowingly of her new room, her classes, her professors, and the fact she'd made a friend already.

It was slightly painful, as well. Draco had gone back to school the same day as Hermione, and Narcissa felt rather alone, the house too quiet, and no smiling little girl to greet her as she came out of the Floo.

But it was for the best, she reminded herself, and Hermione would be quite the little lady when she came back. And she did need a friend her own age. Draco was a dear, sweet little boy, but it wasn't the same as another little girl to play with, and before long they'd not have been able to play much anyway, as they aged and matured.

Donning her cloak, she went to Bellatrix's anyway, and ventured up the stairs. 'Hello, Madam Lestrange.'

'Madam Malfoy, is it?'

'Yes, that's right. Lucius Malfoy's wife.'

The old woman waved a claw-like hand at the chair opposite her. 'Well sit down, then.'

Narcissa reminded herself that it was a good deed and sat down. At least she wouldn't be bored, she thought to herself as the stream of complaints started.

Narcissa wasn't the only one. Snape had got a letter as well, written in a carefully neutral way that revealed nothing. The girl, it would seem, had a friend. Snape had drilled his little protégé over and over about the importance of never putting anything in writing, but obviously, that went only so far.

'Cultivate her' he wrote back 'hers is an old family. And keep your ear to the ground, you might hear something useful.' He charmed it to look innocuous and sent back a letter full of pabulum about studying hard and taking exercise regularly.

Hermione knocked on the door, hoping it was the right one. The door opened and Yseult smiled, beckoning her inside. ' _So glad you could make it_.'

_'Thank you for inviting me_.'

The two talked about small things for a few moments, until Yseult said _'So will you dance on Fridays?_'

Hermione blinked. '_Dance_?' Could she be mistranslating?

_'Every Friday, the boys come so we can practice. The Arithmancy professor teaches and the elves play music. You simply must come. Even if we have to dance with one another, it's great fun_.'

Hermione would rather have chewed on a live blister beetle, but of course it would be rude to say so. _'I don't dance good_.'

_'Well, dance well. And you shan't get any better if you don't practice, you know_.'

Hermione thought about Snape and told herself that it would give him something else to barter with, and please Aunt Narcissa very much. _'I will, then. You?_'

_'Of course. Did you do that in England_?'

_'No. Mainly I studied_.'

Yseult laughed softly. _'How dreadful. With a name likes yours, you had to spend all your time buried in books_.'

' _I like to study_.'

' _No one likes to study_.' Hermione reminded herself that being a spy wasn't fun all the time, and kept talking, determined to do as Snape had enjoined and earn herself a husband as gentle as a kitten and as smart as a phoenix.

_'And why do you wear your hair that way? Is that the fashion in London_?'

Hermione decided that Snape owed her for this one, and kept smiling.

In London, Scabior (who wasn't thinking of fashion, to be sure) was in his new flat. Right elegant it was, with a new radio and even an elf, just for him. Chum had a box, as well, that the elf had found, and some scraps of cotton wool, and fresh fruit everyday.

'Well, Chum, we as it made, eh?' The rat sat up and begged for some cheese, and Scabior obliged. It always tickled him to see him the little fellow acting just like a person.

Someone knocked the door up, and Scabs answered it. 'Professor Snape?'

'Mr. Scabior' said Snape, who stepped in and looked about dourly. 'I wonder whether you'd like to make a bit of extra cash on the weekends?'

Scabior frowned thoughtfully. 'Depends, I sup'ose. What sort a extra cash?'

'I'd like some information on the various trade delegations and whatnot coming into London. If I could arrange to put you in a position where you could give me your honest impressions, would you be interested?'

'Compromisin?'

'Say at a brothel, something of that nature.'

Scabior's face lit up with understanding. 'A spoony-man? Yer askin me t be a spoony-man?'

'If you'd like. I'd pay you per piece of information, as well as whatever you get from the madam, tips, and so on.'

'Be glad t.'

'Excellent. Here's the address. The bawd's name is Mother Goforth. Be there at nine tonight and she'll do the rest.'

'Awright. Pleasure doin business with you, sir.'

'And yourself, Scabior. Would any of your friends be interested in a similar arrangement?'

Scabior nodded. 'Reckon they would, a that.'

'Very well. I rely on you to expedite the arrangements. Mother Goforth will do the rest. Whatever you work out in the way of finder's fees is your own affair.'

Snape availed himself of the Floo, and Scabior, scarcely believing his good luck, put on his top hat and cloak. 'C'mon, Chum, we're off t see what Mikey an Chuck an them ave to say about this.'

Within two hours, Scabior had arranged for eight more blokes. He wondered what Lestrange would make of all this and decided he'd not mention it. Let the quality have their balls and routs and so on-he was happy with the occasional free tumble and some whiskey to warm his belly.

Back at Hogwarts, Snape was well pleased with himself. He'd seeded new fields, and he suspected that this one would bear strange fruits indeed. Men were apt to do odd things were women were involved, and Scabior was precisely the right man for the job- not high class enough to that the delegates would be uncomfortable speaking openly in his presence, not opposed to violence, and not ambitious or greedy enough to try any but rudimentary graft.

Snape's spies were, so far, more profit than loss. He worried that the dog would attempt to go rogue and hide, but he thought the pillock had a touch more sense than that, if not honour enough to refuse to do such a thing.

And he wanted the Lestrange girl out of harm's way. He didn't put it past McNairs to try something stupid to get Rodolphus to consent, and the further she was afield the more likely the McNairs were to choose another victim.

In Knockturn Alley, Scabior knocked up a varnished door and was bidden inside. The procuress was a blanc mange of a woman, with a head of startlingly, flagrantly dyed red hair and a teeth which gapped between the top two.

She looked him up and down. 'You'll do.' They worked out a price for the others, and Scabior, twenty galleons richer, left for home, whistling a happy tune. He put the money in the old tin he used for such things and held out his hand for his rat.

'Well, Chum, quite a day, eh?'

The rat squeaked and nestled into his palm as though to sleep. Scabior put the little fellow in his box and set off to find something in the way of a celebration. He decided a good brawl wouldn't go amiss, and made his way down to the Skull and Snake, hoping to find some trouble.

In France, Hermione was writing Aunt Cunegard, all about Yseult Ropion of the Aix Ropions. She missed Ron with a fierce, terrible burning that seemed to come from the marrows of her bones. Her grief for Harry was different-she'd more or less accepted the odds of his return were slight, and so had begun to knit together a bit.

But Ron, she knew, was alive and in Romania. She'd never had a friend like him before, and she missed knowing there was someone who wasn't out to profit from her. She let the feeling pass and then went back to her letter. She wouldn't help Ron by crying when she could be furthering Snape's plans.

And if Yseult wasn't the kind of person she might have chosen to be friends with, she wasn't horrible, exactly. She seemed like she would know how to navigate situations Hermione wouldn't, and the fact she was impressed by Hermione's name would hopefully distract her from any errors Hermione made in the attempt. Already, Snape's teaching were taking hold in the girl, without her really noticing them, as he'd intended.

A discrete bell, as silvery and light as everything here seemed to be, rang, and Hermione set aside her pen and rose to get into bed. It seemed wrong to her that Rinky wasn't there fussing about, scolding and muttering and telling her stories about things he'd seen.

She'd simply have to write him the next time she did Snape, and perhaps send him something to cheer him up. She frowned, wondering what he'd like, and resolved to give it some thought the next day.

The bed was soft and deep, and her eyes closed as she nestled into it, already considering her next move. She frowned, even as she drifted on sleep's currents, a half remembered, half felt vision of the giant chess match flaring through her brain. As she slid into sleep, she was there again. Would she ever leave it again?


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N: Love to reviewers and Countess Black**

**Ten House points to whomever can figure out where Alise is from.**

Rodolphus set down the callipers and motioned for one of Scabior's boys to take his guest away. He wiped his hands on the towel he kept for the purpose, grimacing at the blood under his nails, and made a mental note to use his nail kit as soon as he got back.

'Will tha be all, sir?'

'Quite, Limpkin. Send Lemuel to me when you get the chance, yes?'

The man nodded and dragged the moaning subject back to the cells. A moment later Scabior presented himself.

'Lemuel, you dog!' Rodolphus grinned and gave his subordinate a wink. 'I hear you're moonlighting these days.'

'Sure am, boss.'

'Good for you. You're not in some sort of trouble, though? Money, or...something?'

'No, Boss.'

Rodolphus raised his eyebrows. 'Could there be another reason? Looking to marry, perhaps?'

'Nah, Boss, not now. Mebbe when I gets a lil older, but...' Scabior winked back 'I'm not urting for it, if you sees my meanin.'

'I do. But it's something to think about. It would look well for Purebloods to find suitable partners. Perhaps rescue a girl from that place you're working? After you've had your fun, naturally.'

'Nat'rally.'

'All right then. Just be discreet, would you?'

Scabior bowed and a sleek grey head popped from the pocket of his waistcoat. Rodolphus smiled. 'Who's this?'

'Chum, is name is. Found the lil fella at Ogwarts and sorta got attached. Some tyke lefts im.'

'Quite. See you tomorrow.'

Rodolphus watched him go. He wasn't overly disturbed by Scabior's second job. The man couldn't be more than twenty two or three, and it was natural he should want to have a bit of fun before he settled down. And his redeeming a Pureblood woman, fallen through the machinations of the mudbloods controlling the system, would be an excellent story for some agony aunt at Witch's Weekly to report on.

He left the subterranean chamber and went back to the office that he and Bellatrix shared. 'Hello, Trixie.'

Bellatrix set down the sheath of papers she'd been studying and looked at her husband. 'Rodolphus.'

'How goes it?'

She stretched lazily. 'Fine. The raid went off nicely. Do remind me to kill Rowle at some point.'

'I'm not opposed on principle, but is there something specific he's done?'

'He decided to try and chase down some fleeing rebels on a broom. Got into a pissing match with one of Greyback's dogs about who's to chase them. Spent an hour talking the idiot wolf out of complaining to His Lordship.'

'I'm sorry you've had such a rough day, love.'

'It's fine. You?'

'Well, well. Those people who brewing illegal potions for the black market finally got caught. I got a number of names from them.'

'Excellent.' Bellatrix went back to her papers, frowning thoughtfully. 'Got a letter from Hermione.'

'Oh?'

'Mmm hmm. She's at the top of all her classes, just as I was.'

'Pure blood tells. This is the proof.'

'You're telling _me_?'

'Touche. Does she need pocket money?'

'She didn't say. She's got a friend, even.'

'A Pureblood?'

'A Ropion. And I think a few others.'

'That's our girl.'

'What I said.'

Hermione didn't, precisely, have a friend. Not like she'd had in Harry and Ron, but she did have someone to spend time with. At the moment, she wasn't spending time with her, nor with any of the other girls Yseult had introduced her to.

Instead, she was working with Alise. _'Well done, Alise. Try it again_?'

_'I am please to meet you_.' The girl frowned, hearing the accent in her own voice. '_Is no use.'_

_'That's not true. Look, one more time and then we'll work on embroidery.' _The little girl's face was set in lines of stubborn determination, and she sighed. _'I am pleased to meet you._'

_'Right!_' _That was perfect_.'

_'Hmmph. Not perfect, but is better_.'

_'You just need practice_.'

Hermione summoned her basket and handed over her supplies to the younger girl. Alise smiled as she showed Hermione a traditional stitch. _'In Talsi, my grandmother is making dresses and aprons for festivals. The neighbours pay her, is so good.'_

_'And she showed you?'_

_'Yes. I am giving her elf to help her when I am more big.'_

_'Bigger.'_

They worked side by side, chatting in French, until just before dinner. Alise stood up, her stitches even and perfect, and took her basket back with her. _'Thank you, Hermione. Tomorrow?'_

_'That sounds good.'_

Five minutes later Yseult walked in without knocking and sat down. '_Really, why do you tolerate that girl always hanging round? _'

'_Because she's awfully nice_.'

'_She's absolutely common, her father's some sort of day labourer or something_.'

Hermione fought the urge to slap the other girl. _'She needs a friend, Yseult. Haven't you ever_?'

Yseult tossed her head. '_Of course not. And you're a Lestrange, surely you've something better to do than take on charity cases_?'

'_The more I learn about other sorts of people' _said Hermione after a momentary pause, in which she rapidly calculated the many possible responses to the question _'the more I'll be able to help my husband, when the time comes_.' One of the things which irked Hermione about Yseult was the other girl's intense fixation on marrying well.

On the other hand, the things that Yseult let slip were valuable in the extreme, insofar as the thoughts of a twelve year old on matters political can be.

The other day, over breakfast, she'd said _'My father says the new government in your country ought to let people sign up to fight. Lots of us would. My brother said he would._'

And '_My father is trying to get a law passed that would make a separate school for mudbloods, so we wouldn't have to deal with them every day.' _Snape had been well pleased by this tit-bit, especially.

_'Hermione? I said, what shall we do until dinner? We could see about fixing your hair.'_

Hermione would have rather swallowed hinkypunk bile. _'Perhaps later._ _Tell me more about your family estates? Your father's the Ministry representative from Aix, is that right_?'

Yseult smiled, flattered enough by Hermione's interest in her family to forget to be annoyed by the refusal to play Pygmalion. _'He is. Our house is four storeys, with_...'

That night Snape ate dinner with the Lestranges and the Dark Lord. Bellatrix looked, he had to admit, radiant, hair artfully arranged and skin glowing with pleasure.

'And I hear your daughter is doing well at her studies?'

'She is, my Lord. Top of her classes.'

'Would we have expected any less, Bella?'

'No, my Lord.'

'And this little friend of the girl's, Snape? Ropion, is that the name?'

'Yes, my lord. The father is Eduard Ropion-he's tried to pass anti-mudblood laws on a number of occasions.'

'Not the same Ropions as the ones that expelled the mudbloods from Corsica in the 15th century?'

'I believe so, my lord.'

'Excellent. The girl could not have chosen a worthier companion.' That dispensed with, the Dark Lord turned to Rodolphus. 'And the suppression of internal dissent, Rodolphus?'

'It goes well, my Lord.'

'Wonderful. I anticipate all will be readiness by the time the delegates have arrived?'

'Yes, my Lord.'

'Good. You know how I value your contribution to Wizarding Britain.'

'We do, my Lord' said Bellatrix, eyes damp with devotion 'You know we do.'

'And your child, as well. Does she understand?'

'She speaks of You as though You were her own father, my Lord.'

'How touching. I daresay she'll charm the delegates, is that right?'

'She will, my Lord. For You.'

One of the problems, reflected Snape later, in having his littlest spy in another country was the sheer fact that it would seem very odd for a student to be corresponding regularly with anyone that wasn't a parent (or that foul old harpy).

He'd solved this problem in the simplest possible terms, by ordering the elf to steal the harpy's mail and simply adding to it whatever he liked. he doubted the girl minded much-the old woman's letters were streams of complaints.

He did so now, as Black watched him from across the room. Snape put his head up. 'Has my skin gone green, Black?'

'Not that I can see. Writing your girlfriend, Snape?'

Snape sneered. 'Not all of think with our cocks, Black. I'm writing a letter to a relative of yours, as it happens.'

'Darling Trixie? I always thought you'd fancy a woman like that.'

'Hardly. Cunegarde Lestrange. Not that it's your affair, mind you.'

Black made a terrible face. 'My God, she's still alive? She must be eight hundred.'

'Something like that. Shall I send her your best wishes?'

'Only if it's to tell the old monster to get stuffed. I've always hated that woman.'

'You and everyone else.'

'Why would you write to her? Asking for her hand?'

'Do you never just mind your own affaires?'

'More interesting to mind yours. Mine are whatever on the radio and bothering the elf.'

The elf appeared, holding a tray of sandwiches. Snape had rather decided he liked having the thing about. He'd almost decided to spend the money to buy one, it was so pleasant not to have to worry.

'Rinky is bringing tea.' Snape nodded his thanks and then held up a hand. 'Wait, Bring this back instead, and send it straightaway.'

'Yes, Master. Miss is being all right?'

'So far as I know.' Snape waved it away, and Black, still looking at him, grinned, showing teeth rotted to stumps. ''Miss?''

'Fish paste?' Snape smiled and held out the sandwich. He might have saved Black, but damned if he would make his life any easier, all the same.

Hermione read the letter and immediately burnt it in her little fireplace. '"Never commit anything to paper."' Snape had drilled it into her with the force of a thousand goblins pounding rocks, and Cunegarde, bless her, wrote on old-fashioned onionskin paper, which caught at once.

She stood up and knocked on her friend's door. '_Yseult_?'

The girl opened up. _'Something the matter_?'

_'If you still want to, perhaps you could show me that hairstyle_?'

Hermione had always known the stakes would be high, but Snape's terse notes, stuck in after three pages of endless complaints, had driven it home.

He hadn't even needed to explain the subtext to her-Hermione was, after all, a very clever little girl. And if a better hairstyle or a different way of holding her fork would help that, she would do it, no matter how much she hated it.

Yseult beamed. _'Finally! Come, and take the braid out, it's very démodé.' _The little girl took up the brush with a critical eye and stood over Hermione. _'The first thing to remember is_...'

Alise came the next day, as she did every day. She wasn't quite sure why a girl like Hermione Lestrange was nice to her, but she didn't question it. She'd been sent an angel, exactly as she'd asked St. Barbara to do, and that was enough for her.

Hermione had the embroidery things all set out. _'Would you show me how to do the flower petals _?'

Alise nodded. 'Yes. _Is very hot today_.'

Hermione nodded, picked up her thread, and started Alise's French lesson. She was friends with Yseult because she needed to improve her social graces and gather information. She was friends with Alise because strangers, stuck in strange lands, need to stick together.

_'Alise? Why did you come to France to school, rather than somewhere closer_?'

Alise tied off her end and tucked it under. _'School closest to my country is Durmstrang, but they are not taking people like me, with parents who are not magic. So Ministry of my country is paying for us to be coming here_.'

_'They wouldn't take you because your parents are muggles?_' Hermione's eyes widened. She'd known that some people didn't like muggles, but to deny someone an education seemed an awful thing to her, an unforgivable thing.

_'Is not being the same in Britain_?'

Hermione felt her cheeks flush. '_I'm not quite sure_.' She felt ashamed to admit she hadn't thought about it much. How selfish she felt, and small minded. Why hadn't she thought to ask about something like that?

_'Is maybe better not knowing. Happier, yes_?'

_'I'd like to think I'm braver than that_.'

Alise started her next flower. She'd been given a gift in Hermione, she felt, and it wouldn't do to discommode the only person who'd been friendly, even if she could be dangerously naive. After all, what could one expect a Pureblood to know about muggles?

Scabior arrived at work on time, bowed politely to the madam, and went to work. Which is to say he sat in a chair by the door most of the time, drinking ale and chatting with the girls who weren't currently busy.

He'd been thinking about what Lestrange said. Someday, he supposed, he'd marry. He was in no especial hurry; he didn't precisely lack for cunny, or for friendly women attached to it.

On the other hand, might he be promoted more quickly if he were married? And it might, he mused, be nice to have a woman about the flat. To make tea, he thought vaguely, and...whatever else women did.

Then again, he had the elf, and the witches at Mother Goforth's were mostly good for a swieve if he was in the mood. Though he quite liked Hetty. She was dark haired and plump, and could do things with her mouth that made it seem like the world's friendliest Dementor had latched onto one's pego and refused to let go.

He shook his head and rose as a group came in. 'Evenin, gents, welcom t Mother Goforth's. Ow can I elps you?'

One of the wizards laughed tipsily. 'We've money and cockstands, what else?'

'Right this way. We've girls for every taste an price, we do. Exotic tastes catered to, and good English roses for the rest.'

The wizards followed him, and Scabior noticed most of them were wearing wedding rings. He wondered whether he ought to bring Hetty some chocs or something. What, he mused, do women like?

Shame Flower was off at school, he thought. He'd have asked her, and whatever she said would have amused him. Whatever Snape might have thought, Scabior considered as his interests in the girl were fraternal; she really did remind him of Nora, with her big, sad eyes.

Scabior went to find Hetty and her talented mouth.

Snape was pleased with the Lestrange girl's regular progress reports. He had, of course, no intention of telling her anything that would cause her to do something to jeopardise them, but he knew he'd have to feed her information at some point to keep her doing the same for him.

And whether or not she knew it, the information she was giving him _was _valuable, and perhaps more so because she had only a vague understanding of what she was giving him-no risk of her filtering things through her own views, or having anything more than very basic plans to run counter to his.

He rose and cracked his neck, relaxing as the vertebrae loosened slightly. He heard the knock, and his eyes flickered upward. Black was apparently in his room, as he was supposed to be, and the door was closed, suggesting that he was asleep or hunkered down.

The elf bowed Scabior in. Even without the girl here, the elf's face retained a suspicious cast, which Snape suspected was just it's natural expression. Scabior sat down and accepted the glass of whiskey and water that he was offered. The elf waited until the man had set down the tumbler before he stunned him, and then Snape, casting a cloaking spell, called forth the rat.

Pettigrew flowed up from the floor. 'Snape.'

'Rat. Anything to tell me?'

'Lestrange found some people stockpiling potions ingredients. He tortured them with-'

Snape waved his hand. 'Not that, idiot. I read the dispatches, don't I? I meant anything of actual use.'

'Scabior might get married. He's fond of one of the women at the brothel, I think.'

'Touching. Any interesting patrons?'

'None. Perhaps as December get closer.'

'Next time have something worth my while.'

Pettigrew nodded. A strange look crossed his face. 'Have you got a new pet?'

'I've a number of them.'

'I mean, a dog? I thought I smelt on when I came in.'

'Provide me useful information and you'll need never know.' Snape smiled. 'And now back you go, "Chum".'

Having obliviated Scabior satisfactorily, Snape spent a half an hour or so with the man, hearing about the minutia of running a sporting house. If nothing else, it convinced him he'd not make for a very good whoremonger.

'And nothing of any interest has happened lately?'

'Not really. We ad a fight las night, but I brokes it up right quick. Two a the girls was fightin over this fop comes in sometimes. Always tips good, they says. Madam gave em each a taste a the strop and they stops it soon enough.'

'No doubt. Do let me know if you should see anything unusual. Especially someone with an accent you've never heard before. We need to know whether the delegate countries are attempting infiltration for their own purposes.'

Scabior nodded, thanked Snape, and, putting his hat back on, left with Chum riding on his shoulder, two galleons richer. Snape sent the elf for Black, who bounded down with a damnable excess of energy.

He stopped and put his back. 'I smell rat.'

'It's quite an old house.'

'No, I mean fresh rat. And something else...Pettigrew?' He turned and looked at Snape accusingly.

'Yes, Pettigrew. You're hardly my only spy.' Black didn't answer. Instead, he started for the door, teeth bared. 'And where do you think you're going, Black?'

'To commit the murder I was sent to prison for.'

The wards stopped him. Bounced back, he ended up falling on his arse, looking up at Snape.

'Do try and use your head for a change, would you? You can't simply go and kill him. He's in rat form, he'd smell you a mile off. Keep with the plan and I'll see you get your revenge.'

Black stood up, looking bitter and old and very, very tired. 'Not much of a choice, have I?'

'No, you have. You can go and get killed, and he'll spend the rest of his life in comparative luxury. Or you can act sensible.'

Black said nothing for a long time. Then he frowned. 'Who else? Have you got Mooney stashed someplace?'

'The wolf? God, no. I can only deal with two of you at once. One of them the rat's new owner.'

'And the others?'

'For me to know.' Said Snape, waving his hand dismissively. 'But if it comforts you, know the rat is none too pleased with all this.'

'Oh, and why is that? Peter always liked being a rat. Said it made him feel free.'

Snape nodded. 'That sounds about right.' He relayed a bit of what he'd put the rat through. Black calmed a bit.

'You sent him into Trixie's_ house_?'

'That's right. He was less than enthused.'

'He knew what she'd do if she caught him.'

'I expect so. Now, Black, natter at the elf or something, I've things to do.'

In Lincolnshire, Cunegarde Lestrange was lonely. She tolerated the Malfoy woman with as good grace as she could muster, but she missed the girl a little. It was rather pleasant to be visited every day, and to teach someone something.

She grumbled restively and demanded a cup of tea to soothe her joints. The elf handed it over and she drank it, sighing. She hated to admit it, but the girl reminded her a bit of herself at that age, all bright eyes and enthusiasm for everything. The world had changed, not she, starting with Allard's unthinkable betrayal with that _creature_, his slow and terrible death covered in sores, pissing himself, screaming and screaming.

She set down the cup. Perhaps, when the girl came back, she would...what? Try to prepare her for the inevitable? Council her against the folly of too much love? She could try, but she thought, deep down, it was a lesson that came with time.

She'd learnt it enough, hadn't she? It was hard not to open her heart to the child, sometimes. But better for them both, in the end. Someone had to help Hermione learn the hard truths, and if that was all Cunegarde could give her, that's what she would do. _Because_ she cared.

And because she was awfully, awfully lonely, and the visits helped her pass the endless time until Death finally granted her release from her aching body and too many memories. Those most of all.

At Beauxbatons, Hermione was in her nightgown. She was staring at a blank piece of parchment, unsure. She'd finished her lessons, written letters to Cunegarde (and Snape, knowing he'd delete the parts that weren't for the old woman),and one for Aunt Narcissa.

She knew she should write her parents. Her friends both wrote their respective families every day, and both had commented on how strange it was that she didn't. She couldn't precisely explain that she'd known her parents fewer than three months and felt strange regaling them with the details of her day.

She took up the pen. 'Dear Mother and Father...' what? She preferred the friendship of a genuine muggleborn to that of a Pureblood? That she liked lessons but missed Hogwarts? That she missed Narcissa more than anyone, and felt slightly relieved not to be home?

'Everything here is well. I got a TB on my history of magic quiz, and also on Charms. Yseult sends respectful greetings to you both, and continued wishes for your good health.'

'Please ask Professor Snape if Rinky is all right, and give him my best. I miss him but what he's doing is a great service, and so it isn't very bad.'

'How is everything there? I hope you're both well.'

'Your...' Hermione frowned. It still didn't feel quite right to put "daughter", but signing it with some neutral would be noticed and remarked on. She considered for a moment and then decided.

'Yours, Hermione.'

She sealed everything and sent it via owl, knowing her mother was almost always awake late at night and wouldn't mind very much. And that Rinky would intercept the letter for Snape and see that she'd written a paragraph just for him, with mentions of how much she missed his stories and requests not to worry about her, but just help Snape as much as possible.

Bellatrix was, indeed, awake. She rose and got the letters for she and Rodolphus, and for Cunegarde. That one she set aside and opened her own.

She, too, was in her nightdress, night dark hair on her shoulders. She read the letter and then set it down. She inhaled deeply, not sure what to make of it.

The letter was perfectly polite, pleasant and proper. But it felt off to her somehow. It hardly seemed to be a letter from a child to her parents. More like a letter from an old school acquaintance, one who's moved somewhere far-flung and Godforsaken but who feels compelled to write every few years to remind everyone that she's still alive.

What exactly could she do? Hers were likely no better, filled with stilted remarks about the weather. It wasn't as though she could tell the girl about the things she and Rodolphus did every day, and what else was there?

Bellatrix rose and walked to the window. The grounds were quiet and still, no snow yet to mar them. She wanted the girl to be filled with reports of friends and activites, little intrigues and problems, excited at the prospect of coming home in December. Even homesickness could have been dealt with more easily than a bread and butter letter from one's own child.

Her eyes felt funny. She reached up to rub them and they came away wet. 'Elf! Get me something to calm my eyes, they're enflamed.' The elf bowed and vanished. Bellatrix thought she detected something in it's eyes that made her want to hit something.

Instead, she emotionlessly tipped back her head and applied the eye drops. They stung. Normally pain focused her, but not today. She bit her lip, hard, tasted blood.

Damn those muggles. What had they taken from her?


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N: Love to reviewers and Countess Black**

**I'm staying with my Grandparents at the moment, in the sunny Southeast, USA. It's awesome, and my thanks to them for hosting me. Thanks also to the reviewer who brought up the teeth, which sparked the idea for this chapter.**

**I've decided I have a duty to introduce as many old timey words for bodily functions as possible. I am so, so sorry.**

** Also, spoiler A/N at the bottom.**

Cunegarde's eyes narrowed at Narcissa Malfoy. 'And why' she said icily 'should I want to do that?'

'Because it might prove trying to you otherwise, with all those people here.'

'I can't understand why you and Abraxas's son simply can't host in that house of yours. It's not as though you lack for space.'

'Quite so' agreed Narcissa, forcing herself not to hex the old woman with an enormous force of will 'but that suits it best for the bigger entertainments, not more intimate affairs, like this house does.'

'Hmmph. All this bowing and scraping isn't suitable anyway, not to the likes of those petty little boyars. Will they even have seen indoor plumbing prior to this?'

Narcissa's wand hand itched. 'Of course they have. Wizarding Eastern Europe is quite beautiful, and very modern.'

'And that Halfblood is trying to sell my great great niece to them as though she's a sheep.'

'Severus wouldn't do a thing like that.'

'Hah. All ambition, that one. He'd sell his own mother if he could get away with it.'

'And perhaps that's why you'd like to use one of our other houses for the duration.'

The old woman sniffed. 'I suppose if I refuse, you'll simply have that sister of yours shout at me again.'

'I don't control Trixie. She's my elder.'

'Should I agree, would I have my elves?'

'Of course.'

'And I'll want the girl. These foreigners have bad habits.'

'Hermione will be needed here, Cunegarde. She's to help.'

The old woman's face subtly twitched for a second and then smoothed itself. 'She'd be of more use assisting me. She has not idea how to treat that spoilt elf of hers, for one.'

'The Dark Lord has indicated it would please him for her to assist her mother and myself.'

They'd been having this conversation for the past hour, in numerous variations but with the same basic theme. Narcissa was trying to convince Cunegarde to move out during the time the delegates would be about, and the old woman tried to refuse, demanding Hermione as the price of her agreement.

If Narcissa hadn't been ready to rip out her hair in sheer frustration, it might have been funny. The old woman, for all she'd have bitten off her tongue before admitting it, was obviously pleased by Hermione's visits and attentions, and wanted in her own way to help with her education.

'Suppose Hermione came and visited you every day. I could probably arrange that.'

The old woman considered. 'It might do. But I don't want her lessons suspended; all of you pamper her terribly. The child needs a firm hand.' She nodded, as though prompting Narcissa, who nipped the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing.

'We'll definitely keep up with things.'

'See that you do, then.' The old woman gestured her out as though she were an elf, and Narcissa rose and closed the door before she collapsed in laughter against a wall. Her sister's head popped from a nearby niche, looking a bit like a otter, and came over, head cocked.

'Has she driven you mad, Cissy?'

'No, no. She's agreed, finally.'

'Did you threaten to melt her skin? It worked for me.'

'Trixie, of course not. I just spoke nicely to her.'

Bellatrix snorted. 'You might be able to push that hippogriff's wallow on Malfoy, Narcissa Euphemia, but I'm your sister.'

They were at Bellatrix's sitting room. 'Fair enough, Trixie. I promised Hermione would come and see her every day, and that we'd keep on with her lessons.'

'_That _was all she wanted?'

'And for someone to dance attendance on her, I expect.'

'She's an elf for that.'

'She's lonely.'

An elf brought a tray of sweetmeats and pumpkin juice. 'The fact she's a repulsive hag might have contributed at some point.'

'Now, Trixie, darling. She really looks much more like a hinkeypunk than a hag.'

Bellatrix stared at her sister a long moment and then collapsed laughing against her. 'Cissy! You're the nice one!'

'I did say it nicely.'

That set off another gust of laughter, and the two finally settled down. 'Honestly, I haven't the faintest how Hermione does it.'

Bellatrix ate a candied fig. 'She's inherited your sweet nature and my stubbornness, I daresay.'

'Daddy would be very proud of her, you know, for how she's behaved.'

Bellatrix nodded. Her heart hurt a little just thinking about it. 'He would've loved Hermione, full stop.'

'Of course he would.' Narcissa ate a sugarplum and said carefully 'Have you planned your wardrobe, Trixie?'

'Not really. I'd guess you've some ideas about all that?'

Narcissa nodded. 'It seems a shame you've such a good seamstress elf and nothing for it to do, not to mention the witch from Gladrags. Or anywhere, really. They'd be honoured by your business.'

Bellatrix shrugged. 'It's all the same to me. What did you have in mind?'

'Let's go shopping.'

'No.'

'Trixie...'

'Narcissa, no.'

'Bellatrix...'

'No, I said.'

'Hermione would enjoy it.'

'Hermione's indifferent as I am, thank God. My mother in law was always fussing about her clothes and such, and see how she turned out?' Klytemnestra and Bellatrix had loathed one another from the second Bellatrix had been old enough to assert herself.

'But she needs to be taught, then, how to use her beauty constructively.'

Narcissa, Bellatrix decided, had grown into a wonderful woman with an irritating habit of talking sense. And she was so sweet that she managed to yes a person into doing precisely what she'd wanted all along.

'Well, we could always just have some of Klytemnestra's old things sized for the both of you.'

'Cissy.'

'Yes, Trixie?'

'Do you remember when you were three and I let you in my bed and you wet?'

'Did I?'

'You did. It's just like that, if you ask me.'

'Not at all. We weren't in France at the time, for one.'

'You are not dragging me to Paris.'

'We could pick up Hermione, make a trip of it. She's a few days holiday, hasn't she? My husband mother left us a very nice little townhouse right in the heart of the city, you know.'

Bellatrix scowled harder. 'Diagon Alley is good enough.'

'The lady delegates will all have French made robes.'

'Fine! But you can't teach Hermione how to do this.'

'Do what?'

'Exactly.'

The Dark Lord smiled negligently as he signed the order allowing the women out of the country. 'By all means, do go. And Bellatrix? Have your teeth fixed.'

Bellatrix looked wounded, an expression only the Dark Lord might have wrung from her. 'My Lord, I feel no shame in them. They are a sign of my long service.'

'The delegates will believe our country poor if you do not. Do you want that?'

'No, my Lord.'

The treasury had written out a letter of credit, promising to pay for whatever the women bought, and with a short school holiday coming up, the timing was perfect. Yseult was absolutely beside herself when she heard Hermione was going.

_'Good! Tell your mother to buy you something fashionable for a change.'_

_'I like my clothes._' Aside from her uniforms, Hermione's things were practical and neat and plain, as she liked them.

_'You're one of the most important ladies in your country, Hermione. You should look it. A lady ought to match her surroundings like a fine piece of art._' Yseult looked triumphantly at her friend, as though this ended the argument.

'I suppose.'

_'Suppose nothing. You're sure your elf will be able to do the hairstyles and things?'_

_'I think so. He was a lady's maid for a while, I think._' Rinky had been almost everything, she knew, and that meant he could probably manage a few new hairstyles.

_'With new clothes and hair, your parents will hardly recognise you. Do they know about your little muggleborn, by the way?'_

_'My parents?'_

_'Of course. Do they approve?'_

Hermione thought as fast as she ever had. _'They're busy, Yseult. They trust my judgement.'_

_'Mine would be furious. All I'm saying is that you might not want to let your Papa find out. He'd smack you for sure.'_

_'Do you think so?' _Hermione's cheeks went red at the unwelcome reminder of last summer's humiliating punishment. She'd thus far managed to avoid anything like that again, though it had been threatened teasingly a few times.

_'Mine would. Where else are you going in Paris?'_

Hermione named a few places. _'And some museums_!' That was the part which excited her. The shopping was a chore, but the chance to wander a medieval church was nothing to be sneezed at.

_'Oh, how tedious. Wouldn't you rather be doing something else?'_

Hermione shook her head. _'No. I love history.'_

_'I haven't the faintest idea how you manage this, really. Of course, that's why your marks are so much better than mine.'_

_'It's better to keep them up. My parents like it._'

_'So would mine, I'm sure, but _c'est la vie. _They want you to come and visit over the summer. And your parents, if they can come.'_

_'Let me ask, all right_?'

_'Of course. My father has a number of things he wants to speak to yours about._'

The day of the holiday, the women rose early, breakfasted on fresh rolls and coffee and pastries, and dressed warmly. They climbed into the carriage and nodded to Scabior, who was accompanying them in the absence of Rodolphus or Lucius, neither of whom could be spared at the moment. He was, naturally, riding outside the carriage, on the outboard with the elf.

The ride was bumpy but uneventful, and they arrived as night was setting. The official holiday didn't start until the next morning, but the courtyard was full of milling girls and parents.

Hermione looked up as Rinky popped into visibility. 'Rinky!'

'Miss!'

Hermione rose and followed the elf to her mother and aunt, who were admiring the scenery. 'My word, Hermione, you've grown.'

Hermione grinned and hugged her aunt, relieved to see her. She hugged her mother as well, who squinted at her a moment and said nothing immediately.

'Well, then, you're ready to go?'

Hermione nodded. 'Yes, Mother. Everything's packed in my room.'

Rinky nipped up and returned with a small valise, which he carried as though it weighed nothing at all. He hadn't stopped smiling all day.

Hermione waved to Scabior, who waved back. Flower looked tall, he noticed, and healthy. She said something to Malfoy's wife, who laughed and hugged her again. A little wisp of a thing came up and started nattering at the ladies in French accented English.

_'Yseult, this is my mother and my aunt.'_

'Charmed. We've heard much about your prowess, Madam Lestrange.'

'Oh.' Bellatrix noticed that Hermione seemed ever so slightly nervous round the other girl. A flicker of suspicion flashed over her mind, and she raised an eyebrow at her daughter, who pretended not to see.

'And what about your other friends, Hermione?'

'They've gone home, Mother.'

'Hermione has so many of them, too.' Yseult had decided she had a moral obligation to let Hermione's parents know. They'd discuss this with her, she'd understand, and she'd reform herself, that was all. 'And she's so generous in how she spends her time with the less fortunate.'

Narcissa could sense something brewing the way a person on a ship senses a storm; deep down thrumming with betoked something bad to come.

'We'd love to stay and chat, Mlle. Ropion, but we've an appointment to meet, so if you'll excuse us, please.'

In the carriage, Bellatrix was quiet for a long few minutes. 'What did that girl mean about how you spend your time?'

'I tutor sometimes.'

'Oh. Purebloods?'

Hermione's cheeks went pink. .'No, Mother.'

'Halfblood, then.'

'No, Mother.'

Bellatrix had gone very still. 'Do you mean to tell me you've been associating with mudbloods?'

Hermione didn't know that word, but she nodded. 'I was just trying to help-'

'Not. .'

When they reached Paris, Hermione was sent immediately upstairs to her room, which was next to Bellatrix's. Bellatrix was seething, absolutely incandescent with rage.

'After everything that's happened, she does this?'

Narcissa reached out to touch her sister's arm. 'Trixie, Hermione doesn't understand. She just wanted friends, was all. She wasn't thinking. There was no malice in it.' Narcissa badly wanted to calm her sister down so she didn't terrify Hermione, who'd made a mistake, was all.

'Like Andromeda did with that mudblood?'

Narcissa inhaled. 'Trixie, it's hinkypunks and grindylows. Hermione didn't grow up with it as we did, for one, and she's just trying to-'

'No. I'm going to go deal with this, and then we'll discuss it.'

'At least let me do it, Bellatrix.'

'I'm her mother, aren't I? Time for me to act it.'

Bellatrix didn't knock. She just opened the door and walked in, sitting down. 'Well?'

'Mother, I don't understand why you're upset.' The girl seemed more than a bit uneasy, but not panicked. Good. Bellatrix mentally reminded herself to take it slowly and be calm.

'We're Death Eaters, girl. You know about muggles and mudbloods, don't you?'

Hermione squirmed a bit. 'I'd heard things, but I-'

'Yes?'

'I didn't think it would be such a problem. And a lady is always kind and gentle to everyone.'

'You don't get this from me, you know. This whole _nice _thing. That's your grandfather in you. And your aunts.' She patted the bed.

'I just wanted to be helpful, was all. I was lonely.'

Bellatrix's stomach was twisting. Was parenting this hard all the time? Angry as she was, she could tell that Hermione hadn't meant to do something like this. And her daughter sounded subdued, her voice very soft.

'But you knew better.'

Hermione's eyes were nailed to her hands. 'I don't understand, though. Being muggleborn doesn't make someone a bad person.'

Bellatrix cupped the girl's chin to make her look up. 'You-do not-associate with people like that. Your father and I went to prison for ten years because of those people, girl.'

Hermione's big, sad eyes were damp. She inhaled and dropped her head, looking more and more upset.

It felt like there were snakes in Bellatrix's stomach. Her whole adult life, she'd been sure of the right way, knowing the correct choice, the moral choice. It had rarely been easy, but she'd always been confident in her ability to know what was what.

Not right now. Hermione was acting like she thought she'd get beaten or something, and it hadn't been deliberate naughtiness, like the running away. It had been a desire to make them proud of her that had simply been flawed, was all.

But she couldn't forget Andromeda. She'd been sweet and well intentioned and desirous of approval, hadn't she, and that mudblood had seduced her into leaving them. Bellatrix swallowed hard.

'Could you not have found another way? The Dark Lord could declare you a blood traitor for this, girl.'

Hermione _cringed_. 'I'm sorry, Mother.'

Why was the girl always apologising to her? Bellatrix knew she was making a mess of this, somehow, despite her best intentions to be gentle and calm and safe, like her Daddy always had been for his girls. She wished he was there right now, because she'd have dealt with the whole thing as gracefully and gently as the child deserved.

'You need to be punished, you know.'

Hermione nodded, face white, and bent over Bellatrix's lap without prompting. Bellatrix locked her leg over the girl's and summoned the brush from the dressing table. The clothes were harder to deal with, a tangle of layers which made Bellatrix wish she'd had the girl change into her nightgown or something. She finally succeeded in tugging down the child's knickers and moved her into the right position.

'Think next time, won't you?' She could feel Hermione breathing hard against her thighs, shaking a bit, poor child. Bellatrix picked up the hairbrush and tightened her hold on Hermione, bringing the thing down.

Initially, Hermione was more embarrassed than anything. She was, after all, a big girl, and she shouldn't have to get smacked at all, let alone for an honest mistake. Not that she had any intention of stopping her friendship with Alise, mind. But still. And Mother'd tugged down her knickers! She flushed with sheer mortification and buried her head in the duvet, determined to be brave.

Until the first stroke of the brush, and Hermione's legs kicked as she gasped. 'OW!'

Bellatrix said nothing, just kept on with the hairbrush, hoping she wasn't hitting too hard. The child would be sore tonight, but hopefully not sore tomorrow. She was pleased by how brave the girl was being. Every smack caused her to writhe and gasp, but she hadn't begged off or screamed or tried to stand up.

Ought she scold? It seemed a waste to her. Hermione was too occupied with the brush and she'd not remember half of what was being said. She held the girl tighter against her and smacked her thighs a few times, feeling the girl's sobs starting.

Hermione held out as long as she could, and when she couldn't anymore, she went limp, tears starting in earnest, chest hitching. It burnt. It was so much worse than Rodolphus's hand smacking that she really, truly didn't think she'd sit down comfortably again for ages.

Bellatrix stopped and put the brush aside. The girl was weeping hard against her thighs, chest heaving, making no move to stand up. Did she help her? Did she let her rest there? Surely she should be hugging the child now?

Hermione reached back and tugged up her knickers, calm enough to be mortified by the whole thing now. She pushed herself up slowly and stood up, eyes still wet, face tearstained.

Bellatrix was lost. Narcissa would know what to do, but she was not Narcissa. She hesitantly opened her arms. 'Come here.' Hermione got closer slowly, warily, rubbing her backside vigorously with both hands. She squirmed a bit.

'Just come here, girl. I've told you I don't bite, haven't I?' Hermione slowly sat down, gasping. Bellatrix opened her knees so the girl wouldn't need to sit directly on anything and gave her a series of awkward pats.

'What happens now?'

Hermione blinked. 'S-sorry?'

'What did Rodolphus do?'

'He had me nap.'

'Oh. That sounds right, I suppose.' Bellatrix let the girl sit there a few moments more and then stood and called for the elf to bring a nightdress. 'Would you like some broth or something?' One thing both grown Lestranges were agreed on, having starved too many years themselves, was that bed without supper was not an appropriate punishment. It would make Hermione feel insecure, and neither of them wanted that.

Hermione shook her head no. 'I'd rather go to sleep.'

Bellatrix sat down as she had the night Cunegarde had upset Hermione so. 'You know, once you've been punished it's all done. So don't think you can't have a hug or something. If you want one.'

Hermione nodded her thanks, still watching. Bellatrix patted her hair. 'A place for everyone, from high to low.'

'Mother?'

'It's fine if you think there's something to be gained. But you're not them anymore, girl. Remember that.' Hermione wasn't quite sure what was going on, but she nodded all the same.

'And be more discreet, for God's sake. That Ropion girl is apt to lose her guts one of these days, the way her mouth goes.' Bellatrix suspected her daughter didn't especially like Yseult, and she was glad, deep down.

Hermione gave a watery smile. 'I will.'

'You'd best, or I'll have your father tan you.' Bellatrix smoothed the child's forehead to soften her words. 'Night.'

'Night.' Hermione rolled over and was asleep in ten minutes. Bellatrix came out, sat down, and said 'That was hard.'

Narcissa, who'd been worried sick, nodded and smiled a bit. 'She's all right?'

'She will be.' She called for some wine for the two of them and handed her sister a goblet of fine red. 'Cissy?'

'Yes, Trixie?'

'I always wanted Mother to comfort me, you know. She never would. Do you suppose she couldn't?'

Narcissa took a larger sip of wine than was her wont and said 'That's a complicated question, don't you think?'

'We've all night.'

Narcissa nodded and drank a bit more wine before they started.

Hermione rolled over on her side on waking. There was something sort of damp on her legs, and she was sore. She groaned and reached back to rub, only to feel something hot and damp and sticky on her thighs. She gasped and brought her fingers up to look at them.

They were thick with blood, and she understood what had happened. She sat up and called for Rinky, who knew at once what had happened. 'Miss is having katamenses.'

Hermione stood gingerly, thinking how unfair it was that all this had happened so quickly. Her belly hurt, and her bum, and she was covered in hot, sticky blood, and her bed was soiled now, and...tears started but she stubbornly wiped them away.

Rinky was glad he was here for this, and immediately set to work, sending another elf to fill the tub, bringing Miss some pain potion for her cramps, mild though they were, and then some hot milk laced with calming potion.

After she'd bathed, he taught her how to stick rags into her knickers and then charm them to prevent leakage. 'That can happen?' gasped the appalled Hermione, who'd been grumpily reflecting that she'd got the bad parts and not the good parts of the thing, namely a bosom.

Rinky nodded. 'Miss is not riding broom, or running, or dancing, yes?'

'I won't. Rinky, could you get Aunt Narcissa, please?'

Narcissa, who knew Hermione wouldn't send for her this early unless there was an emergency, took one look at the girl's face and guessed.

'Hermione, have you had your...'

Her niece nodded. 'Yes. It's _nasty_.'

Narcissa laughed and hugged the girl tightly, who snuggled into her, relaxing in the safety of the embrace. 'And I've still not got any...'

'Any...ohh. You shall, darling.'

Hermione sighed and rested her head. 'I hope so.'

Bellatrix, having heard the commotion, poked her head in. 'What's this, then? Some sort of party I wasn't invited to?' Bellatrix was grumpy in the mornings until she'd had her tea.

'Not at all, we were just about to send for you.'

'Oh?'

'Hermione's had her katamenses.'

'What? No, she hasn't, she's too young.'

Hermione shook her head and said 'I have. It wasn't anything like I thought it would be.'

'No?'

'Are you in pain?'

'No, Mother.'

'What've you been told about all this?'

An elf brought them tea laced with lemon and sugar. 'It's just a bit of blood, isn't it?'

'More or less. But you know about the bee and the flower?'

'The bee and the... you mean intercourse? When people make babies?'

Both women were silent for a long, long moment. 'You know about that?'

'Well, yes.' Hermione shifted uncomfortably and looked at her feet. Was she in trouble for this now?

'Did the muggle woman...'

'Yes, she did. She gave me some pamphlets about it. And a book.'

'What sort of book?'

Hermione shrugged. 'I can't remember the name, but it was about...this.'

'Narcissa, would you mind?'

The two of them studied one another in the quiet. '

'Am I so fearsome to you?'

A fine red stain crept across Hermione's cheeks. 'No, Mother.'

'Why do you never tell me anything, then?'

'There's nothing to tell, Mother.'

'Would you have told her? The muggle woman?'

'I don't know. I don't.' Hermione was trying not to sniffle. Nothing was going right for her and all she wanted was to go back to bed and sleep until the day got better, or until she felt up to handling it.

'I don't know you.'

'I know.' Hermione turned her eyes away and marshalled her thoughts, until Bellatrix's hand on her cheek shook her from them. Not hard, definitely not a slap, but it was startling all the same.

'We shouldn't be strangers, girl. You're my daughter.'

Had Hermione been older, she might have retorted a number of challenges to this. She was a pawn in the Dark Lord's chess match, she was a spy, she was a bother her parents hadn't asked for, she was Aunt Narcissa's best girl, but her parents had been Annemarie and Cyril Granger, who'd held her while she cried and cleaned up when she'd wet the bed and taught her to ride a bicycle.

She couldn't though, because she was a child, and she wanted the woman looking at her to love her. So instead she dipped her head and said 'Yes, Mother.'

'There you go again. You're always so _polite_. Can't you just be normal?'

'I'm sorry.'

She didn't. Cry. Instead, eyes bright-Rodolphus's eyes, she noticed, but soft and liquid on the girl-she relaxed a little into Bellatrix's palm. 'How?'

Bellatrix felt a spike of pain that she ruthlessly shoved down. 'I don't know.'

Hermione cocked her head back. 'Mother, may I sit in your lap? I feel foolish, but-'

Bellatrix nodded, sitting, and Hermione sat down on her lap and closed her eyes. 'I'm a bit disappointed that this is all.'

'Everyone made it out to be something special, and it really isn't. And I'm not getting any of the good parts.'

'The good parts are a let down as well.'

'They are?'

'Sometimes. Nothing's ever quite like we think it will be.' Bellatrix was surprised when she reached up and lightly pressed the girl to her for a moment, enjoying that her child seemed to like it.

'And I feel sort of foolish, I guess, for still wanting...'

'Don't. This doesn't change anything. It's a bit of blood, not the end of the world.'

Hermione nodded and snuggled closer, feeling sort of nice. Mother had come to see her. She still missed Mum and Dad, but Mother was trying, and that was something.

'My own mother wasn't much help to me when I got mine. I was older, sixteen, but still.'

'That's awful.'

'I don't want to repeat the past. I'll try if you will.'

'Agreed.'

And Bellatrix and her daughter sat together, not repeating the past, until the elves called them for breakfast.

**A/N: Hermione is probably a touch young for her period, but the huge doses of Growth potion had a part. **


	15. Chapter 15

**A/N: Love to reviewers and Countess Black**

**Just to make this clear, some characters in this espouse views I do not endorse. Also, if anyone from the countries mentioned below wants to PM me with information, suggestions, etc., please don't hesitate to do so.**

Alise had had the strangest run in in the rose gardens that afternoon. She went and found Hermione in the big library after supper, and wrote her a note. _'We go outside now_?'

Hermione rose and slipped everything into her bag, following Alise into the gardens.

_'Yseult is getting you in trouble with mother_?'

_'Yes.' _Hermione sat down on the edge of a fountain and looked at the older, taller girl. _'Did she say something to you_?'

_'Is saying you are not wanting me anymore to be your friend. Is true_?'

_'Of course not_.'

_'What she is telling mother_?'

Hermione inhaled. '_She didn't outright tell her anything. She implied. I don't care, I still want to be friends_.'

Alise nodded. _'But parents are being angry with you.'_

_'Not if they don't know.'_

Alise raised an eyebrow. _'You are not telling them, Hermione_?'

Hermione heaved a sigh. '_You have to promise not to tell anyone this. Do you_?'

Alise nodded, praying her friend wasn't about to tell her something truly awful. 'Of _course.'_

Hermione found as she told the story, she achieved a bit of distance from it, as though it were something from a book. She could look on things and not feel more than the shadow of her fear, or her grief , as it had been.

Even as she finally told her friend the truth, she edited parts of it. She didn't mention the blood that had spewed from the auror's mouth, nor the abortive escape attempt, or the things she did for Snape. She'd absorbed the lesson about dangerous information with her usual facility, like she did all her lessons.

Alise listened, sometimes nodding to show she understood, sometimes asking questions. Her mind was fast, even if her tongue sometimes tangled on the unfamiliar syllables of French, and she understood some of what Hermione was going through.

_'I am sorry. Is terrible thing_.'

Hermione nodded, eyes wet. 'They _were good parents to me, whether I was theirs or not.'_

Alise nodded in understanding and looked away. _'Mama was same. Bad heart. I was nine._'

_'Oh, Alise, I'm sorry. I've not hurt you, have I?_.'

_'No. You were not knowing. She was good mother. But Grandmother is good, too. And is needing me_.' Alise's eyes were suspiciously damp for a second and she wiped them impatiently with her hand.

Hermione nodded, understanding a change of subject was called for. _'My Mum-the muggle one-she explained everything to me before I went away to school. I'm glad, because it was frightening enough._ _And there was an incident the night before..._'

In Britain, Snape was reading his letter with interest and touch of sadness. His little girl spy was now a young lady spy

He snorted a little. When she was older, he'd prepare her for some of the harsh realities of what her new state entailed, as he suspected the women in her life would give her some rosy coloured version of the bee and flower, as opposed to useful facts. He wouldn't repay his little spy by letting her pop out children like a brood mare unless it was what she wanted. And he'd see it wasn't, because her usefulness to him would be much compromised by a big belly.

He disregarded the woman's curse and settled down for more serious matters. The Bulgarians, the Estonians, the Latvians, the Albanians, a host of smaller countries, all had replied in the positive for the reception. France and Germany had politely refused; they wouldn't move against Britain, but neither would they do anything to aid them.

Russia was the same, as was the United States, the Canadians and most of South America. He had detected a degree of contempt in those replies which bore watching. He doubted they would openly attack, but they could be persuaded, perhaps by Romania...?

A problem for later. Prominent Death Eaters had been 'encouraged' to lend town houses for the delegates to use, and carefully vetted Snatchers had gone through them with a fine toothed comb in order to make sure the places were faultless.

Of course, there was time for other things, too. Their was, without doubt, dozens of small conspirators lurking about, and many of them might feel impelled to move against them at this thing.

Snape would be in the background. Why let a sallow, greasy bat like himself lead when there were fine specimens like Malfoy and Lestrange to push forward? And if they happened to absorb a few hexes in the bargain, well, so do things go.

He smiled slightly. He'd pick the dog up at midnight, and it was twenty til. He donned his cloak and set out for the spot. His lordship practically never required his attendance at night these days. Snape suspected the smaller body simply couldn't tolerate late hours anymore, and the Dark Lord didn't want him to know.

He waited by the place and wasn't disappointed. The dog appeared, Apparated by the elf, and shook his head. 'Hello, Snape.'

'Black. How was Romania?' As he spoke, Snape was grasping the man's arm to Apparate them back to Spinner's End. Settled in the lumpy, musty furniture, the men regarded one another with a strange mixture of dislike and camaraderie.

'And what have you learnt, Black?'

'They're calling Arthur Weasley the Minister in Exile, now. He's petitioning to be recognised by the Romanian Ministry.'

'Will they do it?'

Black shrugged. 'Most people are against it, from what I can tell. Too risky.'

'They'll continue to shelter the refugees?'

'No one minds that.'

'No?' Black took a half sandwich from the elf and ate it in three bites. The glamours were fading, which gave the odd impression that his teeth were rotting more with every bite.

'They're not many, and no one likes the-you know.'

'Indeed.' Snape waved away the ale the elf had brought but sent it for water instead. 'And your cover held?'

'Yes. I quite like being the medi-wizard.'

Snape nodded again. 'I'd imagine you're tired.'

'I'd like a bath, if you wouldn't mind.'

'Fine.'

Black ambled for the stairs and vanished. Snape could sense the elf hovering over him like a shadow. 'Elf?'

'Master? Miss is being all right?'

'She's fine. But I've something more for you to do, once it's closer to December.'

'Yes, Master?'

'You understand how vital it is to this enterprise that your mistress charm the envoys, don't you?'

'Rinky is understanding, Master.'

'She is young yet. Too young, if you ask me, so we must do everything we can to assist her. So when the time comes, I will give you a phial, and you will dose the ones I tell you.'

Not, of course, with love potion. Nothing so crude. And so easily traceable. But something gentler, harder to test for, that would incline the subjects to enjoy themselves. And, of course, render them suggestible.

The Lestrange girl would be much too young to contribute much, more's the pity. Had she been fifteen or sixteen, well...but she was not, and so he'd tell her only to look pretty, to help her aunt, and to keep her ears open.

Snape rose and walked toward the stairs. It had been a long day, and he was tired. He could hear the dog in his room, speaking to the elf, and the elf answering him. All was well, at least in Snape's corner of the world, at least for the moment.

In London, Scabior was finishing. Below him, Hetty gasped and rocked her hips, possibly in pretence but perhaps not. He slid out of her and laid naked in the sheets, as she draped herself over him like a small, plump blanket, dugs pressing into his chest pleasantly. He'd missed how soft women were, in prison.

'Lem?'

'Yeah?'

'You really cut it off him?'

'An carried it round in my pocket. Made for a good watch fob, it did.'

'And his prick?'

'Nah. That I threw in the river. No need t be carryin sumthin like that about, you know?'

Hetty nodded solemnly. 'You're really going away tomorrow?'

'Yeah. Got t go an see the ol man, you know.'

'You said you hate your father.'

'I ates im, all right, but I gots t go all the same. It's neces'ry.'

Hetty didn't question this. 'When you go in December to see the delegates, perhaps I can come too, and help you?'

'We'll sees. But doan be too opeful, lots a people wants to be there.' He rather wanted to take her, he thought. She could see how powerful he was, in his small way, and she was pretty.

'Is Bellatrix Lestrange nice?'

'Nice enough t the likes a me, Ets. They've a lil girl, you know.'

'Really?'

'Jus become a big girl, I ear tell.'

Hetty clucked in sisterly sympathy. 'Poor thing. I hope they've explained.'

'No tellin what the quality'll do, I'd say. But no boys ad best bother er, else I'll ave me a new watch fob.'

Hetty laughed. 'She's special to you, then?'

'Not like that. But she's a nice girl, and I'd ate to see er ruined like Nora was. And oo knows what these foreign fellows might try?' Scabior had a deep seated belief that foreign men had an insatiable appetite for English witches, and he'd decided that none of them would be bothered by the girl's age or her obvious innocence.

Hetty clucked again. 'Don't worry, Lem, they won't bother anyone with you about.'

He nodded. 'Damned right. Ready for another go?' She was, and they did.

_'So once we've a plan, we'll be fine.'_

Alise cocked her head. _'What sort of plan?'_

_'Let me sleep on it.'_

Hermione had, of course, written Snape with her dilemma. How she could she...persuade...Yseult to stop bothering Alise without some sort of reprisals for anyone?

Scabior rose and dressed soberly in dark greys and deep purples, with just a bright yellow handkerchief for a bit of colour. He Floo'd to the Dancing Hag and climbed out, shaking the dust from his hair.

The barman stopped polishing the tankard he'd been holding and gasped. 'Fuck me. Lemuel Scabior?'

'Oi, Ab. My ol man's still in the place, yeah?'

The barman nodded. 'We don't want no trouble, Lem. No trouble.'

Scabior smiled. 'No trouble, Ab. Mebbe a pint wouldn't go amiss?'

The barman drew him a pint of bitter and handed it over. Scabior drank it at a gulp and set the glass back down. 'Much oblige, Ab.'

'S'all right, Lem.' The barman watched Scabior go, and then, hands shaking, took down the bottle of goblin brandy and drank a draught. No one said anything. There was nothing to be said.

Obed Scabior was eating sprats by the fire when his door was blasted in. He rose, a small, stoop-shouldered man, warped by a life of bending over a tub of windelwort stalks or blisterbeetle carapaces, opening them for commercial potions manufacturers. He leapt up, sprats flying, and dove for his wand.

Scabior the younger was faster. He wordlessly flicked a Silencing spell and grinned down at the old man.

'Ello, Da.'

'Why the ell ave you come back?'

'Sum greetin for a son you aint seen in a year. Trial, wasn't it?'

'You don't give me that shite, boy. You knows what you did.'

'Nah, but I knows what yer gonna do.'

'How's that, then?'

Scabior smiled again. 'Crucio.'

Hermione got the letter from Snape between classes, so she had no time to read it until lunch. She crept into a student lavatory and slit the seal, which was blank. She read the letter, vanished it, and went to her afternoon classes.

It was waiting for her in her room when she got back. She silently blessed her dear Rinky and flipped the sheath of papers over. All of it perfect, all of it real, that was the best part.

She familiarised herself with the contents and vanished all of that, as well. She worked on her lessons for the next day, wrote Aunt Narcissa a nice letter, wrote Cunegarde one in response to the four page letters of prohibitions 'now that you've become a woman'.

_'Hermione! Open up!'_

Hermione swished, and the door opened. Yseult stumbled in, face blotchy. _'I need help.' _She had utterly forgot about the conversation with Bellatrix, the confrontation with Alise, all of it, in the immediate crisis. Hermione was the first person she thought of when she realised what had happened-because if Hermione would help a mudblood, surely she'd help a real friend?

_'Sit down and tell me what happened.'_

_'I turned in my Charms essay but Monsieur gave me a zero because I forgot to change the parts I got from the books I used!_

Hermione's eyes widened. _'Yseult, you were _cheating_?'_

_'It's just stupid charms! We have elves to do these things for us!'_

_'But you knew the penalties for plagarism.' _So did Hermione, and Snape. He'd simply had the elf change everything back.

_'Yes, I know, but..._'

_'And there's nothing I can do, is there?'_

_'You could come with me to take to Monsieur, couldn't you? He loves you.'_

_'I don't know. My parents wouldn't approve, would yours?'_

Yseult sucked in a breath. _'Ohhh...But this is hardly the same.'_

_'No? Cheating is hardly behaviour suitable to a Pureblood lady, wouldn't you say?'_ Had Narcissa seen, she would have burst with pride. Hermione strove to keep her voice smooth and soft and her face as gentle as her aunt's always was. Yseult's eyes filled, and her mouth twisted into a pout.

_'So you won't help me?'_

_'I never said that.'_

Hermione knocked on Alise's door ten minutes before lights out, grinning. _'It's done.'_

_'How are you doing it?'_

Hermione raised an eyebrow. Alise sometimes found it slightly hard to reconcile her sweet, gentle friend with the murderers she had as parents, especially as gossip had it that the resemblance between the girl and her mother was uncanny.

'_And she is not bothering us now_?'

_'Not if she wants my silence.'_

Alise gave a low whistle of admiration. _'Well done. How is Paris being?'_

_'It was fine. My aunt had a good time.'_

_'Your aunt is sounding very lovely.'_

_'She is, and kind as well.'_

_'Mother is being very angry?'_

Hermione nodded. '_She's hard to read, though. She was livid before she sp-before we talked and fine after.'_

Alise had noticed what her friend had been preparing to say, and mentally added it to the list of things to like about Hermione-that she'd taken a spanking from Bellatrix Lestrange and was still determined to pursue her course.

_'Why you are going to Paris?'_

_'To get robes for that thing in December.'_

_'Thing?'_

Hermione hadn't been mentioning the round of receptions in December; she didn't want people to treat her differently. She briefly summarised, shocked when Alise beamed.

_'Bulgarians? I help you. Mama was Bulgarian.'_

_'Really?'_

_'Oh, yes. Papa is going to Sofia to learn to build, and meeting Mama. She is also builder-engineer, is the word? We live there until I was nine.'_

Hermione's eyes lit up. _'That would be wonderful, if you'd help me.'_

_'Yes. What else in Paris?'_

Scabior looked round the place one last time and pocketed his trophies. He didn't clean anything up, nor even fixed the blasted door. He just turned and left, boots leaving thick tracks of biological slurry.

The night was bright with stars and the sky smelt of pollution and garbage and the despairing smells of an industrial city which is slowly fading into a tomb for itself. Scabior crossed from the slums and into a broken down graveyard, easily hoping the fence.

The graves already had the look of disrepair one associates with old cemeteries, despite being much fresher than that, not much more than a year. His boots squeaked in the rotten, loamy slime of leaves and the bits which clung to him like a trace memory of corruption. Her tombstone, then. White, it glowed in the gentle starlight like the moon.

'Oi, Nora. Brought you sumthin. Likes the last one, yeah?' He took out his prizes and arranged them gently on the top of the stone, taking care to stick them first. The prizes lolled there, wetly gleaming. Scabior absentmindedly noticed how they seemed to have animation, a bit, in the light.

'I ave a good job now, you know. And a girl, and a flat an all. An my boss is a nob, no foolin. E's gots a lil girl reminds me a you. I wont let no one urt er, either. So she wont needs no presents.'

He stroked the stone, knowing his sister slept under it with her child clutched to her chest, together until the Trumpet blew and they'd all be reunited again, brother and sister, mother and father, man and wife.

He'd believed her when she said it was Reg's. Perhaps it even had been. It almost, almost didn't matter to him. Not then, not now. He'd always loved Nora so much. So very, very much.

'Bye bye, Nora.' He stood and left her gifts there for some unlucky sod to find, and Apparated back to London, feeling his duty was done. Hetty was waiting for him, and a cold drink and the paper. Not supper though-it had seemed an awful waste to let all those sprats go uneaten.

Bellatrix grimaced and stroked a hand covertly over her mouth. Her teeth ached. She made a face and went back to her report, affecting not to be bothered. Rodolphus noticed. 'Darling?'

'I'm fine, Rodolphus.'

'Aren't.'

She made a face at him. 'Are.'

'Shall I send for some pain potion for you?'

Bellatrix nodded and set down her quill. 'Would you? That damned Travers never half fills out these reports, and so I have to-' She gulped the potion and then took up her quill again.

'They are better.'

'They were fine before.'

'His Lordship will like them more this way.'

'Which is the only reason I consented, I'll have you know. And why haven't you had to get yours fixed? Or Rabastan? Or Dolohov?'

'I'm scheduled for next week, actually. Rabastan's getting his done in Sofia, and I don't know about Dolohov.'

'You didn't have to go all the way to France, then.'

Rodolphus was used to his wife's carping. 'You got to see our daughter.'

'Yes.'

'We should get hers done too, do you think? She's got great grandfather's unfortunate teeth.'

Bellatrix slammed down her quill. 'Just because your great grandfather looked like a vole does not mean my child's teeth aren't just fine.' She clenched her jaw, which hurt, and then stopped, which hurt more.

Bellatrix stood up and stormed through the doors without another word. Rodolphus followed, mentally sighing, knowing he'd have to talk her down. 'Bellatrix?'

'I don't want her to feel ashamed.'

'She's nothing to be ashamed about.'

'I know that.' Bellatrix grimaced again, teeth flashing brightly, looking too white and too straight to be real. She ran her tongue along the edges of her upper teeth and looked across the darkened grounds of the Lestrange estate, darkly musing.

_'And so everything's to be sent home until the delegates come.'_

_'Sounds very elegant, very nice. I am hearing is good looking man with your mother and aunt. Is uncle?'_

Hermione shook her head. _'Scabior. He works for my father_.'

_'Is cute?'_

_'I suppose' _said Hermione, who still didn't really like boys much. _'He's sort of weird.'_

Alise grinned. _'I am thinking Yseult is not minding much. Is saying to Dominique that he is most interesting.'_

Hermione's brows shot up. The idea that snobby Yseult would like Scabior was too funny, though of course she wouldn't know who or what he was.

_'Is nice, Scabior_?'

_'To me, he is_.'

He'd waited on them in Paris, accompanying them from shop to shop and making sure they weren't bothered. Not for lack of trying. A number of people had wanted to come up and shake Mother's hand, embrace her or express admiration.

A few others had done the opposite, glaring and muttering, and one brave soul had tried to spit before Mother had hexed him. 'Vulgar people, love, that's all' reassured Aunt Narcissa, stewarding her away.

Scabior had approached her as the other ladies were off looking at shoes for Mother, who'd mimed gagging and followed without much protest. 'Ello, flower.'

'Hello.'

'How've you been these days, eh?'

'I'm all right.'

Scabior had overheard from an elf that the girl was now a woman, and he'd wanted to express his feelings on a number of issues. He sat next to her and said gravely 'You know yer real big now, yeah?'

'I'll be thirteen in the spring.'

'That so? Well, jus you be careful. About boys. Anyone bothers you, you jus tell ol Lem and I'll fix em.'

Hermione nodded. 'Thank you.'

'Ah, s'all right. What I shoulda done. Before, I mean.' His eyes looked misty and Hermione abruptly jumped up to join the other women, feeling sort of squirmy and weird.

She'd been scared Narcissa would scold but she didn't. She gave Hermione plenty of attention and affection, partly because she'd missed her and partly because she wanted the girl to understand that they still loved her despite her misstep.

'Aunt Narcissa' said Hermione the night before they returned 'was my grandmother cruel to Mother?'

Narcissa inhaled and hoped an owl would come, or something, because this would be no fun. 'Not cruel, I would say, but they didn't get along, definitely. They were very much alike, too much alike, and that's almost as bad as too different. My mother had this idea that she could...well...break Bellatrix's will or something.'

Hermione had been sewing, and she took up her scissors to snip a loose thread. 'How?'

'I don't know, love. I was very small. I suspect it's probably very painful for your mother to talk about.'

'I shan't ask, then.'

'There's the girl.'

Hermione held out the finished product, a square of white silk onto which she had embroidered an ornate "C" and some small designs. 'Would you give this to Aunt Cunegarde?'

'Of course I will.'

Alise listened to all this without really hearing. She suspected there was much being held back, and that she might be happier if she didn't know what it was. When she'd mentioned the mysterious man, it had made Hermione's face tightened almost convulsively. Clearly, there was something there.

_'Why your mother did not want to fix teeth_?'

_'I didn't ask. My muggle parents were dentists, so I know it must have hurt her to have them like they'd been_.' Hermione was very self conscious about hers, and she'd often wondered why Mother and Father both didn't fix their teeth, which had been badly decayed.

Had they been muggles, the only solution would have been to pull them all and make dentures. But they were magical, and so all it had taken a coat of potion, with more for home.

Hermione was fiercely curious about how this could be, but because she understood she had not asked. She'd ask Snape someday, she decided firmly, and pushed it from her mind.

Cunegarde had fallen asleep clutching the handkerchief. Her head lolled, face slack, but the elves dared not remove it from her withered claw. She anticipated December with the same mix of excitement and nervousness she had the parties she had once thrown.

For a final time, she would participate in Society, whether anyone knew it or not. She'd see the girl was got up like a queen, in case she should die before the child had had her debut.

Not that she had any intention of dying before then, mind. She'd make a dignified exit after the girl had safely married, or at least been engaged, and she fully expected Death would oblige her.

She was, after all, a Lestrange, and Cunegarde had a deep conviction that Death would take such things into account, and so she slept, planning the triumph that was to come.


	16. Chapter 16

**A/N: Love to reviewers and to Countess Black**

**Ten house points to the person who guessed Alise lives in Latvia. For the curious, Yseult is pronounced 'Izs-ult', and Cunegarde is 'Kyou-knee-gard.'**

Snape would have proud of how Hermione orchestrated the detente between Alise and Yseult (actually, he was, when he found out about it, but that was not until much later).

The two of them sat awkwardly beside one another, glaring a bit, like cats, as Hermione poured tea for them and served it, British style. The three girls sipped, two of them still bristling and staring warily.

Hermione set down her cup and saucer on the tray the elf had brought. _'This has to stop.'_

_'What does?'_

_'We can all be friends, and we need one another. We'll do better together than apart.'_

Alise cocked her head. _'Yes?'_

'If the three of us work together, we could be a force to be reckoned with.'

Yseult grimaced. _'We already are. Some of us.'_ She gave Alise a pointed look, which Alise returned without hesitating-she might not be some kind of aristo, but she wasn't a slouch, either.

_'All of us.'_

_'That's debatable.'_

_'Is not. My family is being good people, smart people.'_

_'Common people.'_

_'No_' said Hermione sharply _'they aren't. Alise's father is a famous architect_.'

_'A what?'_

_'An architect._' Hermione explained the concept, and Yseult nodded haughtily.

_'Yes, yes, but still, he works for a living. Your father and mine-'_

_'Yours is a politician, and mine works for the government. Like I said, we all need one another. Each has skills the others could benefit from, and each of us has something we don't want to be common knowledge.'_

_'And you really think this could work?'_

_'I think it has to, if we're to succeed. So, what do you say?'_

Alise nodded and nibbled on a biscuit from the tray. _'I am agreeing.'_

Yseult huffed. _'I suppose so, but you promise you'll help me like you say?'_

_'We'll all help one another.'_

So they did. Hermione drew up a schedule for them to follow, and with a little more gentle coaxing, the others agreed to follow it. They did lessons together every night, followed by practice in French and Bulgarian, dance or etiquette. Hermione was absolutely correct; each of them had skills which the others benefited from.

Better, the elves approved hardily and helped them with things, bringing full place settings for the girls to practice with, moving the furniture so they could dance, fetching the things they needed for their embroidery (Alise had prevailed on Yseult, who was terrible but getting better).

In addition, both girls marks had gone up, Yseult's by a full grade point. The professors, having found no evidence of cheating, concluded it was either the influence of Mademoiselles Lestrange and Sproga, or some sort of fortunate alignment of the stars.

Alise, in her turn, was learning more about the Wizarding world. One afternoon she was working with Yseult as Hermione met with a professor. _'Yseult?'_

Yseult's tongue poked from the side of her mouth as she outlined a starburst in painstaking stitches.

_'You are inviting Hermione for summer, yes?'_

_'Yes, but- '_

Alise held up a hand. _'You are being careful, yes? Making sure no one is telling her bad things?_'

Yseult, relieved that she needn't invite Alise now, nodded. _'Bad things?'_

_'She is being very...innocence, yes?'_

_'Innocent. And yes.'_

_'We do not want someone to be scaring her, or making her sad. Watching, yes?'_

_'Does she know about her parents, do you know?'_

Alise sighed and looked at the duvet. _'No, is not knowing, I think. The details.'_

_'I'll let Maman know, definitely. It might be better for her to know, do you think?'_

Alise shook her head, dark braids bouncing. She had gorgeous hair, thick and dark and wavy, Yseult thought, but those braids were horrible.

_'Hermione is...good, kind, and would be...bad if she saw ugly things, yes?' _Alise was a year older than the other two, and she felt a fierce protectiveness for the younger girl. She couldn't protect her friend from everything, but she could try to head off the worst of things.

Yseult chewed this over. _'I'll do what I can, but I can't promise.'_

_'Of course not. But now is not good time, I think.'_ Alise would have chewed out her own tongue before she admitted that Hermione hardly knew her parents and that she believed that Hermione simply couldn't tolerate anything as horrific as the stories about the Lestranges.

Yseult leant over and gave the pen in Alise's hand a gentle tug. _'No, no! Not so hard. You're a lady, not a yeoman_.' She demonstrated and handed back the pen. Alise gripped it the proper way, disliking it but knowing, deep down, that every bit of correction, no matter how bitter, would help her to find a toehold in the new world she'd been shoved into.

Hermione came in, cheeks pink. _'I got a TB on that extra credit assignment!'_

Both other girls exchanged fond looks and then giggled. _'And this is news?' _The three settled in, still smiling, to work.

Narcissa Malfoy was deeply glad her hair was such a light blonde. If it hadn't been, she suspected that it would be white by now, between organising parties, bullying people for their own good and Cunegarde.

She sighed loudly and slumped against a small eboniste work table, head throbbing, and drank the pain potion the elf brought her with unladylike haste. Her vision cleared a bit and she rose, straightening her robes, and started for Bellatrix's rooms on the third floor.

Bellatrix was lounging on a divan, legs dangling in a manner which would have prompted Narcissa to scold Hermione quite sharply, or Cunegarde to threaten the girl with the cane.

'So, how did it go?'

Narcissa sat down. 'Cunegarde will move into the London house by the twelfth so she'll have time to settle in.' She gratefully swallowed the violet water that the elf brought her, feeling the mild mood lifting effect erasing the pain of dealing with the old woman.

Bellatrix raised herself on her elbows. 'Well, better you than me.' She grinned at her baby sister, mentally considered mussing Cissy's hair, and then remembered that she couldn't stop her retaliating. She missed being able to tote her sister about in her arms, and braid her hair, and tuck her in with a story.

'Do you remember I used to read to you before you napped?'

Narcissa's face lit up. 'I do! Morella and the Magic Fungus, wasn't it?'

'I hated Morella. She was an insipid little cow, I thought.'

'I was five.'

'I know. You were always such a nice little thing. Hermione gets it from you, I think.'

Narcissa unceremoniously moved her sister aside and sat down, holding her glass. 'All of us, really.'

Bellatrix shook her head and sat properly. 'No, no. Not me, and not Mother, either.'

'You were always nice to me.'

Bellatrix snorted. 'When did you give me reason not to be?' She drank a bit of her own violet water. 'I'm glad you can do that. Be nice.'

Narcissa squeezed her sister's hand. 'This is really very exciting, with the delegations, isn't it?'

'If you say so. I'd rather be fighting, myself.'

'I'm glad you aren't, and so are the rest of us.'

Bellatrix's eyes darkened a bit. 'But I'm _good _at it. It's the only thing I'm really good at.' There was no self pity in Bellatrix's voice, or any sense this might a problem. It just was, like birds fly and fish swin-Bellatrix Lestrange, once Bellatrix Black, was good at violence.

'But think of how much happier Hermione is with you home.'

Bellatrix frowned. 'Cissy, that's low.'

'It's not. It happens to be true.'

'Hmmph' said Bellatrix 'I think I liked you better when I could send you to play when you got tiresome.'

Scabior was sleeping off a hangover, the snoring Hetty beside him. Between them, they had made nearly 500 galleons the night before, even after Mother Goforth got her ten percent.

Hetty rolled on her side, groaning, and then poked Scabior's side when she heard the thumping at the window. Scabior stumbled to the window, naked, and took the message from the owl, giving her a bit of old, cold toast from the bedside.

'What is it, Lem?'

'I needs t go an talk to sumone. You'll be awright ere, Ets?'

'Yeah, Lem. Who're you going to talk to?'

'A bloke. Doan worry about it. You goin t work tonight?'

'Only a few hours. If that old bitch doesn't let up about my hair' Mother Goforth was trying to force Hetty to do her hair in a more a la mode style 'I'll rip all hers out by the dark brown roots, so I will.'

'Ah, Ets, doan do that. Sumday soon you'll ave enough an we'll opens a real good, igh class orehouse. An you can sit in the parlour, an I'll ires you a good spoony man, yeah?'

Hetty smiled and nodded. 'Best be soon, Lem, or I'll be apt to go mad.' Hetty stood up and grabbed her dressing gown, covering her generous dugs and fat, cushiony arse.

Scabior, seeing her assets, wanted to curse Snape for taking him away, but he knew that he'd be better to go along with the man's plans.

Twenty minutes later, sipping Snape's ale, Scabior counted off the things that had happened lately. 'An it weren't nothin, after all, but she'd lost the earrin in er drawers a smalls.'

'Mmm, most interesting. There's something you might do for me, if you've the chance.'

'A course, sir.'

'There's a dossier here-a list of names and photos-I want you to be on the lookout for. It's possible you'll never see any of them, but if you-or your people-do, I'll want to know right away.'

Scabior nodded. 'I kin do that. D'you suppose if we finds one a them, Is Lorship'd give us medals?'

Snape nodded. 'Scabior, if you find a spy, his lordship will give you a good deal more than that.'

'A orehouse?'

'Pardon?' Snape imagined himself asking the Supreme Lord of Britain, in the body of a twelve year old, for the den of iniquity to give as a prize to a murderer. Scabior looked totally serious, however, so Snape forced down his snorts of laughter.

'My Etty, she wans to open er own, and it'd be nice, to be the master a the place, you know?'

'Quite' said Snape, who knew nothing of the sort. If Scabior actually did find a spy, the odds of which were phenomenal, a cathouse could be dug up for him. Or anything else he wanted, within reason.

Snape handed over the files he had prepared. 'Everything you need is here. Make sure your people know, would you?' He'd made copies for them as well, but only pictures.

Scabior nodded. 'Yes, sir.'

The pictures are mainly foreign dignitaries, with a smattering of citizens who'd gone underground for a variety of reasons. He wanted to track their movements without taking them into custody, and though he doubted many of them were the type to rent a woman for the night, he wa hedging bets.

He'd given them to the dog as well. The dog was holding back on him, he was sure. Snape didn't mind all that much. He'd been able to glean enough from the reports not to mind very much, and he didn't so much care about specific people as broad movements of government.

The tooth repair potion had been harder. The potion itself was both expensive to make and hard to do technically, but it had, he finally decided, been worth it. The risk that someone would see Black's rotted teeth was just too high.

He'd simmered the ingredients precisely as the potion called for-three hours under the full moon, then three days, with three anti-clockwise stirs a night, at midnight, three and six, and then three more days to sit until he strained the potion into three beakers for each needed dose.

The first dose was the hardest. It stripped away the damaged enemel and then started to rebuild it. It was painful, and it needed an expert hand to apply. Black got no such artistry-Snape simply had the elf hold his head while he coated each tooth with it, watching as Black spat mouthful after mouthful of reeking black purulence into a wastebin.

They were better, though brittle, now. Snape had made the strengthening potions, and Black was drinking two phials a day to make sure they'd be all right for travelling. They weren't like his cousin's; Snape thought that might attract attention, so Black's would be a bit grubbier, a bit less perfect, in other words, utterly normal.

Speaking of which...Black was wandering down the stairs, giving him a look. Snape scowled fiercely and said nothing as the dog draped himself over the armchair like a damned king.

'Well, Snape, how was the whoremaster?'

'Having more fun than you or I.'

Black snorted, face seeming more like its old self when he laughed. 'Rather. No way you could find me a place like that, eh?'

'A Pureblood gentleman, the spoony man of a sporting house? Tut tut, what would Walpurga say?'

Black ignored the bait. 'Ask Uncle Alphard. He kept half the houses in Knockturn Alley afloat in his later years.'

'Family tendency?'

'Snape' said Black patiently 'have you never seen the women the men in my family marry? If you'd been married to my mother, or Drusella Rosier, you'd like a good whore every so often as well. They're friendly, at least.'

'Oh, I don't know. Bellatrix has her moments of...friendliness.'

'So it's true? You and Trixie?'

'I never said that.'

Black threw back his head and laughed hard, clutching his skinny ribs. 'I'm amazed she didn't kill you after, like one of those bugs.'

'As was I, actually.' Snape raised an eyebrow archly, and Black laughed again. Wonders, mused Snape, really would never cease.

As December drew closer, Cunegarde found herself anticipating the delegates more and more. Her great great niece had written letters asking for more stories, and Cunegarde had obliged with alcricity, sending detailed reports of her earlier glories, with long, long lists of things for Hermione to remember and dire warnings of consequences should she fail to remember the advice she was given.

_'Is very fierce, your aunt_.'

Hermione grinned and shook her head. _'No, not really. She's always threatening to cane me, but she'd break a hip if she tried_.'

_'Hermione! You mustn't joke about those things_!' Yseult looked shocked and picked up the comb she'd been toying with.

_'It's true!' _All three laughed for no real reason and then settled down for more serious business. _'Reading the rest now?'_

_'Of course.' _Hermione cheated and used a translation spell in order to make things clearer.

_**'*...And be sure that, should a gentleman ask you to walk with him, you take an elf, and do not let him touch you below the neck, because otherwise he'll believe you fast, and who might blame him?**_

_**And should he offer the elf some treat, do not permit it, as some men (one cannot, in good conscience, call them gentlemen) who are known to dose fruit or sweets with strong sleeping potions in order to distract the servants of vulnerable girls like yourself.'***_

The girls giggled again. _'You are being only twelve!'_

_'Really, Hermione, Alise is right. Has your aunt been reminded of that lately?'_

Hermione shook her head earnestly. _'She's lonely. She thinks she's being of help.'_

_'Is really 117?'_

_'Yes. She's only got us now, because her husbands and children all died. And Mother and she hate one another.'_

_'Is no wonder.'_ Alise couldn't imagine a thing like that. Her Grandma was never bitter or nasty, and it seemed to her that the two old women had much in common. She shook her head, and Yseult finally could take no more.

_'You really must let me fix your hair. I swear, it'll look wonderful.'_

Alise sighed and reached up to undo her braids, which were short but thick, and so dark they were almost black.

Hermione watched them, frowning a bit, knowing she should answer the letter and having little will for it at the moment. She summoned her lapdesk and decided she'd get done faster if she stopped complaining and finished the thing. Soonest begun...

Finally the great day came. Hermione had got a note from the Headmistress asking her to come to her office before she left. Stomach knotting, Hermione bid her friends goodbye. Alise was going by train to Riga, where her father would pick her up in a car, and Yseult was Flooing directly home.

_'Is early still. Your parents are getting here early?'_

Hermione shook her head. _'No, Madame Maxime wants to see me.'_

_'Hermione, dear, have you done something naughty?'_ Yseult's eyes glittered with mischief, and before Hermione answered, Alise grinned and said _'Not Hermione. Is never naughty.'_

Hermione thought of her fight with a troll and snorted._ 'Well, maybe not never...'_ Handing her friends their gifts, she turned and went to answer the summons. What could she have done?

Olympe Maxime was pleased when the knock came at exactly the indicated time. She flicked her wand to open it, and the Lestrange girl was standing there, looking a bit anxious.

_'Ah, Mademoiselle Lestrange, come in. You understand me, I take it?'_

_'Yes, Madame.'_

_'Excellent. Tell me, how do you find the school?'_

_'Very nice, Madame. The professors are always nice to me, and I'm learning a lot of useful things.'_

_'Good, good. I notice you've made some friends. How are they?'_

_'Wonderful, Madame. Am I in trouble?'_

_'Not at all. I'm just curious as to how you convinced Yseult Ropion to be friends with a muggleborn?'_

Hermione looked away for a moment. 'They've _a lot to offer one another, is all. And we have a good time together_.'

Olympe nodded. She'd wondered at first whether the Lestrange girl meant to set the Alise Sproga up somehow, but as time wore on, they seemed really to like one another.

And the Ropion girl was a surprise, as well. Olympe had sat them together because they seemed the sort who would be friends-both rich, both only daughters, both the children of militant blood purists.

Not that she was opposed, and her first impresion might well bear out. Perhaps the girl really was just a sweet, goodnatured child who attracted people to her. Certainly, her attempts to help both other girls would support that, as would her general manner and the humble, plain clothes she wore on weekends.

_'Are your parents aware of your friendship with Mlle. Sproga?'_

The girl flushed. _'You won't tell them, will you?'_

Olympe shook her head. _'No, of course not. Are you afraid they'd be angry?'_

_'Yes. But my-well, someone used to tell me that all that mattered was what was on the inside.'_

That certainly wasn't the answer that Olympe had expected. She controlled her surprise and nodded. The aunt, probably, or perhaps an elf or a professor at Hogwarts. Or a grandparent? She thought that more and more likely, the longer she thought of it, because the girl had clearly been lavished with attention, affection, and good discipline.

_'May I ask you a personal question, Mademoiselle?'_

_'Of course, Madame.'_

_'With whom did you live during your parents...abscene?' _

The child went red and stared hard at her hands, tears filling her eyes. She swallowed hard, and Olympe, realising that she'd asked a bad question, held up a hand.

_'There there. I never meant to upset you. Was it a grandparent, perhaps?'_

Hermione nodded helplessly, feeling that this was the best course. _'I miss...' _her voice thickened and she dipped into her pocket for her handkerchief and dabbed her eyes. Olympe was reminded again of her maiden aunt, with the iron control that previous generations had prized above all else.

_'Of course. Should you ever like to talk, I'd be glad to listen, all right?'_

Hermione rose and curstied. _'May I go, Madame?'_

_'If you wouldn't mind, I should like to accompany you to the carriage. I should like to meet your mother._'

The girl nodded, face pale, and Olympe Maxine bent from her great height and said, very softly '_I shan't tell your parents anything, child, I promise. I'm just curious_.' If nothing else, she wanted to look at the monsters in the flesh.

It was only one monster, and disappointingly, she was a fairly normal looking witch, rather older looking than her age would suggest, but quite conventional otherwise.

When her daughter came into sight, the smile she gave made her look younger, almost pretty, as the girl stepped into her embrace and started speaking English too rapidly for Olympe to really follow.

'Mother, the Headmistress wanted to meet you.'

'Oh. All right.' The two women faced one another, taking the measure of the other, and if they were destined to dislike one another, they found a measure of respect in the fact that neither tried to pretend it was not so. A Death Eater and a half giantess were on opposite sides of many things.

'Nice to meet you. Your daughtair is a very good student.'

'That's nice to hear. She's been a good girl?'

'Nevair a problem.'

The Lestrange woman made a weird face at her daughter, and the girl made it back. The resemblence really was extraordinary, especially side by side. The girl was smiling, and Olympe realised the strange look was a sort of smile.

'What I'd best hear, girl.' The girl dipped her head, still smiling, and the woman's eyes softened a little. 'Well, we'll be off, then.'

The two of them climbed into a carriage and an elf closed the door. The girl was still waving when they sped out of view.

Hermione relaxed as they bobbed along. 'Are you excited, Mother?'

'About the delegations? No. Politics is tiresome. But it's good you're home. Your great great aunt's been badgering us for days.'

'Has she?' Even the thought of Cunegarde wasn't enough to discourage her today. She turned to Rinky, thrilled to see her friend. 'I've all sorts of fashion plates and things, Rinky, for new hairstyles.'

'Oh, good! Rinky is helping Miss!'

Bellatrix wasn't sure how she felt about Hermione's caring about her hair. She didn't mind in theory, but in pratice, it felt sort of strange. Her child was getting older. She blinked and reached a hand for Hermione.

Hermione reached back. 'I've made something for everyone. Do you suppose Father will like the waistcoat I've made him?'

'I'm sure he will. What do we get you for Christmas? Clothes, or...something?'

'Books' said Hermione immediately 'and some new embroidery flosses. If that's all right.'

'Fine, I'm sure. And you've been discreet in your friendships?'

'Do you remember when you said it was all right, as long as there was a benefit?'

Bellatrix nodded cautiously. 'Of course I do.'

'I've started to learn Bulgarian.'

'Truly?'

'Yes.'

'Well done. Never turn down the chance to learn something with which you might serve the Dark Lord.'

Hermione relaxed a bit and then grinned again. 'And I've made Aunt Narcissa some bedroom slippers, and Aunt Cunegarde a cover for her book of sermons. Do you think it'll be enough?'

Bellatrix didn't find herself inclined to let go of the girl's hand. 'Really, you think they'll reject them? Your aunts love you to death.'

Hermione looked sly. 'And I've made something else, but I can't remember what it is, or who it's for...' She pretended to think, and Bellatrix pointedly ignored her.

'Hmmph. Anyhow, we'll have supper with your aunt and her family tonight.'

'Will we?' Hermione's face lit up, and Bellatrix nodded, pleased she seemed so happy.

'I couldn't very well tell them no.'

Hermione nodded and then said 'Mother? May I come and sit with you?'

'I...yes, of course you may.' Hermione flung herself across the space between them and then laid down, head in Bellatrix's lap.

Bellatrix reached down and sort of gently patted the girl's hair, which was arranged in some kind of little braid-thing. It was pretty.

'You know, girl-I'm ...glad you're home.'


	17. Chapter 17

**A/N: Love to reviewers and Countess Black**

** NB: Hermione was born in 1981, which makes her about eleven. But she's been raised to believe she's actually two years older, so she's closer developmentally to being thirteen, so everyone's sort of split the difference and gone with twelve, since she's in Second year at Beauxbatons.**

Hermione nearly bounced through the door. 'Aunt Cunegarde! I'm home!'

'I see that, now stop that ridiculous dancing about, and straighten your hair, it's a mess.' Hermione stood still and smoothed her hair back before coming to kiss her aunt's cheek.

'Well, sit down. I understand from that aunt of yours that you're a woman now, is that right?'

'Yes. And I've been practicing everything you mentioned, and I even have a new hairstyle.' The girl looked ready to bounce again, and Cunegarde half wanted to be short with her. The other part, a very small part, surely much less than a half, wanted to smile. She hadn't smiled in years-would those muscles even work anymore?

'Turn around, then, and let's see you, then. Why are your stockings crooked, and have you a slip on?'

'Yes, I do. Are they?' Hermione craned her head and Cunegarde motioned exasperatedly at her elf. 'Linky, go and help the girl.'

Fixed, Hermione sat on an armchair and tried to look round as subtly as possible. The room was sumptuous but light, and it smelt gently of sandalwood incense and furniture polish.

'What else have you been doing, then? Not running with boys, I should hope?'

'No, Aunt. We go and dance once a week, but other than that, we really don't see them.'

Cunegarde waved at her to encourage her to pour the tea, which Hermione did with genuine grace. Cunegarde allowed herself a tiny nod of approval. Not, perhaps, terribly bad.

After Cunegarde came Snape. Hermione was just as excited to see him, and while she didn't hug him, she may as well have. A different sort of man might have felt flattered by the genuine happiness she was showing, but this was Snape, and instead, he motioned for her to sit down and gave her a slow look.

He continued it even as Hermione recounted what she'd been doing at school. Whether she knew it or not, his little spy had set herself up a network of her own, and most ably, too. Almost scary, that.

'And so you've got them to be friends, have you?'

'I think so. They might drift apart if I wasn't there, but...' she shrugged in the continental manner and finely chopped a kelpie hair. Snape bit his cheek to keep from smiling. His little pupil was a worthy focus for his attentions, and that pleased him.

'And everything else is as it should be?'

'I think so.' Hermione brewed in silence for almost a minute. 'Professor?'

'Hm?'

'How's Ron?'

'Fine. His father is Minister in Exile.'

'Oh. What does that mean?'

'That depends on a number of things. For your purposes, Mr. Weasley is fine.'

'And the others?'

'Also fine.'

Hermione frowned sharply. 'I worked hard to bring you good things, Professor. Be fair.'

'Have you shifted to Hufflepuff, Miss Lestrange? _Fair_?'

'It's not.'

'No, but I don't know as much as I'd like.'

'You'll tell me more when you know, then?'

'I'll honour our agreements, Miss Lestrange. A Slytherin always pays his debts.'

'That doesn't sound like it's a good thing all the time.'

'No? Explain.'

Hermione struggled with the concept for a moment. 'It could also mean that if someone does something to a Slytherin, they'd get them, no matter how long it took, isn't that right?'

'Precisely.'

'And you've promised me a good husband.'

' I did. Does the name Viktor Krum mean anything to you?'

'The Bulgarian, isn't it? The Quidditch star?'

'Soon to be star, definitely. The Bulgarians have slated young Mr. Krum to Seek for their team as soon as he's fifteen, which is in six months or so.'

'Is he nice?'

Snape checked the potion carefully. 'From what I've heard. Not terribly handsome, but pleasant enough. And we need him. Or rather, his father.'

'Who's his father?'

'The man you'll be cultivating assiduously from the second you meet him. Martin Krum.'

Hermione nodded and tossed in a handful of tansy buds. 'Good thing I've been learning Bulgarian, then.'

'Pardon?'

'My friend is teaching me Bulgarian.'

Even Snape couldn't quite conceal his surprise. 'How did you manage that?'

'Alise's mother was Bulgarian, and she wanted to teach me.'

'I see. Yes, that was a bit of luck on your part, finding the little Latvian.'

'She's brilliant, Professor. Kind and funny and good. Yseult isn't too bad, either, but she's not nice like Alise.'

'Nice is not good, girl, have you forgot that already?'

'No. But it could be, couldn't it?'

'Sometimes, perhaps.'

'Your next lesson: the absence of one or another does not rule out usefulness on the part of the holder. Your friend the Latvian might be nicer, but who is of more use to you?'

Hermione stirred the potion with careful, economical flicks on her wrist. 'That depends on the circumstances, doesn't it?'

Snape almost smiled. 'Indeed it does.'

'Yseult knows more about manners and clothes, but she doesn't know everything I need to charm to delegates. And if I marry Viktor Krum, I'd need Alise more, wouldn't I?'

'Rather.' Snape spelled the heat down on the cauldron. 'And you've bound them to you in equal measure? Which of them needs you more?'

'Alise' said Hermione without hesitating. 'Yseult has more friends if she and I ever fell out.'

'Quite right. So whom must you be more aware of? Which would betray you, given a chance?'

'Yseult.'

'No! Both of them. _Because_ Miss Sproga owes you, that is the danger, do you see? Resentment can breed anger, anger hostility, and hostility a willingness to sell you, if the price was right.'

'Alise would never...'

'No?'

Hermione felt tired, suddenly. More tired than she'd ever been, so tired she could have laid down her head and gone to sleep like Snow White, to waken when things were better.

Perhaps they never would be, she realised with a sort of dull comprehension. Perhaps they'd be this way forever. She straightened her shoulders and made herself think about the possibility. She would adapt, she would live with it, but she suddenly wondered whether happiness would ever be possible in the sort of world that was unfurling itself like a plague sore.

Snape watched the girl as she started to understand, finally, what they were about. Or perhaps it would be more accurate to say that her understanding went a bit deeper now, a bit closer to the bone. He felt no pity for her, no sense of needing to ameliorate her sufferings, no matter how intense. He'd just observe, like a shiny black bug on the wall.

The girl seemed to come to a decision. She squared her shoulders and looked him in the eye. 'Then I'll just have to be careful to treat them well, won't I?'

That, Snape wanted to say, was a good girl. Instead, he bottled the potion. 'It wouldn't hurt. People will fight for someone they love.'

Hermione mused on that all through the rest of the day, and into the evening. She was quiet at dinner, so quiet that Rodolphus asked whether she was all right.

'Yes, Father. I'm fine.'

'Not worrying about something, are you?'

'No, Father.'

Rodolphus smiled at her, teeth gleaming white for the first time in ten years. Hermione smiled back and went back to cleaning her plate, knowing it would be noticed if she didn't. Was what Snape had said true?

Clearly, there was an answer to this. As soon as Narcissa appeared the next morning, Hermione hugged her tightly and then stepped back. 'Aunt Narcissa?'

'Everything all right, love?'

Hermione nodded. 'Do you suppose people are nice to us because they think we'll do things for them?'

'Some of them are, love. Shall we sit down? I'd like you to help me go over these seating charts.'

Hermione obediently took up the chart she was handed, looking anxiously to her aunt. Narcissa explained what they were doing and then set her chart down and studied her niece.

'Did something prompt this?'

'Not really. I just wonder sometimes.' Narcissa decided against probing too much at the moment. Hermione would give up her secret in time, if she was given discretion and gentleness.

'It's always possible, love. But so is almost anything, isn't it?'

'But is it likely? Professor Snape keeps telling me to be careful that people are my friends for the right reasons.' That wasn't exactly what he'd said, but it got the idea across without saying anything to upset her aunt.

'Professor Snape is right. But it sounds as though you've done well, and one can only hope for the best.'

'I suppose so. It would be easier, though, if bad people looked bad, wouldn't it?'

Narcissa cupped the girl's cheek gently. 'Would it? Would bad people necessarily look bad, do you think?'

Hermione shook her head. 'Not really. But it would nice if people were more...'

'Transparent in their motives?'

'Yes! That's just the word.'

'That's why we teach you, love. So you can.'

Hermione nodded and picked up the chart. 'Should we sit Madam McNair next to Healer Gibbon, do you think? They seemed to get on well at the party.'

Narcissa smiled brightly. 'That's very clever of you to notice, darling. We'll sit them together, definitely.'

Finally the great day arrived. Hermione woke and bathed early. Rinky was, if anything, more excited than Miss, and he grinned as he rolled the hair on the sides of Miss's head and then made a neat little tail with the rest.

Bellatrix poked her head in. 'You're awake, then. Good, What are you wearing today?'

Hermione proudly showed her new robes, dark pink, with matching shoes. She beamed. 'What will you wear, Mother?'

'The grey' said Bellatrix with the determination of a person preparing to ford a river and not one meeting diplomatic envoys 'and I suppose some pearls or something.' She stepped into the room and looked round, as though expecting Narcissa to leap from the wardrobe and demand she wear something a bit more festive.

'Why not the emeralds? They're pretty.'

'Hmmph, I suppose so. I'll look like the chandelier, if you and Cissy get your way.'

Hermione grinned and spontaneously threw both arms round her mother. 'It's finally today, Mother!'

Bellatrix tried to look dignified, like the loyal soldier she was, and then hugged her daughter back. 'Yes, well...go play, and don't you dare get dirty!'

The ladies left at seven fifteen to Floo to Malfoy Manor. Hermione had never been there, and her impressions were of vast spaces and cold stone halls. Narcissa and Draco, looking quite as posh as the Lestranges, were waiting for them.

Draco grinned to see his cousin. 'Hermione! Finally, you've come! What's France like?'

Hermione would've told him, for all she suspected he wouldn't give two figs about dancing, new hairstyles or etiquette. She was one hundred percent correct, but Draco, who would've feigned interest out of family duty, was spared when the Floo flared green and Severus Snape stepped out, flanked by the tall, spare form of Nomascus Gibbon, flaming hair and all.

'Hello, everyone.'

'Snape' said Bellatrix, ignoring Gibbon wholly 'what have you done with His Lordship?'

'Here I am, darling Bella.' Bellatrix jumped with shocked. 'My Lord?'

'I have rather borrowed dear Nomascus for the nonce. It would be inadvisable for the envoys to see my current form, no?'

Bellatrix knelt and kissed the hems of Gibbons' robes. 'My Lord, I will defend you no matter the form you take.' It was on the tip of her tongue to say that she'd die for Him, but as she rose her eye happened on her daughter, and the words froze in her throat.

Snape nodded at Hermione, who nodded back. The Floo hissed, and Rodolphus stepped through, followed by a stream of men and a few women, and finished with Lucius Malfoy, who winked at his son and then said smoothly 'Ladies and gentlemen, please, allow me to make introductions.'

Twenty minutes later, the group having got to know one another, they moved into the parlour for drinks before supper. Many of the delegates were startled and slightly disapproving that children had been included, even such exalted children as Malfoy's and Lestrange's.

Those who might have felt most strongly found themselves swayed by the two, and by the time they were seated for the meal, most had been won over. The children, cousins, circulated, and chatted with the adults with charming gravity, especially the girl, who was becomingly soft spoken and gentle, and who looked like a miniature Madam Lestrange.

Martin Krum found himself looking at the small Bellatrix, who stared at him with big, soft eyes like a doe's, and asked him how he found Britain so far, which wouldn't have surprised him as much had it not been in Bulgarian.

'You speak my language well, Miss Lestrange. Who has taught you?'

'A friend at school, sir.'

'How interesting. And do you wish to come and see my country someday?'

The girl's solemn little face split into a disarmingly childlike grin. 'I would, very much.'

Krum bent and took the girl's hand to kiss lightly, bowing himself away. He was thoughtful. He'd been unenthusiastic about the idea of a marriage alliance between his family and the British Pureblood hardliners; he himself was not especially political, except for his own benefit or that of his line, and he disliked the idea of so openly and finally yoking himself to one side or another in all this.

On the other hand, if this was what Britain had on offer, perhaps he could find a bit of fanaticism in himself. Viktor, he thought, would like this girl very much, and that, ultimately, encouraged him to give the matter some thought. He'd see how his wife felt. He gave her a look and she moved toward him, smiling gently.

'Martin?'

'Zhivka, my pet, keep your eye on that girl and tell me what you think.'

She nodded once, a woman neither fashionable nor, especially, pretty, but graced with good sense and a sharp ability to really _see_. In his line of work, all of those things could be a blessing.

Scabior was less charmed. He stood in a corner, wearing sober grey robes, watching the room to make sure no false moves were made. Wands had been taken at the Ministry, and discrete charms employed to make sure that no one was covered in potion or something that could endanger the Dark Lord. He'd been appraised of the Dark Lord's subterfuge, as well, and was glad he was invisible, more or less, like this. He leant against a wall, memorising all of it for Hetty, and watched as the foreign bloke and his bird (who looked, actually, a little like Hetty, all bubs and arse) whispered. Could they have designs on poor Flower?

Snape was wondering the same thing. In his usual funereal robes he moved amongst the delegates like smoke, listening, watching, saying nothing. He noticed the speculative way the Krums were watching Hermione, and he mentally thanked whomever was listening. It would be easier if they were enamoured of the girl.

He sidled up to the Dark Lord, who'd borrowed Gibbon's body via Polyjuice for the night (the actual Gibbon was resting in Snape's quarters, reading a magazine and sipping ale). The next night, the Dark Lord would simply use another body. He wanted to keep the envoys on their toes, and this seemed as good a way as any.

'My lord, should we proceed to the dinner now?'

'Of course.' An elf rang a small silver bell, and the group moved en masse into the dining room, lead by a radiant Narcissa and the Dark Lord. The group was seated at the long ironwood table, polished to sleek gloss, and then the food began to come.

Bowls of rich seafood soup, with prawns and plump oysters, in a thick cream base came first. Martin Krum, unofficial head of the delegates, smiled charmingly at the red haired Dark Lord, and, swallowing his bite of oyster, said '*Please, my Lord, allow us to move into the purpose of our visit.'

'Naturally. I understand, Lucius, you've a suggestion as to that?'

Malfoy outlined his plan through the next course, songbirds in aspic, with asparagus ices and delicately moulded terrines of sweetbreads. It was a very good plan, and would enrich many of those at the table beyond all reckoning.

The delegates presented counter plans during the ox tongues in onion sauce, and the Dark Lord heard them all with a sort of gracious condescension that many there found tooth grinding. But the wine was flowing, and so anyone who might have felt inclined to say anything was too tipsy.

By the time the final course had arrived (brandied figs in sweet cream and hot custard, for the curious), a consensus had been made. The group toasted it with after dinner coffee, laced with finest goblin brandy.

By the time Narcissa gently shooed the children upstairs, the group had moved onto sanctions against Romania and was, as a rule, as celebratory as newts, to coin a phrase.

Draco cheerfully showed off his room and invited his cousin to play a game of exploding snap with him. 'Tell me about France.'

Hermione shook her head. 'Not much to tell, really, except girl stuff. How's Hogwarts?'

Draco launched cheerfully into a recitation of the gossip from Slytherin, and Hermione remembered it all, nearly unaware of it, doing as Snape had taught her without her even realising. For the rest of her life, she would do it without really noticing she was doing it, and when people attributed prodigious feats of memory to her, she would smile a secret smile and think of her old teacher for no reason that ever came immediately, but floated behind her eyes like motes of dust in a beam of light.

By the time the first night was officially over, a few things had been decided and, more importantly, the group had had time to sniff out the others, like cats. The delegates retreated to their borrowed houses and the various Death Eaters, some of them quite intoxicated, were either sent home to bed or given places to sleep off their liquor (Galvin Goyle, for instance, stood six feet six, and couldn't be forced through the Floo safely, and was snoring on a divan, twitching like a St. Barnard as he dreamed).

Rodolphus and Bellatrix were both sober(ish), and so they called for coffee when they got home. Hermione was quietly thrilled to be allowed to stay up, and she drank the cocoa she was brought in small, delicate sips like Narcissa had taught her.

'Well, girl, I expect you see now what we're up against, hmm?'

'Yes, Mother. Everyone was very nice, weren't they?'

'Nice, perhaps' said Rodolphus 'but one can never really trust a politician, darling. There's always another agenda.'

'Uncle Lucius is a politician.'

'Of course he is, but he's also a Death Eater. That presumes trustworthiness on his part, don't you think?'

Hermione nodded and sipped her cocoa, flushed with triumph and the small glass of watered wine she'd been permitted. 'Yes, Father.'

'That's my girl. Aunt Cunegarde will be so happy to hear about all this, won't she?'

'She'll be grumpy.'

'Nothing' said Bellatrix with total conviction 'makes Cunegarde happier than having something to complain about. So I suppose we've all rather got something to smile about.'

'Bellatrix.'

'Rodolphus.'

Hermione giggled and then set down her cup. 'May I go and tell Yseult about all this?'

'Of course, darling. Then have your bath and we'll be up to tuck you in, all right?'

Hermione nodded. 'Yes, Father.' She walked sedately until she was out of sight, and then, because she was twelve, she lifted her skirts and ran like a greyhound to her rooms and flung herself down, laughing.

She wrote letters to each of her friends, and Rinky took Alise's to Snape to send. Then, bathed and dusted with talc, she slipped under the covers and was asleep when her parents came to say goodnight.

'I think the Bulgarians were very taken with her.'

'Ought to be. She has the purest blood in Britain and the brains to match.'

Rodolphus nodded and bent down to kiss the girl's cheek. 'Of course. We could do worse for her.'

'I suppose so.' Bellatrix looked distant, not really seeing the walls or the pictures or the hooks on the walls on which clothing was meant to be hung.

'You didn't like them? The Krums?'

'They were fine. But don't you wish that she could be closer to home?'

'Of course I would, but she's a destiny. It's not for us to argue.'

Bellatrix pulled herself to her full height, which was seven inches shorter than her husband's. 'Do you-presume-to tell-me about-my duty-to the Dark Lord-Rodolphus? Do you?'

'Of course not. I merely-'

Bellatrix turned and stalked off without another word. Rodolphus looked at his sleeping child and shook his head. 'I am _so_ glad you never inherited that.'

Hermione's eyes opened. 'Father?'

'Shhh, love, back to sleep. You're much too sleepy to talk right now.'

'No. 'M awake.' She ruined the effect by rolling on her belly and nuzzling into the pillow, eyes closing again. Rodolphus smiled and reached down to rub her back. Hermione mumbled approvingly and was asleep a minute later.

'Perhaps you did. But only a bit, so all's well that ends well, I daresay.'

In London, Scabior had changed into his usual and was sitting in his chair at Mother Goforth's. His mates in the other houses had sent him word that a small contingent of delegates had come in singing, and he'd asked them to keep the proverbial ear to the ground for him.

The door bell chimed and Scabior leapt to his feet and did his patter. More delegates, in plain clothes and red faced with drink. 'Whores here, yes?'

Scabior nodded. 'Ah, yeah, we gots everything a bloke could ever want. Red eads, brunettes, blondes an whatever else, exotic tastes catered t and good English witches for the rest.'

The men stumbled into the parlour to dicker with Mother, and then one turned back. Some kind of Minister of something, Scabior thought. The man went pale and dipped his head. He reached down and handed Scabior a galleon coin. 'No tell wife?'

'Mum's the word.' Scabior grinned and pocketed the coin. He'd have to tell Snape all about this, to be sure. He sat back down, put up his feet, and went to listening. And what he would hear was interesting indeed.


	18. Chapter 18

**A/N: Love to reviewers and Countess Black, with whom I am currently sitting. Special mention goes to Queen Smokey, who's letting me stay in her house for a while. (She's a gorgeous grey cat).**

** Plots with plots, intrigues within intrigues...'Amor And Psyche' is from my all time favourite book, 'Perfume' by Patrick Susskind. **

'An so' said Scabior portentously 'that bloke with the funny moustaches' and he mimed side-whiskers 'sez that is boss is wantin Lestrange's girl for is son.'

'Ah' said Snape nodding. 'Have you anything I didn't know?'

'But sir, aint you curious about what appenned next?'

'Not especially, but go on.'

Scabior was used to Snape's sourness, and shrugged it off. 'I eards some of em sayin the Estonian would offer, or mebbe the Albanians.'

'They could try, certainly. Something to say, Scabior?'

'Yes, sir. Is they really goin to send poor flo-I means, Miss Lestrange-to sum other country? With any sort a people?'

'Have you some sort of attachment to Miss Lestrange, Scabior?' Snape had had both Scabiors in Slytherin, and he knew the whole gruesome, sordid tale. Had things been a bit different, he wouldn't have cared to whom Scabior's warped affections had been transferred, but that wasn't in the cards. And perhaps this could be used...

'Ah, no, sir, but she's a nice lil girl, and it'd be a shame if sumthin were to befall er in sum other country, yeah?'

'Perhaps, Scabior, you could be of some use in that regard. Protecting Miss Lestrange, I mean. Purely off the record, but the rewards could be significant. And you've a woman now, is that right?'

'Yes, sir. Etty, er name is. One a Mother Goforth's ladies.'

'Of course. Have you any plans to marry her?'

' I dunno, sir. Mebbe sumday. We're t open a fine orehouse one a these days, you know.'

'Stay with me and I can give you something better than a cathouse, Scabior.'

Scabior wasn't sure he could think of a finer thing than being master of his own whorehouse, but he tilted his head and raised his brows, wondering what Snape could mean.

Snape wasn't quite sure what he meant, either, but he had no intention of letting it slip to his spy. 'I can make you master of your own house and guarantee you wealth beyond your wildest dreams. Power. Revenge.'

'Gainst oo, sir?'

Snape smiled. 'You tell me, Scabior. You tell me.'

Mostly the days were consumed by political maunderings of various sorts, and so Scabior patrolled the halls of the Manor, making sure no one could get in and molest the delegates.

He grinned a bit. Snape had offered to keep Chum for him so he could work more effectively, and he missed the little bloke in his waistcoat pockets, crawling about. Better this way, though. The ladies would be afraid if they saw a rat, and Snape didn't have a woman like Hetty (though surely he could, being a nob?) so probably he was lonely.

At that moment, Pettigrew, as Wormtail, was crawling over the ceiling beams of the room in which cloaks were being kept. He slithered down the wall and into a cloak of dense Persian lamb, which smelt of tuberose perfume and face powder. Not Krum, presumably. He burrowed deeper, into one which smelt like rosemary hair tonic and cigar smoke (possibly Krum) and then finally into a thick wool and wolf's fur that he felt sure was the right one.

Transforming back, he copied the information and then resumed rat form, skittering back up the wall and into a bolt hole, racing between ancient stones and through beams as old as the Conquest or older, feet flashing, pelt a sleek grey blur.

This particular day, the Dark Lord had borrowed Rowle, and they were discussing the potential for a trade in unicorn hair as Snape lurked in the backround. He'd left the pocket of his robes open, and he felt the slight change in weight as the rat hopped in. Everything was coming together nicely, he thought, and pretended to be enthralled by the geopolitical implications of unicorn hair.

Hermione was busy with Cunegarde, who was so busy reminiscing that she'd forgot to be angry that Hermione was making a gift for Snape. Nothing fancy like she'd done for Rodolphus or her uncles (who'd each got small embroidered cases for their personal cards, done in masculine black on black) but something really nice all the same.

She worked steadily on it as Cunegarde talked about the party she'd thrown for her son's seventh birthday. '...And his pony, of course, Aethelfred loved his pony. He was such a good boy, so like his father. Blond hair and bright blue eyes, and skin as fair as snow.'

Hermione was nodding politely as she finished her project. It was a case not dissimilar from those she had made for her uncles, but with a single difference. She'd borrowed books from the library to alter it, and had done, she thought, rather well.

Cunegarde's voice was going soft, and her eyes were sliding closed. Hermione rose quietly, tucked the pouch into her pocket and crept out, making sure not to disturb the old woman.

Snape looked up, surprised, as the girl came into the parlour. She smiled brightly. 'Hello, Professor.'

'Hello, Miss Lestrange. Your aunt has driven you out?'

'No, she feel asleep. I didn't know you were here, Professor.'

'It's a talent of mine, turning up in surprising places.'

Hermione laughed softly and then sat down, hands in her lap, and nodded at Rinky, who handed down her workbasket. Hermione didn't open it yet, but held it, studying her professor almost shyly.

'Did you enjoy the party last night?'

'No more than I would enjoy being slowly roasted over coals and then stretched in Procrustes's bed. Yourself?'

'It was fun! Everyone was nice to me, and we talked about France. Mr. Krum invited me to visit Bulgaria.'

Snape's face was neutral. 'And you liked him?'

'He seemed nice enough. And he's useful, right?'

'Infinitely so. What other impressions?'

'I don't think Mother likes parties. And it was strange that the Dark Lord borrowed Healer Gibbon. Creepy. Can I say that?'

'Here you may, but nowhere else.'

'Because it's not safe.'

'Correct. Why do you expect the Dark Lord did that?'

'Because his body isn't very strong right now, and he doesn't want anyone to know?'

'Precisely. He would be too easy to hurt, even with good security as he has.'

Hermione nodded. 'Are we going to brew today?'

'No.' Snape had been working for days, and he felt bone tired, almost weary. He was only thirty three, but he felt older, far older than he had any right to feel. The girl was looking at him.

'Professor? Are you tired of it all?'

'I am one of the most powerful men in Britain. Why should I be tired?'

'Because this is tiring. All of it. It's hard to feel good about this sometimes.'

'There are rewards as well. Power. Wealth. What else?'

'I don't know.' Hermione didn't care about any of that. Her conception of those things were limited to what she'd read in books, and she had a vague sense her parents were quite wealthy, but day to day, her concerns were the people round her and her books, her sewing, and her times in the attic.

'You'll always be safe, is one. Always. Your family in one of enormous influence and wealth, and so you need never worry about having enough food, or a place to live, things of that nature.'

'That's true. And you said I can do a lot of good.'

Snape's face didn't change, but his voice was hard and dry and pitiless as the desert sun. 'Yes. There will moments in life when that will be all you have. Remember this then.'

'All I have...?'

'The knowledge that someone, somewhere, might profit from the sacrifice of your own happiness, of the substance of your life, and take joy in it, even as you realise that you, yourself, will not, and might never.'

'Is that why you do it, Professor?'

Snape laughed. It was the first time Hermione had ever heard it, and it made her belly tighten. 'No, nothing so elevated. I do it because it needs to be done. If I should have a grave, Miss Lestrange, suggest that as my epitaph, would you? "Someone Had to Do It".'

The child's eyes were wet. Hermione knew tragedy but not, at her age, Tragedy. This was her first brush with the whole concept, at a personal level, and she wasn't sure what to say or do.

Snape would never really credit what happened next. The girl reached into her little box and handed him something. It was a black pouch in silk, black on black, and felt strangely heavy in his hand. He turned it over in his hand and raised a brow the same shade as the silk in his palm.

'It's for your card, except...here, it's easier to show than tell.' Snape took a card from his battered case and stuck it in. It hovered there, feeling strangely...blocked? She couldn't have...

Hermione beamed. Here she was on familiar ground. 'It's charmed so you can conceal a small phial in it. Just one, though. A really little one.' Hermione wasn't quite sure what else to say.

Snape blinked slowly, like a lizard, still holding the case. Partly because this was advanced magic for a girl her age to have done, and it pleased him deeply knowing that she had done this. And her hand work was rather nice as well, he thought distantly.

Mainly, though, it was because it was the first Christmas gift he'd got in twenty odd years (not counting the tins of mulling spice that the Board had given the teachers every year, and which Snape had habitually used as target practice).

But even this was not what Snape couldn't credit, for all the case was dead useful and a sweet gesture from what even he had to admit was a genuinely nice little girl. What happened next was, and he never forgot it, even when other things, things that were remembered by the world and the people in it, happened; what Snape would see ever after was this moment.

The elf came, bowing, to say that Madam Malfoy had come so they could go and prepare for the night's rout. Hermione jumped up and, startling even herself, hugged the dour potions master and said 'Don't be sad, Professor, it's Christmas Eve. Be happy.'

He nodded, too deeply shocked to answer, and watched as the girl took off, elf beside her holding her basket, shaking it's head in a most resigned manner, but not, thought Snape, still in shock, without some humour. Probably, serving the Lestrange girl, it would need it.

Hermione almost pounced Narcissa, but with pleasure tonight, not sadness. 'Aunt Narcissa! It's Christmas Eve and we're going to a party!' She was flushed with excitement and pleasure, and Narcissa couldn't bring herself to scold, given how excited Hermione was. 'And did your aunt like your gift?'

'She fell asleep before I could give it. And anyway, Mother says nothing makes her happier than complaining, so perhaps it's better I didn't.'

Narcissa would have to talk to Bellatrix about being careful what she said in Hermione's presence. On the other hand, it was often very funny, and she had to admit, Bellatrix was one of the most incisive judges of character Narcissa knew.

'I've everyone else's, though.' She motioned to her workbox, which the elf held as though it had diamonds and not handwork in it. Not that Narcissa wouldn't have had the handwork, mind.

'I didn't quite know what to make Mother. She's hard to decided for, isn't she?'

'Extremely. What did you decide on?'

Hermione motioned the elf forward and rummaged through the box, proudly holding up a long, thin pouch decorated with patterns in deep green. 'It took forever to do.'

'What is it?'

Instead of explaining, Hermione stood and handed her aunt her want. Fastening the pouch to her waist, she inserted her wand. The pouch seemed to...bend?...somehow, and the only way that Narcissa could see it was that Hermione's robes were of relatively light coloured fabric.

'I charmed it so that Mother's wand will be at hand but hard to see, even if she wears it outside her robes. And inside it'll be almost impossible to detect unless someone is touching her.'

Narcissa's eyebrows nearly met her hairline. That was beyond clever. And magically advanced in a way that both thrilled and worried her. Narcissa truly didn't want Hermione to become a Death Eater. But with such a genius for magic, how could she prevent her niece being recruited by the Dark Lord?

Hermione noticed that her aunt seemed disquieted. 'Isn't it all right?'

'Of course it is. It's excellent. I'm just surprised you did it, is all. How long did it take you to work out that charm?'

Hermione thought, hand tucked under her chin thoughtfully. 'A few weeks. It was hard, but my friend helped me.' Well, friends, but the whole incident in Paris had taught her discretion, and Hermione was being careful.

'Excellent. I am awfully proud, love, that you worked all this out. But you know, it's all right to relax a bit. Your mother loves you no matter what, and so do I.'

Hermione hugged her aunt again, suddenly seeming older, more serious. 'I know that, Aunt Narcissa. But I _like_ these things, and I'm good at doing them.'

'Yes, you are.'

'And it could do some good, couldn't it? Professor Snape says people with a lot of resources have the obligation to give back to the less fortunate.' Well, more or less, and he'd probably not disagree with the basic premise.

Narcissa felt a bit surprised. Not unpleasantly, but happily. She'd always thought a wife and, eventually, ancestors willing, a few children, would mellow Severus out tremendously. He'd never shown the inclination, but perhaps proximity to such a sweet little girl had helped to encourage him to release a gentler, finer part of himself.

'He's exactly correct. Now shall we go and get ready?'

The ladies had been part of things only sporadically. Mostly the delegation revolved round the political concerns that were the provenance of males(and Bellatrix, but she was a special case, to say the least), so mainly their lives had continued on much as they ever had. But tonight was the party that Bellatrix was hosting, and so they would prepare themselves at the house.

When they returned, they found Bellatrix herself, looking as though she'd been fighting giants and not commanding house elves. Her dense curls had worked themselves free and stood in a stiff corona about her head, and she looked murderous.

'Mother? What's wrong?'

Bellatrix, through enormous force of will, managed to manipulate her facial muscles into a semblance of normality, something few people had ever seen her do. She smiled at her daughter. 'Everything. How was Cunegarde? Beastly?'

'No, she was fine. I think she misses us.'

Bellatrix snorted and unconsciously reached over the straighten the girl's hair band. 'Yes, like a troll misses the flock of sheep it feeds on.'

'Trixie!'

'Hello, Cissy. Don't pretend you don't feel otherwise.'

'I try hard to be charitable-'

'Bosh. Your aunt nicknamed Cunegarde, what was it, Cissy, "the blister beetle"?, when she was about eight or nine.'

Hermione turned to her aunt, raising her eyebrows. 'Really?'

Narcissa, unbelievably, was actually a bit pink about the cheeks. 'Well, I suppose I did.'

'Suppose nothing. Your aunt got away with murder when she was small. Remember the perfume, Narcissa?'

Hermione adored Aunt Narcissa, but she also liked watching Mother make her squirm a bit. And she was, ever so slightly, in a well bred way that was all the funnier for it. 'It was an accident, and it wasn't so-'

'If Andr-if anyone but you, Narcissa Euphemia, had pulled something like that, Mother would've blistered our arses for us and you know it. There was a rule, Hermione, that Mother's bedroom and dressing room was out of bounds for us.' Mother grinned like a shark and Hermione giggled helplessly, savouring this too much to protest the affront to her aunt's dignity very much.

'One day, none of us could find Cissy. We looked high and low, couldn't find her anyone. Just a slip of a thing in a ruffly little pinafore and hair-bow. Mother finally decided to go and look in her rooms to check. What do you suppose she found, Hermione?'

'Aunt Narcissa?'

'Not at all. A broken bottle of 'Amor and Psyche', which was the perfume your Grandmama wore. And little footprints. A trail of them, in perfume, that led under Narcissa's bed. And there she was, covered in perfume, asleep.'

Hermione turned to Aunt Narcissa, who had a funny look on her face. 'Did you really do that?'

'I was five.'

'Old enough' said Bellatrix, still grinning 'to know better, if you ask me. And what did Mother do?'

'She punished me.'

'Bah, she swatted your little wrist and then let the matter go. None of us' Bellatrix's eyes softened 'could resist your aunt. She always got her way even then.'

Hermione left her mother's side to squeeze her aunt's hand to show that she understood. 'That was a bit naughty, Aunt Narcissa, but not terrible.'

Narcissa laughed, squeezing back, and said 'Yes, it was. That carpet still smells of perfume.'

'Does it? I should like to go and see.' Bellatrix had a funny look on her face, distant and closed off, as though she was watching them from some internal height. Narcissa wasn't smiling anymore.

'Someday we will, Trixie. Now, shall we go get ready, ladies?'

Hermione went to her own room to dress. Bellatrix and Narcissa were alone in Bellatrix's rooms. 'Trixie? I didn't mean to hurt you.'

'You didn't, Cissy.' Narcissa bent and hugged her big sister, who sighed, tolerated it for a few moments, and then said brusquely 'Is your maid blind? Really, Cissy, let me fix your hair.'

Narcissa sat and pulled the pins from her hair as her sister took up the hairbrush from the dressing table and started to pull it through her hair. Neither of them said anything, but the room seemed full, pregnant almost, with the scent of lime and orange blossom, clove, roses, and rosemary, a hint of musk and a little opponax to ground it. It made them both shudder, for slightly different reasons.

The party started at nine, and the elves had done splendidly. Not a few of them had been Cunegarde's, and remembered the legendary parties she had thrown, and in the absence of useful directions beyond a few standard death threats and some pacing, had elected to go with that same sort of thing.

So when the group swept into the little salon, it looked like a wonderland. Not of winter, but of summer, as befitted the summer of this new alliance, with everything green and gold, the chandelier seeming to drip flowers and the guests walking on a carpet that looked and felt, and even smelt of summer, a softly shifting carpet of grass that seemed to sway beneath their feet.

Elves in green tea towels circulated with trays of cold white wine, lemonade and sweet flower waters, and a small band of musician elves strummed airs on lutes and harps in the corner.

Fifty years, even a hundred years later, the Great Summer Rout was still being discussed, but only those there could capture how it had really been, and most of them were content not to try. It was the strangest and best and most poignant party any of them had ever been to, and ever after, all that would be remembered was that the Dark Lord's faithful second had, somehow, brought the delegates the gift of summer on Christmas Eve.

Hermione had been firmly shooed from the parlour by the elves that had done the last minute details, and so when, between her parents, she entered for the first time, her unfeigned delight was apparent to any who saw her face.

She turned excitedly to her mother and said 'Had you known they would do this?' And then, breaking all protocol, hugged her tightly, wanting to share the beauty that bloomed in her heart with someone, and wanting Mother-who was always so angry and sad-to feel it too, and to forget her rage and her sorrow for a night, and, because she was young, believed such a thing not only possible but likely.

That hug probably clinched the wavering of a dozen delegates, and definitely clinched Martin Krum's resolve to have the girl for his son. More accurately, the hug from the girl clinched the delegates. What clinched Krum was the fact that Bellatrix Lestrange, the most dangerous woman in Europe, rightly despised as a torturer and a sadist, who had personally killed at least fifty people, the boogeyman of magical children everywhere, hugged back, and laughing, rested her head on the girl's for a second.

If the girl could provoke that reaction from Bellatrix Lestrange (who had, if the stories could be believed, personally flayed Lucullus Brown alive as revenge for his part in Evan Rosier's death), what could she do with shy, diffident Viktor? Martin smiled as the girl broke the hug and said something to her father, who laughed and cupped her cheek.

The elf rang the chime for supper before he could see what happened next, and so Martin led the woman he was escorting (a horse faced woman called McNair, who was evidentially married to the bald fellow).

The Dark Lord had chosen to borrow Yaxley tonight, and he smiled at everyone as he sat, Snape to his left and Bellatrix to his right. He was well pleased to see how smoothly things were going, and if Snape was right (and Snape was always right when it came to these things), the Bulgarians would ask for the Lestrange girl.

Snape himself, in his eternal black, was right, and he knew it. He'd seen everything, and while he'd give his little spy a good ticking off about manners at some point, he had to admit, he couldn't have planned it better himself. He felt a strange sort of semi-triumph that seemed to be almost as grim as it was exhilarating.

He cast his eyes at her down the table, sitting between her mother and Narcissa Malfoy. He'd promised her a good husband, and he'd done what he could to see that it happened. The rest would be up to her. And then perhaps the greatest Christmas miracle of Snape's life happened all at once, and with no fanfare, and without a single person knowing but him. He realised he had faith in her.

The meal was a la Francaise, which is to say, the food was both copious and frequent. The elves had roasted five geese, three swans, two ducks and a whole peacock, tail feather intact, and that was after the eel pies, the pickerel baked in onions, the lampreys served with vinegar, and the soup of leeks and parsnips.

The desert was a splendid plum pudding, and the guests ate hardily, demolishing a mountain of pudding with creams and various other sweets. By the end, well sated, they made their way to the parlour again for games, starting with a magic lantern show.

Snape made sure he was seated near his little spy. 'Miss Lestrange.'

She turned her head. 'Professor.'

'Don't look at me.' He reached out and palmed her something. 'Put it beneath your tongue and do not bite down.' He could feel Pettigrew squirming in his pocket, and felt a split second of...something...which he shoved down. Not for the rat, for the girl.

Hermione nodded, and her eyes darted up and she wondered where Rinky was, but she had no time to contemplate it, as her mother came and sat down between the two. Hermione feigned a yawn and dropped the thing in. It was sweet, and started to dissolve at once.

As it happened, the elf had not forgot his mission. He was hovering invisibly above the coffee cups which were being handed out to the adults, and when the time came, he poured three drops exactly into each, taking care to then destroy the phial as he'd been told.

Because the girl was so successful on her own, Snape had opted for something slow acting and subtle. This part would be hardest of all, and it would depend on luck, far more luck than Snape might have liked, but needs must was needs must.

The thing under Hermione's tongue tasted of toffee and a tinge of dust, at least until it finished. Her last thought was 'cocoanut' because that was how it seemed, and then was pitching forward, slack, eyes rolling.

Bellatrix lunged to catch her, and, exactly as Snape had intended, he stood and caught her up from her mother. The elf tending the lantern stopped it, and the adults turned worried to the limp girl.

'My lord?'

'Take her, Snape, and do...whatever. Bellatrix, Rodolphus, go.' The three left as quickly as they could, and Snape carried the girl to the closest bedroom and laid her on the bed. He sent for his bag, and Rodolphus held the girl's head, administered the antidote.

Hermione's eyelids fluttered. 'Mother?'

Bellatrix leant forward and awkwardly brushed her cheek. 'Hush.'

'What happened?'

'You fainted, Miss Lestrange. Too much excitement, I expect.' Snape was putting enormous faith in his little spy's presence of mind, and he was not disappointed, as she nodded and eased her eyes open.

'I'm sorry. Is the party ruined?'

Before anyone could answer, Bellatrix snorted and plopped down next to the child. 'Of course not, and anyway, the Dark Lord's far more worried about your health than the stupid party. Where do you feel sick?' Snape stifled a chuckle. For a...being...deeply worried about Hermione's health, the Dark Lord hadn't come with them. Perhaps there was another Death Eater who cared more about the girl than the envoys?

'I just got a bit light headed is all. Shouldn't we go-'

'Don't you know to mention things like that?'

'Well, yes, but-'

'Don't you dare try and justify pretending nothing was wrong. If I've told you once I've told you a hundred times about the nice thing. This isn't from me, and I swear, it's not from Rodolphus either. Speaking of which, scold the girl, I had my turn.'

Rodolphus nodded. 'Hermione, next time do tell us if you're about to faint, won't you?'

'Yes, Father. Sorry.'

'These things happen.' Rodolphus easily manoeuvred Hermione into his lap and started to sway gently, patting her back. Hermione relaxed unselfconsciously against him, eyes starting to close, and Snape quietly stood, holding up a phial.

'Elf! Rinky, come here. Give your mistress three more doses of this, every four hours, and she'll be fine. But not too much.'

Rinky bowed and took the phial, knowing it was only golden syrup and a bit of green colouring. He'd still dose Miss, of course, but it would be more of treat than anything. Snape nodded to the Lestranges and slid out to allow them some privacy with their daughter.

In the semi-darkness, the rat slipped down his leg and dashed for the hole in the wall. He shoved himself inside (Scabior had taken to feeding him brie, which was good for his belly but bad for his waistline), and then hunkered down, waiting, knowing he'd be there a while.

Hermione might not have known what to make of Rodolphus sometimes, and miss her own Dad fiercely, but she found the rocking very pleasant, and he smelt good. She nestled closer, resting her head against his neck.

'Hermione, darling, be a good girl and tell us when you're not well.'

She nodded, feeling full and sleepy and cosy. She sighed deeply and let her eyes shut completely.

Rodolphus rocked a bit longer, until he thought Hermione likely to fall asleep, and simply tucked her in where she was. He'd carry her when they retired, but she'd be fine until then.

Bellatrix was gnawing her lip. 'You don't suppose she's sick?'

'No, Trixie. Too much excitement and her own natural propensity to downplay things she thinks will make us cross with her.'

'Well, all right. The Dark Lord wouldn't want her to be sick, after all.'

'Of course not' agreed Rodolphus, who let his wife proceed him out the door. A small group had gathered. 'Little girl is well?'

'Yes, thank you. Just too much excitement.'

A fellow with side whiskers stepped forward. 'Lestrange? Perhaps tomorrow we talk?'

'Yes, of course. May I ask what about?'

Martin Krum smiled. 'I am having son, you see.'


	19. Chapter 19

**A/N: Love to reviewers and Countess Black**

**Spoilered A/N at the bottom to preserve the joke. Also, yes, as weird as the intro of this chapter is, it becomes important later. Bear with me on this, okay? :)**

**NB: Translating charms vary wildly as to how well they get the job done. The more different the languages, or the less of the other language the user knows, the more mediocre the translation is apt to be, which means the central ideas will be communicated by nuance, slang, etc will be lost.**

**So each party can speak their native language without much fear that the others will understand unless they're directly in the charmed area. Even then, the translations might be pretty poor.**

Snape sank into his chair and gratefully took the ale that Black was proffering him without a word. He half drained the bottle and then closed his eyes, shaking his head. Black was staring at him, eyes bright, and plopped down on the settee.

'And how is darling Trixie?'

'Fine. More than fine, really.'

'Oh? Has the Dark Lord consented to wipe his shoes on her or something?'

'Better than that, I'd say.'

'Do you always talk in riddles, Snape?'

'Yes.' Snape finished the bottle and closed his eyes for a second. Black rose, huffing, and came back with some crudely made sandwiches. Snape picked one up and bit in, ignoring the mayonnaise that slopped onto his fingers. 'Playing mother, are we, Black?'

'Might as well. Nothing else to do here. Haven't you ever heard of novels?'

'Haven't you ever heard of cultivating solitude?'

'I spent ten bloody years cultivating solitude. I just want some detective stories or something, all right?'

'I suppose it could be done. What will you do for me?'

'What do I have that you want?'

'Time.'

'Sorry?'

'I meant to have the elf clean the attic, and now that you're stronger, you can clean it.'

'Might be books up there.'

'If there are, you're welcome to them.'

Black tilted his head. 'You trust me to go digging through your personal things like that?'

'No, but there might be something of use. And I've taken everything interesting out of there years ago.'

'Oh. So it's all just old clothes and whatnot?'

'Mainly. Some pots and pans, things of that nature. Probably some of my father's old things.'

'What do you want me to do with all of it?'

'I'll dispose of it.'

'Even your father's things?'

'No, those you might keep. I daresay some of his old jerseys and such would make good clothes for your various covers.'

'He wouldn't mind another bloke using his things?'

Snape gave a tight, dry smile. 'It would enrage him.'

Even the knowledge of the posthumous conniptions Tobias was surely having couldn't distract Snape from his other duties. He ate the rest of the sandwiches and went upstairs, bathed, and then set about the next part of his plan. He had to wait until everyone was asleep, but then, he'd always done his best work in silence. In the deep darkness, Snape thought, any man can be Judas.

He donned fresh clothing and summoned the elf with a snap of his fingers. 'Where is Pettigrew?'

'Master Rat is in Lestrange House, Master.'

'I see. And everything is set for tomorrow?'

'Rinky is thinking.'

'Good. Dose them again as soon as they wake, and make sure that idiot isn't caught. I'll have need of him as soon as they've retired tomorrow night.'

Hermione woke slowly on Christmas. Her eyes fluttered and she rolled on her side, sighing. 'Rinky?'

The elf appeared, hovering over her. 'Miss?'

'It's Christmas.'

'Yes, Miss.'

Hermione sat up and stretched. 'Mmm. Would you bring my workbasket?'

Rinky brought it over and Hermione proudly handed out something white. The elf did a doubletake, eyes widening, and tears filled them. 'A new tea towel?'

'Yes.'

She flipped up the hem. "Rinky, from H, Christmas 1992.'

The elf's chin quivered. Never, in two hundred odd years of life, had he been given a Christmas gift. He forced them back and went to don his snowy new finery. Miss had ordered him to keep clean, unlike some who liked their elves filthy, and he was glad he was pulling the crisp cotton on newly washed limbs.

When he returned, Miss had brushed her teeth and donned her dressing gown. She beamed at him and took up her basket. 'Rinky, shall we go and give everyone else their things?'

Her first stop was Cunegarde's rooms. The old woman had moved back for the night, as they'd have a small family celebration in the morning. The old woman, too, was awake. Dressed and powdered, wearing a truly stunning wig of white selkie hair coloured periwinkle, she sat like a statue in her rooms, starting as the door opened and Hermione poked her head in.

'Aunt Cunegarde?'

The old woman nodded for her niece to come in. 'Well, don't lurk, girl.'

Hermione nearly bounced in. 'Happy Christmas, Aunt Cunegarde!' She held out the carefully wrapped parcel, and Cunegarde took it without expression. She carefully untied the string on the parcel and then teased it open.

Hermione almost cried when Aunt Cunegarde said nothing. The old woman's face was still, and after a few awkward moments, Hermione slipped out. Hadn't she done well?

Cunegarde held the book cover in her hands for almost ten minutes before the first tears started. How long had it been since someone made her something because they _liked_ her?

Hermione went back to her rooms and sat down. 'Didn't she like it, Rinky?'

Rinky smoothed Miss's hair away from her face. 'Madam is liking it, Rinky thinks. But is old. Being confused.'

Hermione nodded and squared her shoulders. 'So we should go and see everyone else, do you think?'

Bellatrix's head snapped up from her writing as the girl's little knock sounded. 'Mother?'

'Enter. Something the matter?'

'No. It's Christmas.'

'Oh. Yes, of course. Did you...need something?'

Hermione shook her head and held out a parcel. 'I made you something.'

'Did you?' Bellatrix knew they had things for Hermione, but she wasn't precisely sure how she did this next part. She slit the string on the parcel with her pen knife and studied the strange cloth tube.

Hermione grinned, dejection forgot about. 'Watch.' She showed her mother, and Bellatrix was flabbergasted. 'You really did this?'

'Yes, Mother.'

'Well done, Hermione! I am so proud of you.' And she was, because it was incredibly clever. She stood and opened her arms and the girl pressed herself against her, snuggling in.

'A-hmmm.' Both ladies turned and Bellatrix, for one, couldn't hide her shock. Dressed in a terrifying robe of mauve, which set off her enormous hair and the strings of pearls she'd draped herself in, Cunegarde was reclining in state. Her elf was gliding alongside her hovering chair, and she had a look on her face like a pound of old clams. 'Girl. Great nephew's wife.'

'Is there some reason you've chosen to inflict yourself on us, or were you simply bored?'

'Some of us have manners and wanted to thank the girl for the gift.' Cunegarde showed Bellatrix the book cover. It wasn't terribly complex, perhaps, not like the wand case, but it was pretty and nicely done.

'Ah.'

'That's all you've got to say, then?'

'What would you have me say, then?'

Cunegarde scowled and took her gift back. Then she motioned to the elf, who was nearly as creaky as her mistress. She reached into her towel and pulled out an envelope of tissue paper.

'Since you've not got anything decent to go with your robes tonight, which by the way are far too short, take this.' Then she motioned the elf to take her back. Hermione blinked, studying the envelope like it would bite her.

'Well, open it, then.'

Hermione used the proffered pen knife to cut the spello-tape that bound it. Inside was a a sort of bracelet, made of faded ribbon and some irregular, polished beads that Bellatrix, after some study, identified as moonstones. Hermione thought they were very pretty. 'Thank you, Aunt Cunegarde.'

'Hmmph' said the old woman, who creaked back to her rooms without another word.

'May I wear them, Mother?'

'I suppose so. The old bat must really like you.' The next knock was Rodolphus, who grinned at his wife and child, hair ruffled from sleep. 'Hello, ladies. Happy Christmas.'

Bellatrix explained what had just happened. 'And then she left.' She shook her head, baffled, and flicked her eyes to the stack of letters she was supposed to be working on.

Rodolphus gnawed his lip. 'May I see the bracelet, Hermione?'

Hermione handed it to him. Rodolphus flipped it over and over in his hands. 'Quite old, I'd say.'

'Rather.'

'Be careful with it, Hermione.'

'Yes, Father.'

Rinky carried the bracelet back and put it in a drawer, resolving to help Miss find a suitable box for it immediately (and possibly some other things for it. House elves love anything shiny and festive, and Rinky had decided to guide Miss to some of the more age appropriate shiny, festive things to decorate herself with.)

Rodolphus was gratifyingly pleased by his new waistcoat, and decided he'd dress to show it to best advantage. He kissed Hermione's forehead and then gently turned her toward her own rooms, lightly swatting her to get her to move. 'Go on, love. Mother and I need to talk.'

'So, the Bulgarians.'

'Yes' agreed Rodolphus 'the Bulgarians.'

'Make sure they understand what she's worth, Rodolphus.'

'Of course. And Severus says he's a nice boy. A good boy.'

'Is he? We don't want it tainting the bloodline too much.'

Rodolphus snorted. 'It isn't my side. And Cissy's nice.'

'An accident, I assure you. Not my influence.'

'Would never have guessed.'

'Hmmph. Pillock. But she is a good girl.'

'She is. And clever, as well. Did she see how well she did on this waistcoat?'

'Not as clever as the wand ca...wait a moment. Weren't we supposed to give her the things we got her?'

'So we were. Do you suppose we can play off like we meant this to happen?'

'If we don't panic. Should we have the elf bring the things down and set them by her breakfast plate?'

'Genius. And then we'll make her think it was a joke.'

'Exactly.' And she liked her gifts very much, and so did everyone else when they came, though all of them were disappointed to miss the Bulgarians.

Who arrived just before supper, and with a surprise guest. Their son proved to be a tall, stockily built boy with an awkward gait and a face that looked graven from rock, as though the sculptor had bored of his creation and done as little as possible on the final product.

'Miss Lestrange, this is my son Viktor. Viktor, Er-mon-nen-ee Lestrange.'

The boy's face went red from the neck up, and he dropped his head onto his chest. 'Is honour, Miss.' He looked as though he longed to bolt for the Floo. Hermione was very, very calm. She had been trained for this by nearly every adult in her life, and she knew just what to do.

Viktor Krum liked girls. He liked how little and fragile they seemed next to his own big form. He liked how soft and sweet their voices were, and how their hair was soft and shiny, like fur.

But girls didn't like Viktor, not deep down. He wasn't handsome, or good or conversation, and he danced like a drunken bear and knew it. Why would a girl-a girl with soft hair and a sweet voice-want him? His talent on the Quidditch field didn't strike him as all that remarkable, and certainly not enough to interest someone.

_'Do you like books, Mr. Krum_?'

Viktor started as though she'd punched him. _'I-ah-you speak Bulgarian?'_

Hermione nodded. _'Someone at school taught me. I don't know all that much_.'

It was the best thing she could have said. Viktor actually raised his eyes from his boots.

'Little girl is very good for speaking Bulgarian.'

'Hermione would do almost anything to help someone else feel comfortable' said Rodolphus, not realising how correct he actually was. The Krums nodded.

'Shall we let the children get to know one another? Our daughter's elf is very good chaperone.' The adults swept into another parlour and Hermione smiled up (way up) at Viktor.

_'Would you like to see our library_?'

_'Yes! I mean, please.'_

Upstairs, Wormtail was lurking in the wardrobe. He curled into the warm fur lining of a winter cloak and sighed blissfully. Beside him, the female snuffled and scratched her ear with a toenail. She twitched her whiskers to show that she liked waiting with him.

Wormtail twitched back and then stretched his sleek body . A rat could be happy here. He heaved himself to his feet and slipped down the cloak, pressing his nose to the bottom of the doors. He couldn't scent anyone, human or elf. He wriggled through the narrow opening in the back of the wardrobe and transformed.

He would have to be quiet. He sneaked toward the desk and started to rifle, carefully copying everything he found. It all seemed to relate to a particular family in Bulgaria.

Strange, he reflected, and then transformed back to return to his hidey-hole. He climbed back into the cloak and waited. Bulgaria, a family called Krum. What did Snape care who the Lestranges were friends with?

The adults were chatting via translation charm when a strange looking little man bowed himself in. 'Sorry t bothers you, boss, but there's a bit of a situation brewin in London. Mebbe you could come and talk t Mr. Jugson abouts it?'

'Of course. Zhivka, Martin, this is Lemuel Scabior, my second in command.'

'Nice t meets you. Ma'am' he nodded deferentially to Madam Krum and then followed Rodolphus as the man stalked out, annoyed at being interrupted on Christmas day.

Rodolphus smiled at the children as he grabbed the cloak the elf was offering him and then stepped through the Floo. Hermione wondered what could be happening and then disregarded it, remembering Snape's warning about the dangers of knowing too much.

Rodolphus hit the ground running, so to speak. His boots clacking on the marble, he moved toward his office. Mamercus was standing there, looking angry enough to spit ink.

'Those fools in Penzance decided to raid a potions storehouse. There's bits of auror and potions phials everywhere, and they bloody tipped the rebels on top of it. They've Portkeyed themselves out of the country and vanished.'

'All right, Merc, we'll talk care of it.'

Rodolphus spied a familiar dark form. 'Snape.'

'Hello, Rodolphus.'

'I wonder if you were doing anything? It seems like there's a bit of a situation here. Perhaps you'd not mind going to my house and hosting in my absence?'

Snape blessed fortune and nodded impassively. 'That would be fine, I'm sure.'

'Thank you. Don't want to push all this off on Trixie.'

Snape suspected that Lestrange was trying to safeguard the Bulgarians from Bellatrix and not vice versa, but he wasn't one to count the feathers on a gift hippogryff.

Especially not one he'd so assiduously cultivated as this one. He felt a vague sort of regret that five aurors had had to die to make sure this happened. But he'd made sure they weren't the brightest glow worms in the cave, and the families would get fat pensions and a martyr where before they'd had drunks, a few beaters and dullards of every stripe.

Snape was in Lincolnshire five minutes later and put down his cloak for the elf to catch. He looked over his little spy's prospective husband and nodded mentally, pleased. Not handsome, not charismatic. Excellent.

'Hello, Professor. This is Viktor Krum. Viktor, this is Severus Snape. He's a friend of the family.' The boy stood, already tall, much more heavily built that Snape would have thought a Seeker would be, and extended a hand.

'Is good meet you.'

'Likewise, Mr. Krum.' Snape noticed that the boy's eyes were flicking to Miss Lestrange, who smiled brightly at him. His flush increased by a shade or two. Snape could have danced.

'Your father's been called away. Is your mother with the Krums?'

'Yes, in the parlour. Should we take you there?'

'I'll find my way. First, though, I need to excuse myself.' Hermione nodded and Snape went to the bathroom he'd used the night of the party. He snapped his fingers and Rinky appeared.

'Find me the rat, quickly.'

Thirty seconds later, Snape held the writhing, sleep warm body of Wormtail in his hands. He unceremoniously shoved him in his waistcoat pocket and washed his hands before stalking out.

Bellatrix's eyes widened when Snape walked in. 'Rodolphus will be quite some time. In the meantime, I'll be here with you, if that's amenable.'

'Fine, fine. Is His Lordship well?'

'Very much so, and sends his compliments. Your son, Madam Krum, Mister Krum, seems a very nice boy.'

'Is nice boy. Is good boy. Smart. Blood clean all sides.'

'Of course. And he's, what, fourteen?'

'Yes, fourteen.'

'And he understands the nature of what we do? What we believe?' Bellatrix couldn't have cared less about the small talk aspect of this. She just wanted to make sure that Hermione was going into the best of all possible situations. For the Dark Lord, naturally.

'Yes. Is good.'

'Because my daughter is very gentle and sweet. I want that understood. She isn't to be treated harshly or exposed to anything untoward. In order that she might serve the Dark Lord, I mean.'

Snape resisted the urge to laugh out loud. 'Precisely so. Madam Lestrange, the elf is indicating it wishes to speak to you.'

The elf whispered something and Bellatrix said 'So go and get them, then. The food is ready.'

The rest of the evening went smoothly, and because nothing of note happened, it suffices to say that Bellatrix was bored, Viktor smitten and Snape well pleased. He didn't especially like having the rat close to all this, but there was only so much he could do.

As they sat awkwardly eyeing one another in the parlour after dinner, an owl tapped on the window. An elf let it in and it flew to Bellatrix, who opened the letter and frowned. 'It's from Rodolphus. Everything is fine, but he has paperwork to do. Won't be back until late tonight.' She set the letter aside and called for some tea for all of them.

The Krums had come to their own conclusions about what was going on, which were only reinforced by the fact that Snape promptly sent the children to go and walk about the house, and then took Bellatrix into the corridor.

_'Do you suppose the girl knows?'_

_'Knows what?'_

_'That this potions master is her father.'_

_'Do you think so?'_

_'Of course. Why else did the other one leave?'_

_'The mother's not exactly friendly with him, Zhivka.'_

_'Because they're hiding it from the other one, clearly.'_

_'They don't look alike.'_

_'No?'_

_'No.'_

_'True enough, I suppose, but even if the potion master is the true power behind the throne, he's taking too much of an interest to just be an observer.'_

Martin nodded slowly_. 'Perhaps you're right, love. You usually are.'_

In the darkened corridor, Bellatrix huffed at Snape. 'I'd never blindly accept an offer, Snape. I'd ask His Lordship first.'

'Of course. But Krum is persuasive. Once the overture has been made...'

Bellatrix's eyes lit up. 'His Lordship will come personally to give us His blessing?'

'I shouldn't think. Likely he'll send a proxy.'

'You?'

'I could arrange for Rowle or Carrow, if you like.'

'Carrow? He's a moron.'

'He's a Death Eater.'

'So is Malfoy. Why can't he do it?'

'Malfoy is your daughter's uncle. I have no stake except my fondness for your daughter as my student.'

'Fondness? You? Your heart is stone.'

'And yours, Bella? What's yours? Or Rodolophus's, for that matter?'

'Warmer than yours. I didn't see you going to find-'

'Oh, spare me your tired complaints about Azkaban. Some of us were smarter than to sacrifice ourselves as you did, but that doesn't make us any less loyal than yourself, now do you want me to see that Hermione is happy, or not?'

Bellatrix's eyes widened, her pale face flushing nearly purple. She drew on him, tip of her wand in his chest, and then sighed. 'Fine.'

'Sorry, what was that?'

'Fine, I said, you bastard! Fine!'

It was the best Snape would ever get and he knew it. He nodded once. 'Charm the Bulgarians.'

'Hermione has already.'

In the parlour, Zhivka turned to Martin. _'See? A lover's quarrel.'_

_'Well, my pet, I never said you were wrong.'_

_'This could work in our favour.'_

_'Oh? How is that?_' Martin doubted it. A disinterested third party would be more focused on pleasing both parties and less on sentimental issues or greed. Which was what Zhivka was counting on, because she smiled and said

_'Because he can't actually acknowledge her. So if he negotiates with us, he might take less than the husband because he'll never benefit from it. And it's not as though she'll want for anything.'_

_'Perhaps he's got something for her saved away. That might encourage him to be liberal with economic terms.'_

_'Quite so. And we'll stress the sentimental aspect of things.'_

_'Don't need to do too much work on that. Viktor's struck by her.'_

_'She seems sincere, doesn't she, in her liking of him_?' Zhivka's political acumen warred with her love for her only child.

_'I thought so. I wonder...'_

_'Hmm?'_

_'Who raised her while they were in prison?_'

Martin frowned thoughtfully. _'You know, they've never said. The sister and her husband, I'd think.'_

Zhivka nodded and squeezed his hand gently. _'Martin? Your assessment was right on_.'

Martin squeezed back. _'I'm glad you like her too_.'

Snape Floo'd out and hit the floor in his own house in time in see a flash of dark fur. He stiffened but had no time to react as Scabior smiled brightly and scratched the dog's ears.

'I dint know you ad a dog, sir.'

'I found him.'

'Right nice, e is. Shook my and an all.'

'I'm glad you're enjoying one another. Now, about this evening...' Snape didn't get much farther. The dog turned, put his head up, and lunged at Snape's midsection. Snape stepped back, drew his wand, and started to swish, and swore when the rat squeaked with terror and started to claw him.

'Down, dog! Down!'

Scabior reached out and seized Black by the neck, pushing him down and holding him while Snape pulled the rat from his waistcoat and Shielded him. 'I'm sorry, Scabior, the cur needs a firm hand.'

'Ah, no. E's a good boy, jus needs some luv. Mebbe e wont minds Chum s'much if we gets them together sumtimes.'

'That' said Snape, as the rat writhed in terror above the growling Black 'is a wonderful idea. I'm sure they'll be the best of friends.'

'Wot's is name?'

'His name?' Snape grinned down at the dog. 'His name is Salazar.'

'Thas a good one.' Scabior cautiously let the dog up, and Black, now Salazar, rose slowly, every hair bristling.

'How was it today?'

'Not so bad. Stupid waste, if you asks me. Stupid waste.'

'Oh?'

'All them aurors jus rush in without lettin anyone know.'

'Yes, it wasn't especially prudent.' Having set that chain in motion, Snape could say only so much. 'Though, of course, their sacrifice has bought a better life for others.' And that, at least, was true. The widows and orphans' standard of living would improve greatly, for the most part.

Scabior debriefed Snape and then waited patiently as Snape went for ales for them both, carefully slipping a mild sedative in the one he made sure Scabior got.

As soon as the man was snoring, he turned on Black. 'What the hell were you thinking?'

Black ignored him. 'PETER! YOU SON OF A WHORE!' He lunged for the rat, who screeched with fright and paddled with his tiny pink feet.

Snape swished and Black fell, bound. 'Enough. You'll get your chance, Black, but first I need him.'

'You never said...'

'Of course not. Nor did he know I have you. And I do have you, do I not?'

Black's face was thunderous. 'I expect you do, at that.'

'Then act like it. Keep Scabior company whilst I deal with the rat.'

Snape took Pettigrew upstairs while Sirius transformed and laid his head on his paws, trying to calm his hammering heart. In the study, Pettigrew was shaking.

'B-but Sirius i-is-'

'In my employ, like yourself. Now, what have you got for me?' Snape answered no more questions and then, to be safe, Obliviated the rat before he had him transform back and brought him down.

He roused Scabior and handed the now docile rat to him. 'Tomorrow, then, Scabior?'

'Yeah, tomorrow.'

Snape's night was mostly clear after that, so he devoted some time to reading and writing his private correspondence. About eleven, he heard a noise outside and decided to check, as the neighbouring children sometimes tried to get in his garden.

His foot...splashed. 'Black?'

Sirius turned and looked at him from his perch on the divan, a trashy muggle novel in his lap. 'What?'

'Is there piss in my boot?'

'I suppose you'd have to ask _Salazar_, wouldn't you?'

**Spoiler A/N: No, Snape is not Hermione's father. The Krums just misunderstood the situation. Repeat, Hermione is Rodolphus's daughter beyond all doubt.**

**Also, Countess Black is demanding that I dedicate the whole piss in shoe thing to her, or else she'll have Queen Smokey gnaw off my eyebrows as I sleep. Being quite fond of them (my eyebrows), I have agreed.**


	20. Chapter 20

**A/N: Love to reviewers and Countess Black, **

**Also Queen Smokey, who's continued to let me stay in her house as long as I keep the chin scratches coming.**

**Also, my information about Bulgaria is coming from the net. I'm doing my best, but I may not always be right. Additionally, if sentences are half italic, half not, it's because they're switching back and forth. **

Hermione was with Bellatrix when the Krum's elf came, dressed in a toga in the Krum's colours, bowed, and handed Rodolphus an envelope with a very generous offer in it.

Having prepared for this, Rodolphus handed one back. The elf bowed again and vanished without a word. The details would be seen to by the seconds, in this case Snape and Martin Krum's younger brother.

It was understood, naturally, that the actual match would happen almost no matter what. Britain needed it, and so did Bulgaria. This match united the enormous economic potential of Bulgaria and the might of the Dark Lord.

Family honour, on the other hand, demanded that they exchange gifts to show how much they each valued their own children. The Krums offered properties, tracts of land, factories and the rents from six of their ten feudal holdings.

The Lestranges were offering cash, antiques, a stake in government holdings, and political power which would make Viktor one of the wealthiest men in Europe by the time he was fifty.

In an ideal world, Rodolphus would have preferred to wait until Hermione was a bit older. Most girls got at least a limited choice-say three or four suitors chosen by their fathers-and he wished he could have given her that.

But needs must is needs must. He'd liked the two seconds he spent with Krum, and Hermione understood how important this was (he thought, never having actually asked). And it wasn't as though she couldn't get to know the boy-that was why the seconds negotiated whilst the families themselves socialised.

And he had things to do. He handed the offer off to Snape to give the Dark Lord to check over, and then, changing, went to do a distasteful chore. Making sure that Hermione and Bellatrix were far away, Rodolphus told the elf to bring Greyback in.

He looked no better than he had. Greasy, blood reeking, grinning, streaked with mud, he flung himself onto the delicate chair which faced the desk and looked at Rodolphus with a sort of irritation which made Rodolphus's toes curl in his boots. The very gall of this creature was breathtaking.

'Well?'

'Well, what?'

'What've you found, Greyback?'

'Some very interesting things, I'd say.'

'Oh?'

'Pack hasn't got any international lines. Borders are for humans.' Greyback crossed his arms, smirking, and Rodolphus wanted to hex him. He knew the wolf was playing at something, and God help him if this was all some sort of bluff or something.

'We'll know by tonight. Have a little faith, would you?'

Rodolphus nodded. 'I trust you, Fenrir.' Rabastan might know more. He'd be Flooing in that day, and Rodolphus planned to corner him and ask.

'Lying bastard.'

'No arguments there.' And Rodolphus called for whiskey for them both, and asked after Greyback's mates and young.

Rabastan arrived at three pm, looking well and full of smiles, Christmas cheer, and news from the Ambassadorial mansion in Sofia. Hermione came down with Bellatrix right behind, and there was a flurry of hugging and exclamations.

'Trixie, you look splendid!'

'Rabastan. How well you seem, brother in law.' Bellatrix pecked his cheek, looking sour. Rabastan raised an eyebrow at his brother, who pretended not to see.

'Hermione, my darling, you 're much taller.' Hermione stepped forward and let herself be embraced, feeling shy and a little funny. Rabastan stepped back and studied his niece a moment.

'My God, she looks more like Mother every time I see her.'

'Shut up.' Bellatrix gave him a look which could have curdled milk and Rabastan laughed, patting her shoulder lightly. 'Trixie, really.'

'Hmmph.'

Hermione remembered what Aunt Narcissa had taught her. She stepped under her mother's arm and said sweetly 'Mother, let's choose our outfits for tonight, can't we?'

'Fine' said Bellatrix, and stomped for the stairs, not pulling away from her daughter.

'What have you done to Bellatrix, Rodolphus?'

'Why does everyone ask me that when she gets in these moods?'

Rabastan Lestrange, one of the most feared Death Eaters in Britain, snorted and punched his older brother's arm lightly. 'Can't imagine.'

Bellatrix stomped through the house, Hermione beside her, and slammed into her room, tugging robes out at random and throwing them onto a chair for an elf to see to. 'Well, girl?'

'Mother? What's wrong?'

'Nothing. Everything is perfectly fine. Why does everyone keep asking me that?' Bellatrix's hands knotted into fists and Hermione, not sure what to do, flung both arms round her and pressed her head into the woman's shoulder as she did with Aunt Narcissa, holding her tightly.

'Girl? Is something the matter?' Bellatrix made herself relax and unknot her fists. Wouldn't do to scare the child. The girl nestled closer, suddenly sighing, and Bellatrix put up a hand to pat awkwardly. Was she calming her daughter or vice versa?

'No, Mother. It's all just a lot, isn't it?'

'Yes.' Bellatrix patted a bit more. Hermione finally stepped away, and said 'Mother? May I have a rest? Before the party, I mean.'

Bellatrix nodded, surprised when Hermione simply climbed onto the bed and settled back, looking at her. She was supposed to do something here, clearly, and so she sat down and took Hermione's hand.

'You know how important all this is for us, Hermione, don't you?'

Hermione nodded and snuggled into the bed, eyes slightly smudged with purple. Bellatrix felt a strange spike of something-why had she not noticed earlier? Wasn't she supposed to know when the girl couldn't sleep and fix it somehow?

'Yes, Mother. And he seems nice. Viktor.'

'I _hate _that word. Doesn't mean anything.'

'I'm sorry.'

'Yes, well. He seems a good boy.'

Hermione nodded. 'Mother? Were you very afraid when your father was doing this for you?'

Bellatrix had a moment of surprise that was a crisp and distinct as crystal, or the notes of a piccolo. Her child was asking her for comfort and insight. Not Narcissa, not Rodolphus. Her. For the first time, Bellatrix felt as though she might actually, someday, be a mother.

'I suppose I was. I was a bit older.'

'How old?'

'Seventeen, I think? Rodolphus would know.' Bellatrix frowned and touched Hermione's cheek. 'Did you sleep last night?'

The girl nestled in and shut her eyes. 'A bit.'

'Why didn't you send for someone?'

Hermione didn't open her eyes. 'Mmmhmm.'

'Don't play that game with me, you're faking.' Bellatrix bent a little closer and found herself spelling the blankets up, cursing her own foolish sentimentality. Hermione didn't answer, and Bellatrix gave her a little shake by the shoulders.

'Mmm?'

'I said, why didn't you send for someone? It's the _nice_ again, isn't it? I mean it, girl, this will stop. And don't you dare apologise, either.' Bellatrix shook her finger, giving a look that had been known to make grown men soil themselves.

Hermione's reaction was somewhat less obligingly horrified. She opened her eyes and smiled drowsily before saying 'All of us have to make sacrifices, Mother.' She rolled on her side and started to breath deeply.

'Well, not you. Not yet. You're a child, it's not for you to...to...naughty girl. So damned nice.' Bellatrix made her most fearsome glare again. It was probably lost on the back of Hermione's head, and so she settled for tucking the covers more tightly round the girl's shoulders.

'And in my bed, too.' Not that she made a move to have someone come and carry her out. Instead, she settled down next to her for a moment, resting her hand on Hermione's neck. Even in her sleep, Hermione snuggled closer, and Bellatrix found herself smiling a soppy, very un-Death Eater sort of smile. 'That's my girl.'

A small sound from behind them made Bellatrix grab for her wand, and when she found Rodolphus, she scowled mightily and hopped off the bed. 'How long've you been there?'

'Not long. Is Hermione well?'

'Didn't half sleep last night. I swear, I'm going to skin that girl alive if she keeps up this thing with not bothering people. And get that look off your face.'

'What look?'

'_That_ look.'

'I don't have a look.'

'Bosh, we've been married too long for me to fall for that. You're smirking at me like Malfoy's long lost brother.'

'It was sweet, was all. Seeing you and her curled up together.'

'She wanted some attention.'

'I'm not saying it was bad, Bellatrix. Really, it was adorab-'

Before he could finish, Bellatrix's wand was aimed directly at ...well, suffice it to say that male sopranos command quite a fee, but Rodolphus wasn't looking for a career change this late in life.

'Finish. That sentence. And SUFFER for it.'

'Trixie, really.'

'I mean it. I will not-NOT, do you hear me-have it implied that I am, in any way, adorable.'

'Hermione is.'

'She's twelve, of course she is.'

'And you were helping her to sleep.'

'And?'

'It was precious.'

'I will kill you, Rodolphus, don't think yourself safe just because we're married. Some night, when you're least expecting it...'

'You are her mother, Bellatrix.'

'I am a Death Eater first, Rodolphus, as you are.'

'Of course' he said, and wisely dropped the issue.

The party was due to start at nine, and Viktor was in a state. Attired in his formal school uniform, he waited with Martin and several adjutants, nervously fiddling with his collar.

The carriages started to arrive, and Viktor, ever more nervous, could hardly contain himself as the doors opened and dignitaries started to arrive. He met a very tall blond and his equally tall, blonde wife, and their son, who was not as tall but just as blond. The younger boy studied him for a moment and then said 'You're to marry my cousin Hermione.'

Viktor nodded, cursing his limited English. He was determined to learn so he didn't have to rely on translation charms all the time. 'Hermione wife .'

'Yes, well, if you ever hurt her, I'll tell my father.' Draco looked very fierce, and Viktor, who had a few inches and a three dozen pounds on the younger boy, resisted the urge to ruffle his hair and laugh. 'No hurt.'

Draco nodded and went to stand beside his parents_, _not quite sure how he felt about this bloke, but knowing he had a family obligation to make sure that Hermione's intended had the right idea about how things would be. And of course, the threat of Father's displeasure could quell any ideas the fellow had being inappropriate. Or anything, really.

The door opened again and Snape swept in, dressed in his usual rusty black. Draco grinned and went to greet his godfather. He was too old for a hug these days, but not to beam up and say 'Godfather!'

And Snape, spymaster of Britain, smiled down and patted Draco's arm. 'Hello, Draco.'

The block like form of Viktor Krum ambled over, his big frame seeming weirdly condensed, as stone-like as his face. 'Professor Snape.'

'Mr. Krum, good to see you again.'

'Is pleasant. Boy Draco nephew?'

'Draco? No, my godson.' Snape raised his wand to provide a translation charm but the lad shook his head.

'No, but thank you. Am learning.'

'Ah. Very good.'

The fact that Krum was making the effort was further proof that Snape's choice had been a good one. He nodded and turned as another group made their way through the doors.

Beside him, Krum was red as his uniform. The girl caught sight of them and came that direction after she paused to greet Narcissa and murmur to her mother for permission.

Krum looked torn between bolting and being frozen in place. She smiled brightly and came to stand beside him, dressed in cream and silver, Cunegarde's bracelet on her wrist.

'Hello, Professor Snape. Viktor. How are you?'

'Well, Miss Lestrange. Yourself?'

'I'm fine, Professor. Viktor, are you all right?'

The boy's face could not have got more red if someone had dipped him in paint. He nodded and said something faintly, which finally resolved itself into 'Good.'

'Mr. Krum has expressed a desire to learn English, Miss Lestrange.'

'Viktor, have you really?' Hermione beamed, looking like a rosy, cheerful Bellatrix. Snape felt a small worm of existential grief in his chest-this is what Bella might have been, he thought. All this kindness and intelligence and energy, had she had...what? Muggles to raise her when it was most important? Now _that _was irony.

Viktor nodded. 'Yes. Learn English.'

_'We can teach one another, then_. Pardon me, Professor.'

'Not at all, Miss Lestrange.' Snape wondered how much of this was feigned on her part. Perhaps none of it-the Krum boy seemed sincerely gentle and eager to please, and Snape had the idea that Hermione would rule that particular roost without much trouble.

And the alternative, he would remind her at some point, was far less pleasant. Wetherell McNair, while a sort of worst case scenario, wasn't the only bad egg she could have ended up with. The Dark Lord had been hinting that he'd match her to one of his followers, even threatened at one point to give her to Greyback.

Speaking of whom, the Dark Lord was coming in, having borrowed Amycus Carrow for the evening. He smiled and nodded, the Death Eaters gather round him in an admiring throng.

'If everyone is ready, friends?'

An expectant hush fell over the room, and Snape put a hand to Hermione's shoulder and gently propelled her forward. Viktor followed.

'Come here, Viktor, Hermione. Friends, these children are the foundation upon which the future of Wizarding Britain stands. From them will come...' It was exactly the sort of speech one might have expected. The children themselves did precisely what they were supposed to, which was nothing but stand there looking well.

At the end, the Dark Lord, in Amycus's slope shouldered body, smiled and motioned Lucius forward. Lucius gave his niece a wink and then ceremonially held out a box to Viktor.

The paper inside was written in English and Bulgarian both. Viktor handed the English to Hermione and read. It granted them the deed to Orion Black's house at 12 Grimmauld Place in perpetuity, 'In order' said the Dark Lord, smiling 'that you might have a home wherever you go.'

Everyone applauded politely, and elves started to circulate with drinks, signalling that the show was over. Beside Rodolphus, Bellatrix found herself wiping her eyes, heedless of her makeup. She turned to find Severus Snape looking down at her, radiating the chipper malice of a squirrel.

'Something in your eyes, Bellatrix?'

'What if there is, then?'

'I'd be happy to give you something. To life your mood, perhaps.'

'I've told you, I'm fine.'

'Of course you are.'

Bellatrix took a step closer and looked round. 'If you're implying I've gone soft, Snape...'

'I never said anything of the sort.'

Bellatrix turned, hissing, and stomped off. She stomped until she ran across Malfoy, glared at him, and turned to her sister. 'Cissy, I've ruined my makeup. A hand?'

Narcissa nodded at once, seeing Bellatrix's face, and followed behind her older sister. The bathroom was deserted. 'Trixie?'

'I'm fine, Narcissa, fine. Just that my mascara's run.' Narcissa took out her handkerchief and dabbed her sister's face. 'Trixie, it's fine to be sad.'

'I. Am. Not. Sad.'

'All right.'

'Don't you dare take that tone with me, either. I used to help you at meals.'

'I remember. But Trixie, it's all right.'

Bellatrix bit her lip, chin jerking, and then rested her head on Narcissa's neck a second. 'Of course it is. We're Death Eaters, aren't we?'

Narcissa looked distant a second. 'That doesn't mean you can't grieve, Trixie.'

'My only concern is Our Lord's pleasure, as should yours be.'

Narcissa looked down on her older sister and felt a deep, terrible longing in her heart for the sister of her youth. She reached out and touched Trixie's cheek. Bellatrix's eyes seemed wet, darkened with emotion Narcissa wasn't sure she could name.

'Oh, Trixie...'

'Hush, Narcissa.' And then she reached up and touched her damp cheeks, and there was wet on her fingers. Bellatrix felt still and hot and strange. She couldn't be...crying? Could she?

'Trixie, shhh, shhh.'

'Hush, I said.' More tears came to displace them and she dragged her sleeve over them, but there were more, and more. 'I shouldn't feel like this. It's not right.'

'She's your daughter, Bellatrix.'

'Yes, she is.' Bellatrix shut her eyes and breathed deeply, willing the storm to pass before they were seen. She couldn't have it getting round amongst the Bulgarians that Bellatrix Lestrange cried like some damned puling woman, could she?

She inhaled deeply and stepped back, straightening her sister's robes where she'd mussed them. And why were they so low cut, since she was here? 'Narcissa Euphemia, why do these robes show your bosom?'

Outside, Hermione and Viktor were being patted and smiled at by the adults. Viktor wanted to give her his gift, but how could he? It was a small thing. He finally waited until yet another drunk under secretary had lurched off and said 'We go outside now with elf?'

Hermione called Rinky, who told Uncle Rabastan, the closest adult, and then came back, glowing in his new towel. The balcony was freezing, but both children felt warmed by the events of the night, and the stars above sparkled with beautiful indifference to them.

'It's a beautiful night.'

'Yes.'

Viktor wished dearly that he could say something clever and poetic, but even in Bulgarian, he lacked eloquence. He squirmed, willing himself to bravery, and said finally 'I have gift for you.'

Hermione stopped and blushed a bit. 'I have one for you, too.'

Viktor withdrew the box from his tunic and held it out. Hermione opened it found a small wooden phial. She couldn't read Bulgarian, but Viktor took the phial and opened it. Hermione's eyes widened and she said 'Roses!'

'Yes. Bulgaria have much roses.'

Hermione dabbed a bit on and tears came to her eyes. It was as though her muggle Mum was right there for her. She blinked, and to Viktor's absolute shock, her arms were about his neck, and she was pressed against him.

_'Oh, Viktor, thank you! It reminds me of...someone I lost._'

Viktor was too stunned to move. He finally managed a nod as she disentangled herself from him and reached into her pocket. She handed him a handkerchief, embroidered with a small black VK.

'I...is...wonderful.' He wanted to kiss her, but her big, damp eyes were like a doe's, and he was scared that he'd make her upset, so instead, taking a deep breath, he slid his hand into hers.

His hands were huge and rough, but Hermione actually sort of liked it, and she curled her fingers round his and looked up the stars, until they got called back inside for supper.

The Embassy's elves had outdone themselves. The guests of honour having been sat together, Viktor was delighted by the chance to show his fiancee to be (since they weren't technically bethrothed, and wouldn't be until his uncle had made the final arrangements with Professor Snape) the food of his, and now her, country.

'Is Snezhanka Salad, concumbers, yoghurt and nuts. Big nuts, like for sweets?'

'Walnuts?'

'Yes. _Walnuts, in Bulgarian_.' Hermione tasted it. It reminded her a bit of the Greek food her muggle parents had liked to get. She swallowed and gave Viktor a smile. He'd brought back her parents-the muggle ones-to her, and if she wasn't sure she _liked _liked him, it was enough to make her want to.

The rest of the meal was as good. Hermione ate stew of lamb and vegetables and a baked dish of tomatoes and white cheese, with eggs and peppers. Beside her, Viktor ate steadily, suggesting dishes and offering her flat bread to eat with her food.

Across the table, Bellatrix was torn between smiling adoring at the Dark Lord and glaring sharply at everyone else. She watched her daughter and the boy as they chatted in a mixture of English and Bulgarian. Hermione's eyes were bright, and the boy seemed to be loosening up slightly.

Bellatrix swallowed hard and chewed some fish- straight from the Black sea, she was assured-knowing that she should be delighted. Her daughter had made a glorious match by tying Britain and Bulgaria together forever. And he seemed a truly sweet boy.

But it wasn't...fair, somehow, that those muggles had had Hermione for ten years and they for only six months. She was being stupid, she told herself fiercely. They'd have another five years with her before she came of age, six if she demanded they wait another year, and Hermione would've married some day.

And with magical travel, Bulgaria wasn't all that much father than, say, northern Scotland would have been. She could go and see her any time she liked. But that didn't make it better.

The Dark Lord noticed his best lieutenant's strange look and took her hand in his for a moment. 'Something wrong, darling Bella?'

'No, my Lord.'

'You seem to be looking at the girl quite a lot.'

Bellatrix nodded. 'Hermione is fragile, my Lord. I worry it might be too stimulating for her, all this excitement.'

'Of course. Shall I have St. Mungo's send someone?'

'No, my Lord. She took a rest this afternoon, I'm sure she's fine.'

After supper there was dancing. The elves had moved the furniture, and a small elf orchestra was playing in the corner. They struck up a waltz, and Viktor bowed, looking nervous.

Hermione took his arm, and they fell in with the adults swirling on the floor. Hermione saw Aunt Narcissa and Uncle Lucius. Her cheeks were pink, and he laughed at something she'd said.

Draco was dancing with the daughter of an attaché, and looked less than pleased. For himself, he'd rather have been home reading than dragging the goggling girl about the floor.

The dance ended and Draco managed to dump the girl and darted across the floor. 'May I have this dance?'

The cousins spun across the floor. 'Your mother looks like she ate a grindylow.'

'Mother? She's having a bad day.'

Draco nodded. 'Father says you're a national heroine.'

'I hope not. Hugging all those babies might muss my hair.' Hermione kept a straight face for a second, long enough for Draco to wonder if she was teasing, before they both started to giggle.

Across the room, Viktor came and bowed to Bellatrix. 'Dance, Madam?' Bellarix offered him a hand and they went onto the floor. For all this bulk and awkwardness, the boy could dance, thought Bellatrix.

She looked up at him. He was almost as tall as Rodolphus, and would, she thought vaguely, grow more before he stopped. Didn't teenage boys do that? He was looking at her.

'Well, then. Cold tonight.'

'Cold.' Agreed Victor, who didn't know what to make of his tiny, scowling mother-in-law to be. He had to learn English quickly, because it bothered him not to know why she always looked so sour.

'You're pleased to be marrying my daughter?'

'Yes. Happy. You?'

'I suppose. But if you ever do something to her-hear me well on this-I will kill you slowly.'

Viktor nodded, not quite understanding the whole thing but having got a good idea. 'No hurt, Mother Lestrange. No hurt.'

'Too right.' She gave him another glare and then let him escort her to the sidelines. The elf orchestra started to play traditional Bulgarian folk music. Viktor's eyes lit up. He'd ask his mother to dance and then she'd show Hermione how to do it.

And he would have, except that the door flew open and a harried looking man dashed in and whispered something to Martin Krum. Martin dropped the champagne floo he was holding, staggered a little.

'Martin!' Zhivka moved toward him and reached out but he shook his head.

The room was very, very quiet. 'There is significant problem at home. Ladies going back now, men here, and Madam Lestrange.'

The room was galvanised at once. Narcissa, it was decided, would go with Hermione and Draco. At the last moment, Zhivka, who was staying with Martin, asked to send Viktor too.

They'd go to Malfoy manor. Climbing into the carriage, Hermione interpreting as quickly as she could, they took off into the sky. 'What happened, Mother?'

'I don't know, Draco. We'll have a good time, hmm?'

Draco nodded and his eyes flicked to Hermione. How did she feel about having her party interrupted. She smiled and said something to Viktor which made him nod thoughtfully. He asked something back and Hermione covered her mouth and laughed.

'Draco Malfoy! What did you say?'

'Nothing. Yet.'

'Victor's just asked me whether it's the custom for the bride's family to threaten the groom. You and Mother both, he says.' Draco raised an eyebrow.

'Well, Father always says that new traditions are as important as old ones, doesn't he, Mother?' And to that, Narcissa could only laugh.

In the Embassy, Greyback, slicked with blood, was laughing. He and Lestrange were in the kitchen. 'Surprise!'

'Fenrir, this is not a joke.'

'No fooling, Lestrange. But admit it, this was the best news you could have had.'

'All right, all right.'

'It's a wedding gift for your girl, like.'

'How considerate, though a card is more the usual form.'

Greyback laughed again, and discussed the uprising of the werewolves of Eastern Europe, who'd chosen tonight to riot en masse. Soon there would be appeals for help in putting them down, and would Britain help? Oh, yes.

He could taste the plunder now. Greyback smiled and listened to Lestrange talk.


	21. Chapter 21

**A/N: Love to reviewers and Countess Black**

**Queen Smokey is still letting me crash at her place, and she helped me write this chapter by laying on the keyboard as regularly as possible.**

** I really, really tried to make Rodolphus likable and fatherly, but he's determined to be a serious, hardcore creeper, so here we are. **

Eastern Europe was burning. All across the region, long simmering tensions exploded. In the Embassy, the Bulgarians waited, sick with fear, as one city after another fell to rampaging werewolves.

At Hogwarts, the Dark Lord was waiting, like a cat. The prey would come to him, he thought. In time. Oh, in time. And Snape did nothing to disabuse him, knowing that he could snap the skinny boy's neck, or put something in his food should he become a problem. But did he want to, knowing it would consign all hope of Potter's return to perdition?

The calls came in one after another. Would Britain help? It would, as it happened. The Dark Lord signed the orders, and within days, squads of werewolves and Death Eaters were sent to all points on the map, as diplomats came to sign the treaties that were the fruit of this dark and well planned garden.

Of course, very few people knew and cared about all of this. Lemuel Scabior was one, in that he was currently on the way to check on Lestrange's girl and Malfoy's snooty looking bird and lad. And the Bulgarian, now that he thought of it.

Climbing off the broom, he wandered across the lawn and up toward the vast mansion. Some place, he thought, but he'd be happy with something smaller and a bit less grand. Though, he supposed, a man could get a lot of whores in a place like that. Maybe have theme rooms, even. Popular, theme rooms, with gentlemen.

As he approached, boots crunching in the snow, he heard the sounds of laughter. Eyes darting up, he saw the two boys, swooping on brooms. He waved, and both of them waved back.

The house was as opulent inside as outside. He walked respectfully in it. Definitely fit for a first class whorehouse, what with the fine carpets and all. Gentlemen like a bit of culture, he believed, but not too much. After all, if they wanted culture, they'd be home with their wives.

Narcissa Malfoy nodded gracefully. 'Mr. Scabior, come in. Have you word from Mister Malfoy?'

'I do. E says e's fine but it's like t be a while. All them troubles an such, most upsettin.'

'No doubt. Is there any news of what's happening?'

'No, ma'am, not enuf t fills a thimble. Jus a lot a reports a burnin an violence. We'll knows more tomorrow or the day after.'

'Of course. And my sister and her husband?'

'Also well, an Madam Lestrange sends er love for yerself an the girl. Also, they wants me t tell you, ma'am, that she an the Bulgarian boy might be ere a time.'

'I suspected as much. I've had things prepared for a prolonged stay, and also things for my family stuck in the Embassy. Would you see they get them, please?'

'A course, ma'am.' An elf appeared and handed Scabior a small bundle, which was several days worth of clothing, razors, toothbrushes, and so, made small for easy transport.

'You may go and give Hermione the message. She's in the back with my son and her intended. Please remember, Mr. Scabior, not to upset her with any of this. Hermione's temperament is too fragile and gentle for much in the way of distastefulness.'

Scabior bowed his way out and followed the elf out to the garden. Definitely make a good sporting house, this. Didn't Hetty always say that men wanted to parade with their women? This place would be perfect; discreet yet elegant, and with an air that simply screamed that one would never be quite good enough.

He crossed the snowy terraces and followed the elf to a cloaked person, which resolved herself into Flower. 'Ello, flower.'

'Hello, Scabior. Is everything all right?'

'You tells me. Everythin awright with you, then?'

Hermione nodded, eyes glued to the sky. 'I suppose. It's strange, isn't it, to think that something terrible is happening in Europe whilst we're sitting here talking?'

Scabior sat down next to her. 'Sure you're feelin awright, flower?'

'Yes. It's just...it's selfish to be sad when so many people are dying. And there's lots of them, isn't there? It's bad.'

'Yeah, flower, real bad. Sad about what?'

'People.' Flower's eyes were still nailed to the boys, not looking. Scabior got it. Had she not been Lestrange's daughter, he might have taken her hand in his to cheer her up. Instead, he watched the brooms a moment with her.

'Y'know, flower, sometimes folks'll tells you that you shouldn't feels a certain way cause it aint rite. Thinks they knows better n you ow thins ought t be, cause they got some special ideas you aint bout ow you should feels.'

The girl nodded cautiously. Was this a trap? Scabior pretended not to notice, preferring to pretend to watch the Bulgarian trying to show the younger boy a Wronski feint.

'An sumtimes, we feels like we cant say nuthin for fear a gettin in trouble. But you know, jus cause you aint sez it a'loud, dont mean it aint bein hurd by them you ment t ears it.'

Hermione took her eyes off her cousin and intended. 'Yes?'

'Course. I talks to me sister an Mam all the time. An you know, I believes they ear me.'

Flower nodded slowly. 'I'm sorry about your mother and sister, Scabior.'

'Thank you kinely. And I'm sorry...well, that thins bin ruff for you. Dont no one knows it better.'

Hermione nodded and finally looked him in the face. 'But what happens when you feel something and then it stops? I mean, not entirely, but it's not...'

'Not like it wuz? Well, flower, it means yer gettin better. And they'd want you t get better, yeah? Dont mean you dont care. You jus care different now.'

The boys had noticed him, and Draco signalled that they should descend. They touched ground and approached politely on foot. It was only that creepy bloke that worked for Uncle Rodolphus, but still, there were forms to be observed.

'Hello there.'

'Ello, young Mister Malfoy. My name's Lemuel Scabior, an I've a message fer you from yer daddy.'

'By all means, Scabior, don't keep us wondering.'

' E'swell an send their greetins to you all, an asks you t ost in his stead, an espec'lly to pertect the ladies if they should need it.'

'Of course. Tell him I shall do my utmost.' The little bloke reminded Scabior of a banty rooster, all fierceness and fight despite the small size. The other one reminded him of a mastiff; power enough for ten, but no sense of real menace without cause.

'And fer young master Krum as well.'

'Of course. Hermione, would you translate?'

_'Viktor, it's a message from your parents._'

'Mister an Madam Krum sends their greetins and asks that Viktor do what e can to elp. It'll likely be sum time fore everythin is fixed good enough to cross the borders, like, but the family is safe an Uncle...Pincho...?'

'That doesn't sound right. Let me ask. _Viktor, your parents are well, but it will be a while before you can cross the borders to go home. Your family is safe, but your uncle sends a message.'_

_'Which uncle? I've got three.'_

_'The name starts with a P.'_

_'Penko, then. The youngest.'_

_'_Is the name 'Penko', Scabior?'

'Yeah. This Penko bloke sez the women n children ave been sent ome to the castle. Penko and Rumen are in Sofia to elp the government.'

Hermione translated and Viktor nodded, having expected it. _'Is Mother well?'_

'His mother?'

'Fine. Sends er affections, and asks im to elp Madam Malfoy.'

After she'd translated the rest, Scabior shook the snow from his cloak and bowed. 'Su'pose I'll head back now, then. Miss, young Mister Krum, young Mister Malfoy.'

'It was nice seeing you, Scabior.'

'An yerself, Miss. Mister Malfoy, would you see me out?'

Draco was about to refuse contemtuously when he realised that it must be that Father had a special message for him. Or perhaps his uncle or someone. He nodded, bowed to Hermione, and called an elf to make sure that Krum behaved himself. Not that Draco didn't trust him, precisely-just that it's what Father would have done.

Scabior walked alongside him for a few moments. 'How's doins, lad? The fella behavin imself?'

'Viktor? Yes, he's fine. Quiet, but very pleasant.'

'Good. You watch im, yeah? Them foreign blokes likes English witches. E might be fine fer now, but jus keeps yer eye on im.'

'I shall. Is that all?'

'Yeah.'

'Good day, Scabior.' He turned and went back to the garden. For all he'd heard the same thing from other people, Draco's first impulse was to trust Krum more than Scabior. He'd leave Hermione with ten Krums, rather than...he blinked. Why the sudden strong feelings? Ah, well. He shook it off and decided to have another go at coaxing his cousin onto a broom.

Viktor was having many of the same thoughts. He wasn't sure why his father in law to be wanted a man like this Scabior for his second. There was something skin crawling about him, something that reminded him of a picture he'd seen once, of a crocodile sunning itself on a river bank, birds playing in it's teeth.

_'Is that man a family member_?'

'_No_.' Hermione looked at her gloved hands, not wanting to taint Viktor with what she'd seen Scabior do. And it would look bad for Britain, she told herself sternly. _'He just works for my father at the Ministry.'_

_'His English is...'_

_'He's a heavy accent. Tell me about your home, would you?'_

Viktor wondered whether he dare take her hand again. _'Does he make you nervous?'_

_'Scabior?'_

_'Yes. You're very pale.'_

_'No. Just that there was a battle, and...well, people got hurt.'_

_'You were there?'_

_'Yes.'_

_'How?'_

Hermione turned her head and looked at him. _'It's a long story_.'

Viktor finally worked up the nerve to touch her hand. _'Don't be afraid._'

_'Viktor, I...someday. I promise, but not now.'_

Viktor looked down at her, head cocked. _'Is it something bad that you saw him do?'_

Hermione's mind was spinning a million kilometres an hour. Under Viktor's shyness and quiet, diffident personality, he was startlingly perceptive. She wiggled inside with pleasure; Snape had promised her a smart husband, and had delivered in spades, she thought.

_'Mother says lots of people do bad things in wars, Viktor.'_

Viktor nodded. He didn't want to push too hard or upset her. He decided to change the subject and looked at the house in the distance. '_It's a beautiful place_.'

_'You should see it in the summer. My aunt has the best roses in Britain.'_

_'My family owns some rose farms in a valley. Someday we'll go and see them.'_

_'I would like that. Tell me about your house?'_

_'We've more than one. There's a house in Sofia for during the Season-and usually my Uncle Penko lives there, he's unmarried-and a family keep near the Black sea. We usually live there, and my Uncle Rumen and his family.'_

Hermione nodded. _'Do you like it? The sea?'_

_'Very much. I swim, sometimes. And I take my cousins to gather shells and whelks. Ivan is six and Yana is four.'_

_'Do you like children?'_

_'Yes. You?'_

_'I do_.' Hermione suddenly realised that someday, she would almost certainly have one with this man and blushed red. Viktor, too, blushed, and then inhaled, wondering if he'd scared her.

'_And Sofia?'_

_'It's beautiful, for a city.'_

_Hermione smiled. 'You don't like cities?'_

_'No. They're fun for the day, but it's tiresome. And one can't fly in them.'_

_'You fly well.'_

Viktor shook his head. _'Thank you, but it's more practice than anything_.' Hermione wondered whether he had any idea of how unusual he really was and decided to ask Snape about it, or Aunt Narcissa, or both.

Viktor was thinking the same of her. He wanted to show her his country, all of it, but most of all the parts that he thought of as Old Bulgaria-the ancient, secret places, the mossy forests and mountains, the fields and fields of roses.

And most of all, the castle. He loved Krum Castle with a passion that would have astonished anyone who looked at him. He felt rooted there, like a plant which derives it's nourishment from the soil it sits in, and he wanted her to feel that too.

Draco was coming back. He fixed Krum with a gimlet eye. Had he tried anything whilst Draco was gone? Would Draco have to duel him?

Krum stood and smiled. 'We fly now again?'

'All right.' Just to be safe, Draco raised an eyebrow at Hermione. 'Join us?'

'I think I'll head inside, but thank you.'

They watched her go, a little figure in a dark coloured cloak. 'Everything all right?'

'Yes. Man Scabior is...' Viktor made a face and Draco nodded. He understood the idea the other boy was trying to get across, and agreed totally.

'Creepy?'

'Yes, creepy. Scabior is creepy.'

And on that note, they climbed aboard their brooms and used the universal language of play.

Hermione was surprised to see Snape as she headed toward the stairs. 'Hello, Professor.'

'Hello, Miss Lestrange. How do you find your finance?'

Hermione beamed. 'He's brilliant, Professor.'

What an odd choice of words to describe the Krum boy, thought Snape, but decided against pursuing it at that moment. 'We're to meet, you know. Ten minutes in the basement, please, and do bring your elf.'

Hermione nodded, and when he walked in ten minutes later, he found her, properly attired for lessons, chatting with her elf.

'...And there was no reply?'

'Not yet, Miss. Madam Cunegarde is being sleeping.'

'Oh. I'm not surprised. It's a lot of excitement at that age.'

'Miss Lestrange.'

'Professor.' She smiled, cheeks dimpling, and Snape sternly girded himself against a wave of fondness.

'Tell me about Krum junior.'

'He's really sweet, Professor, and smart, too.' Hermione summarised what had just taken place. 'And he even likes the sea.'

Snape nodded distantly. It would seem he had rather miscalculated where the boy was concerned. He'd thought him as docile and dull as an ox. His mind was clicking along at fabulous speed.

This was not a disaster. In fact, it could be a good thing. Krum was a natural spy himself, and if he could be brought into Snape's fold, he would be an asset of some magnitude.

On the other hand, this meant Krum could be dangerous, as well. He had the idea that the boy was already half in love with his little spy. He'd simply have to make sure that state of affaires continued.

'And how do you find his parents?'

'They're nice enough.' Hermione had spent two seconds with them, and as they had not hit her or spit on her food in those seconds, she considered that probably they were all right.

'Good. Cultivate them, and do what they ask of you.'

'I know. Obedience is next to industry and so forth.'

'Cunegarde?'

'Yes, Professor.'

'Well, don't take it too much to heart, Miss Lestrange. Part of your appeal is your intelligence and erudition.' Hermione blushed, realising she'd been complimented, and then said 'Professor? Why did Allard Wilkes have another woman?'

'Cunegarde told you that?'

'No, Father did. But he made me swear not to ask her.'

'He's absolutely right, don't ask her. What prompted this?'

Hermione frowned. 'Is Viktor going to want another woman, do you think?' She thought it would hurt her feelings if he did, but perhaps all men did. Did Father, then? Uncle Lucius? Snape himself?

Snape resolved to strange Rodolphus at some point for this. 'It's complex, but to answer your question, Miss Lestrange, I should be very surprised. And you can help assure that he does not.'

'How?'

'When you're ready to be married, I shall find someone to explain that to you. For now, concentrate on learning everything else you need to be a good wife to the boy someday.'

Hermione was still worrying at the mystery of her great great aunt. 'Professor? Why did Aunt Cunegarde's children die? Father says Allard got a disease from a woman named Eugenia Mink.'

Yes, he would kill Rodolphus slowly for this. 'Eugenia Mink was a bad woman, Miss Lestrange. A professional. She infected your great great uncle with a virulent strain of a magical version of a disease one gets from...well, bad women. It only effects males. Females may be carriers, but they're never infected directly.'

'And she gave it to her children?'

'Yes.'

'Then how did her daughter get sick?'

'She didn't. Perhaps we ought to leave that skeleton in the closet for another day?'

The girl's face flushed, and her eyes looked strangely large and sort of dewy. 'I'm sorry, Professor. I didn't mean to pry.' She'd been prying into her own family background, but Snape opted against reminding her of that.

He did not feel bad that the girl looked sad. Did not. 'It's all right, Miss Lestrange.' And it certainly didn't matter that she looked better now. She was a pawn, was all, albeit a special and valuable one. And yes, perhaps Snape felt a certain professional...regard for the girl, but he couldn't afford to get attached.

And what did she want from him, anyway? She was too young for a crush, and she had a father. Well, more or less. Perhaps Rodolphus wasn't quite the ideal father, but that was no excuse for doe eyes and sad looks on her part, was it? Not directed toward him, anyways. Perhaps he could somehow shift it onto Yaxley, or Travers, or someone.

Hermione could have told him, had he asked, because he had the right of it. It wasn't that she disliked Rodolphus, precisely. But he was always so formal with her. It was like one of those American telly programmes from the 50s. She would tolerate much, but if he started to call her Kitten, she'd complain to Snape about it. Because she trusted Snape, and wanted to please him, and liked his compliments.

There was nothing sexual or even romantic about her feelings. Hermione had loved her muggle Dad very much, and she missed him, and while Bellatrix was slowly becoming more like a mother, Snape was the most like a father she'd had since she'd last seen Cyril.

Snape looked away and was surprised when the girl suddenly called for an elf. 'Tippy, please get some pumpkin juice for the Professor and I.' The elf vanished and appeared a moment later holding a tray with juice and crackers, with slices of cheese and small, fatty slices of well cured meats.

'I'm sorry, Professor. I ought to have offered sooner.'

'Not at all, Miss Lestrange. Is there anything else on your mind?'

Hermione considered. 'Quite a lot, but let's brew.'

The situation in Europe was worsening. In cities, crowds of werewolves rampaged, driven to frenzy, and in Estonia the Ministry was burnt to the ground. The appeals grew more desperate and terrible, and at Hogwarts the Dark Lord smiled like a shark.

Bellatrix was in raptures. She moved with sublim purpose, glowing with a fire that was both holy and awful, the zeal of the true believer coupled with a dangerous mania.

'Finally we will wet our hands with blood again! It has been too long.'

The others agreed. Nearby, Fenrir Greyback quivered with obscene excitement. He was midwife of this new order, and he felt no small pride or excitement in having done his bit.

Rodolphus nodded, watching his wife. She didn't, nor had ever, excite him as she did others, but he was fond of her, and he still felt a species of shocked pleasure that they'd had a child together.

Speaking of whom, he wondered whether she understood what was happening. She seemed a bright girl. Perhaps, when he had the time, he'd get to know her better. Take her...somewhere, he supposed.

Lucius appeared in the dining room, which had been co-opted as the command centre, and sat down, slumping with exhaustion. 'Hello, all.'

'Lucius, what's happened?'

'The Estonians are having conniptions, their Minister has been burnt in effigy, and he's requested to come here as some sort of emergency exile thing.' He was pale, eyes smudged, and his usually flawless hair was out of it's ribbon.

'And His Lordship-'

'Has given me full power to decide this issues, in his beneficence.'

'Ah. Is there anything I might do?'

'Would you go and see the children?'

'I sent Scabior.'

'I know. But it would soothe my mind. A servant is hardly the same, wouldn't you say?'

Rodolphus darted his eyes at Bellatrix, who was growing more and more excited, almost glowing with the force of her mania. 'Of course, Lucius, I'd be glad.'

'Thank you, Rodolphus. And it would help with the Krums, hmm, so they'd see how much we care about the boy?'

Rodolphus smiled. 'And that, Malfoy, is why you are His Lordship's public face and I a humble office worker.'

Lucius, who had observed Rodolphus's work first hand more than once, nodded. 'Thank you, Rodolphus. And send Cissy and the girl a kiss from me, hmm? Draco is too old for kisses these days, but I'm sure he'd like a handshake or something else masculine.'

Rodolphus chuckled and prepared to leave. Bellatrix grabbed his arm. 'Rodolphus?'

'Lucius has asked me to go and check in. Should you like to come?'

A most unusual thing happened. Something passed behind Bellatrix's eyes, as fast as the heart of a mouse. She thought, for a moment, that she wanted to see her daughter. The Dark Lord had ceased to exist in her heart for a second.

But only a second. 'No, I should stay. Tell Cissy I'll try to come later.'

'I shall.' They didn't kiss. It would have been gauche, but he gave her a smile and then stepped through.

In the meantime, Snape was dealing with a situation. The elf had gone to his house to check on the dog, and come back with a most peculiar expression, face still, and held out a piece of paper. 'Master Snape?'

The postmark was Latvian. He slit the seal and read, heart turning to iron in his chest. Oh, this was bad. 'Miss Lestrange? I've received some bad news from your friend Miss Sproga.'

'You have?' Hermione's face was white as milk, and she set down her stirrer. In her heart, like Snape's, a black rose of certainty and terror was blooming in her heart. 'Professor?'

'Her father has been killed.'

Hermione's eyes widened. 'How?'

'The riots, Miss Lestrange. She doesn't know the details.'

'And her grandmother?'

'Apparently well.'

Hermione inhaled, eyes filling. 'There is nothing we can do. The best thing is to work to improve things so it can't happen again. We must all make sacrifices.'

Snape found his throat felt strange. His little spy had learnt all her lessons so well. Such a bright girl. Tears were beading her eyelashes like dew. He found himself wishing, vaguely, that he was the sort of man who might comfort her with kindness and not principles but he wasn't, and so he did nothing.

'May I write her a response?'

'By all means.' Snape prepared to summon parchment and ink when Tippy burst in, bowing. 'Sorry, Miss, Master Lestrange is being here.'

Hermione inhaled and stood, smoothing her skirt and running damp palms over her hair to smooth it. 'If you'll excuse me, Professor, I'll have to go. Should you like to come?'

If there'd ever been a day when Snape thought he'd hear Narcissa's voice coming from a little Bellatrix, he'd never have believed it. Now, though, it seemed normal, routine even, and he rose, shaking his head.

'Thank you, Miss Lestrange, but I'll be finishing up. The Embassy needs this potion.'

'I'm sorry I couldn't have been of more help.'

'Not at all. Good day, Miss Lestrange.'

'Good day, Professor.'

Hermione forced herself to walk normally up the stairs and nearly ran into her father, who was talking with Narcissa. '...Never a moment's bother. And I've not seen the boys in what seems like months. I think they're determined to give poor Hermione a heart attack, she says Viktor is teaching Draco the Wronski feint.'

'If anyone is qualified, it's that boy. He's being well taught, Narcissa, from what I've heard.'

'No doubt.' Narcissa's face lit up as she saw her niece. 'Hermione, love, what's the matter? You're pale as snow.'

'Bad news from a friend. Hello, Aunt Narcissa, Father.'

'Hello, pet.' Rodolphus bent and kissed her cheek. 'That's from your uncle. He sends you his affection.'

'And mine for him, Father.'

Rodolphus didn't like how subdued his daughter seemed. She was normally such a cheery little thing, like a kitten or something. He turned to his sister in law, for whom he'd always had the highest regard, and smiled. 'May we be excused a moment, Narcissa?'

'Of course.' Narcissa allowed herself a cocked brow, which Rodolphus ignored; Hermione, as far as she could tell, had been absolutely perfect since that incident in Paris. What could Rodolphus possibly need to say in private?

Hermione was wondering the same thing. Had she said or done something?

Rodolphus led her into the study and closed the door. 'Darling? You aren't in any trouble. I just wanted to see how you are.'

'I'm all right, Father. You?'

He sat in the chair behind the desk, respectful of the papers on it, and patted his lap. 'Come here, love.'

Hermione sat down, hands in her lap. She might not have felt about Rodolphus the same as she'd felt about her muggle Dad, but he could be friendly, and he gave good cuddles.

Rodolphus gently moved his child closer, so that he could rock her more easily. He was good at reading people; had to be, as a good torturer is not merely some mindless fleshsmith.

Rather, a truly first class torturer could find the emotions and tease them out, play them like violins, drink them like wine. And he was not merely good; he was the best at what he did, definitely in Britain and possibly in the world.

'Now, love, what's happened with your friend.'

'Her father's been killed in those riots. She's Latvian.'

'She isn't the one teaching you Bulgarian?'

'She's half. Her mother was Bulgarian.'

Rodolphus had heard a bit about Hermione's friends, and thought it unfortunate that all this had happened. And the girl had lost so much herself, likely it was giving her bad memories.

'There, there, love. It'll be all right.'

'Of course, Father. We all have to make sacrifices.'

Rodolphus beamed, unseen by his daughter, who'd nestled into his chest and shut her eyes, soaking up the comfort of being cuddled. He rubbed her back rhythmically, letting her just sit and feel safe with him.

'Of course we do, darling heart. It's very good of you to think that way.' And, feeling genuine pride in his daughter, he started to explain some of what was going on, rewarding her insight with perspective.


	22. Chapter 22

**A/N: Love to reviewers and Countess Black, with whom I've been crashing for the past month.**

**And especially to Queen Smokey, her cat.**

**NB: Because there are so many characters and the sheer number of viewpoints and situations is so high, from now on, most chapters will follow a few characters rather than trying to get everyone in. There's just so much to cover that trying to fit everyone would be impossible.**

Rodolphus told Hermione a good many things in the study, but not of the Dark Lord's new plan, which was more his than anyone's, though Lucius Malfoy had breathed some words into the right ears.

He opted, not irrationally, given that his daughter was twelve, to give her cheerful version of things that included how much her mother missed her, all the good things her uncle was doing, and that the Krums were pleased that she and Viktor could get to know one another.

He didn't mention what several muggle military satellites had already picked up, a large, dark cloud of movement streaming towards Britain from all over Europe. Seeing them, the muggles who monitor such things collectively decided it was some sort of malfunction and threw away the pictures with a vague sense of unease, while covertly turning their eyes on one another in shared alarm at something they did not understand.

They would not have believed the explanation even had they been told it, which none ever were. Frankly, even most magical people had trouble with it. The newly minted allies of Britain, realising that something they'd been somehow got round, could do nothing, and countries that were not allies were disinclined to protest.

It had gone across the Pack network like a virus. 'Any who'll swear fealty to the Dark Lord will have a place there.' In dozens of languages, in hundreds of dialects, in thousands of village languages, the whisper went and drew them across the continent for a home on the island across the sea.

They came by the hundreds, through falling snow and icy fields, men and women, old people, children, some of them leaving bloody footprints where their shoes had worn away, for a chance at a better life elsewhere, leaving behind the old country and the persecutions of the past.

There were ships to bring them over, dozens of them. Carpets, carriages, even brooms, they were brought to the shores of Britain and sworn in then and there, then split, women from men, parents from children, as their new roles in the glorious, blood soaked Britain of the Dark Lord began.

The start of their arrival coincided with the return of the Krums to Bulgaria. Viktor had spent the night before telling himself sternly that he would kiss his intended before he left, but he found that he couldn't make his mouth work.

Instead, Hermione had gone on tip toes to kiss his cheek and smiled. '_Write_ _me, and let me know how your uncles fared, would you_?'

'I write you letter from school.'

_'Fly carefully_.'

'Yes. No be danger. Draco say about troll?'

Hermione vowed to pounce her cousin the second she could. _'It was a long time ago_. _It won't happen again_.'

Viktor sensed she didn't wish to talk about it, but he wanted her to know he cared enough to press a bit. 'Promise?'

_'I promise_.'

She waved at the carriage until it was out of sight, until the clouds had joined back and she was staring at the sky, which seemed empty without laughing boys on brooms in it.

Draco watched, a touch guiltily, from a window, and when the Krums had taken off he'd come out, bundled in a heavy cloak. 'Hermione? You all right?'

His answer came in snowball form. 'Draco Lucius Malfoy, did you tell Viktor about the troll?'

Draco was preparing one of his usual smart remarks when, seeing the look on her face, he opted to run. 'It came up!'

'How?'

He turned and held out his palms. 'You look pretty today, Hermione.'

'Thank you. I'm still going to pelt you with snow.'

Draco nodded and bent down, packing his own weapon, when the first soft, fluffy missile his neck. Snow in his hair, snow down his collar, he laughed and threw on back. It was, they both considered, a very good snowball fight.

Meanwhile, Bellatrix was learning the specifics of the plan, which she thought, ill advised, to put it lightly.

'YOU WHAT?'

'Bellatrix, darling, it's for the best, you'll see. Now the other countries don't dare move against us.'

'HOW COULD YOU?'

'Stop shrieking, Trixie, it's unattractive.'

'I-YOU-AAAAHH!' Bellatrix spun and flung a curse at the closest elf. It fell backward, twitching.

'You didn't tell me because you knew I'd not approve!'

'Quite.'

'We went to AZKABAN to keep our country pure, and now you invite a bunch of FILTHY WEREWOLVES to take up residence here?'

'Trixie' said Rodolphus, who was mysteriously developing a hideous migraine 'I'm not suggesting we have them over for supper. We'll simply use them, that's all. A place for everyone, from high to low.'

Bellatrix inhaled deeply. 'I am very angry, Rodolphus. Very, very angry, but as Our Lord has given this plan His approval, then I, of course, defer to His judgement, as in all things.'

'There's the spirit, love.'

'But you'll explain this to Hermione, because it will confuse her terribly. We both know how fragile she is. She'll have _nightmares _now.'

Rodolphus rolled his eyes. 'She hardly even knows what a werewolf is, Trixie.'

'She will when the streets are overrun with them raping Pureblood women and eating our children.'

That was startling even from Bellatrix. 'Trixie, really.'

'As though you weren't thinking that!'

'And that's why they'll be in their own area, with their own kind. Let them rape one another.'

Bellatrix was still glaring. 'I suppose. But I don't like it.'

Now, nearly a week later, Hermione tugged her cloak tighter and gave Rinky's hand a squeeze. 'Rinky, go and help Snape, would you? He needs your help.' She smiled brightly, and Rinky nodded, tears welling in his big eyes.

Rodolphus, dressed in natty new robes, gently lifted his daughter into the carriage, where Bellatrix was waiting, face set. Hermione had brought some piece work, and as they left English soil, she took it out and began again, especially conscious that her stitches be straight and smooth.

'Well, darling, that was some excitement, didn't you think?'

'Yes, Father. Viktor said he had a good time.'

'Excellent.' Rodolphus smiled and Bellatrix, next to their daughter, glowered all the harder. Hermione rested her head on her mother's shoulder a second, trying to make her smile.

'Hmmph' said Bellatrix, and then gently took hold of her daughter's wrist. 'Hermione, if a strange man should ever approach you...?'

'I'm to hex him and then call an elf.'

'Precisely. Though if it were up to me, I'd have taught you some useful hexes, rather than all this absurd hit and run nonsense.'

'Darling, said Rodolphus, giving her a look, 'Hermione can hardly go about practicing Dark spells on school grounds.'

'The Dark Lord says that a true Pureblood is never afraid to take what's theirs , Rodolphus. "Never hesitate in reaching for what is one's by right, for the superior wizard is not bound by the laws of lesser men."'

'"We must be wary most of allowing our inferiors to perceive in us any errors of thought, speech and deed, especially those which come from the lack of understanding which a small mind naturally has for more great ones."

Bellatrix sat up straighter. 'You DARE quote the Dark Lord to ME?'

'Don't shriek, it's too close in here. Hermione, dear, did you pay attention to what we were just discussing?'

'Yes, Father.'

Hermione finished a hem and then started another one, eyes fixed on her work. Rodolphus nodded and Bellatrix, who still looked ready to stab someone, scowled a bit more gently.

'There's a good girl, Hermione. Can you tell me what the first quotation meant?'

Before Hermione could answer, the carriage rattled to a halt and both elder Lestranges drew. 'May I see your papers, please, citizens?'

Bellatrix tugged up her sleeve and thrust her arm out. The auror, mounted on a broom, went white in the face. 'Merlin, Madam, a thousand pardons. I didn't realise.'

'Quite all right.' Rodolphus smiled, and the man's face, already pale, seemed to be tissue paper. 'Yes, sir, thank you. Good day, Sir, Madam, Miss.'

As they set off again, Hermione found herself curious. 'Father? Why was that man afraid?'

'Because your mother and I are know to be very, ah, enthusiastic servants of the Dark Lord, sweetheart. He doesn't want us to give a bad report about him.'

'Why would we?'

Bellatrix huffed and smoothed her daughter's hair. 'What did I just say about one's inferiors, Hermione?'

'That people are bound by laws according to their place in things.'

'Yes, indeed. It is not the place of a peon-not to mention a Halfblood, he had that look-to question the most faithful servants of Our Lord as to their business.'

'Exactly. And the second, Hermione?'

Hermione stopped sewing and lifted her eyes. 'That people might not see things the same way according to their status.'

'Excellent, love. What's that you're working on?'

'A shirt, Father. Mother Krum gave me Viktor's size and I wanted to start early.'

Rodolphus snorted and tried to disguise it with a cough. 'Goodness, how industrious of you.'

'They won't do for the bridal trouseau' said Hermione, mirroring Aunt Cunegarde's take on things 'but it's good practice, and I think Viktor might like that.'

'I quite agree.'

Bellatrix was scowling again. She wouldn't have admitted it for all the gold in the world, but she rather liked her son in law to be. He seemed to her to be kind, and easily led, which meant he'd probably treat her daughter well. If he wished to live, he would anyhow, but it would be better for everyone that he do it without her encouragement, much though she liked to give it most of the time.

'Mother? Is something the matter?'

'No, girl, of course not.' Bellatrix reached out and roughly patted Hermione's cheek. The girl looked more like Andromeda every day, she thought suddenly, and shoved it aside to look out the window.

The rest of the ride was quiet. Hermione kissed both parents and then hopped out, waving to a friend. They watched her go. Rodolphus shook his head, smiling, and started to say something. Thought better of it.

At Spinner's End, Severus Snape was debating how much killing the dog would set him back. 'He's doing what, you say?'

Snape's mouth twisted into a moue of irritation. 'Writing his memoirs.'

Black's face was very, very still. 'I see. And you'll edit them?'

'Apparently so. I suspect Bellatrix would rather, but she's too busy these days.'

'How unfortunate for her.'

'Rather. How is the attic coming, Black?'

'Done. So could I help you edit, do you think?'

'No.'

Black grinned. 'Don't you know I've a literary bent, Snape? I could give the old fellow tips. Perhaps add some panache.'

'I could beat you with an umbrella.'

'Hardly very friendly of you.'

'I do not do friendly.'

'Bah. You've all sorts of friends. That creepy bloke that dresses like a clown, Wormtail, my darling cousin and her husband, dear Aunt Cunegarde.'

Snape reached over and took up the Prophet which was sitting on the seat of the divan and folded it. Leaning over, he rapped Black sharply on the head with it, twice.

'Bad dog.'

Black laughed, showing his newly refurbished teeth. 'Oh, that's low.'

'You did piss in my shoes, Black.'

'Shoe, singular. And you told that fellow my name is Salazar.'

'It's a fine name for a dog.'

'No, it isn't. And anyway, the dog has got a name.'

'Oh? What's that? Piddles?'

'Hmmph' snorted Sirius and took his goblet from the elf, who'd appeared teary eyed that morning 'only for people who torment him.'

'Torment? As you lounge about eating my food and sleeping in one of my beds?'

'You mean your bread and lunchmeat, which the Ministry provides? And that feculent pile of bricks?'

Snape rose, incensed, and began to pace. 'Feculent? Where did you learn that, Black, a chocolate frog trading card? And here I thought Gryffindors were restricted to one syllable words.'

'Notice, Rinky, he isn't denying it.'

'You'd still be in Azkaban without me, you mangy cur.'

'Never said I wasn't grateful, Snape. Learn to take a joke, will you?'

'When you learn to tell one, perhaps.'

'So, when will this modern miracle of prose be delivered, then?'

Snape didn't answer right away. 'I may have a new job for you.'

'Romania again?'

'Actually, no. There's been a bit of a change in things, and I'd like some on the ground information.'

Black's smile faded and he nodded seriously, and sipped his pumpkin juice. 'What sort of change?'

'Does the name Fenrir Greyback mean anything to you?'

'Greyback? The lunatic?'

'A pun, even, Black. I'd be impressed if I didn't think it was an accident.'

Black didn't smile. 'What did he do?'

'It's what Rodolphus did. It will be dangerous. It will be hard.'

Black's good humour had faded. 'Tell me.'

'I need you to infiltrate a band of werewolves.'

Black's eyes showed no surprise. 'Oh, is that all? What'll I do after lunch, then?'

Snape was wondering the same thing himself, as he stepped from the Floo and into the atrium of the Ministry. His boots clacked on the floor and the various milling Snatchers, cringing supplicants and politicians made his stomach churn nastily.

'You there, Limpkin, where are the Lestranges?'

Limpkin turned, polishing his glasses with his handkerchief. He'd killed ten people and was dismembering number eleven when the aurors had caught him. His pleasant, blandly anonymous accountant's face had been as composed as if he'd been mending a chair.

'Hello, Professor. I don't know that they're back yet, but I'd be happy to check for you.'

'I'd appreciate it.' Snape stood against a wall, hands at his side, and shrank into the walls. Lucius Malfoy swept by and, seeing some inky, bat like movement from the corner of his eye, stopped to chat.

'Hello, Severus.'

'Lucius, how are you?'

'Oh, well. Draco sends his fondest regards.'

'Did he have a good time with Krum?'

'My word, yes. He's been praticing his Wronski feint for days.'

'Narcissa must be beside herself.'

'Naturally, but he's a boy and this is what they do.'

'Quite. And your niece?'

'Sweet little thing, isn't she? Came up to me the other day and thanked me for having she and the Krum boy.'

Snape nodded. 'You think them well matched?'

'Yes, as it happens. Well done on that front, I'd say.'

Snape gave a weird frozen grimace his oldest living friend recognised as a smile. 'I thought it worked out well.'

'Quite. This werewolf thing, though...'

Snape struggled to hide his brief, sharp flare of anger. He occluded it sternly and pressed on. 'I've faith it will work to our benefit.'

'Of course' said Malfoy without missing a beat 'but the ladies are...disquieted.'

Snape couldn't imagine Narcissa Malfoy was disquieted by much, honestly. She had always stuck him as a woman of sense. On the other hand, he'd heard Bellatrix's screaming, and suspected he was not the only one that had been blindsided.

'No doubt, but surely they know we shall protect them.'

'Of course. And yourself, Severus, how have you been?'

'Well enough, I suppose.'

'Narcissa's insisting we have you for supper soon. How is tonight for you?'

'I would like that. Do you expect Draco will show me his new trick?'

'Is there any way you might keep him from it?' Malfoy clapped Snape's shoulder and moved off to pursue his ends.

As it happened, Snape ran into the Lestranges as he walked to their office. He followed them in, sat down, and said 'I wonder whether you'd excuse us, Bellatrix?'

Bellatrix nodded, feeling too tired even to mock him. 'I've taken a personal day anyhow, I merely wished to retrieve some files.'

'Not feeling well?' Snape gave Bellatrix his most concerned look. She sneered, grabbing a thick sheath of papers from her desk. 'Rodolphus, have you got the interrogation transcripts from the Miller case? Number 75658?'

He dug for a second and then handed them over. 'There you are. And you've the signed statements from the neighbour?'

'Of course I have.'

'See you at home, then.'

'Goodbye Rodolphus. Snape.' She left as rapidly as she'd entered and Rodolphus spent a minute rummaging. 'How've you been, Severus?'

'Well, yourself?'

'Excellent. Were you surprised by the news?'

'Frankly, yes. I take it Greyback is your man?'

'Greyback is no one's man, and not a man at all, really.'

'But you knew what he meant to do?'

'Broadly.' Rodolphus sighed and called for some tea for both of them. 'I regret not having informed you, Severus, but I didn't wish to disturb His Lordship over what was probably a pie in the sky anyhow.'

'Of course' said Snape, who'd seethed for days when he'd found out. 'Though his lordship expects you to come and give him a full report, naturally.'

'Whenever He commands, there will I be.'

'No doubt. I shall ask him directly and get back to you.' Snape waited a moment whilst Rodolphus fussed with his things.

'I wonder, Rodolphus, if you've some sort of formal survey of any of this. Maps, perhaps. I could serve his lordship better if I had a diagram or something.'

'Muggles call that being a visual learner, I think. Funny, the things one remembers. I learn best by doing, myself.'

Snape nodded. 'I've observed it myself. Some even learn best hearing it aloud.'

'Do you miss teaching?'

Snape sincerely considered for a moment. 'Elements of it. Though few of my students have your daughter's drive and intelligence.'

Rodolphus nodded to acknowledge what had been said. 'She gets it from her mother's side.'

'Rabastan is quite an able potioner, is her not?'

'He was. Now he's more interested in keeping the Bulgarians sweet. And growing things in his spare time.' Rodolphus, like most elder siblings, had a sincere and lifelong belief that his brother's projects were more amusing diversions than anything serious, ambassador or no.

'Send him my best wishes.'

'Of course. And you'll be in touch about that meeting?'

'Certainly. Good day, Rodolphus.'

At home, Snape arranged everything for ease of study. Black took what he was handed without comment.

'Snape?'

'Black?'

'A letter came whilst you were out.'

'Oh?'

'From Cunegarde. Recognised the foul old creature's handwriting.'

'Oh?'

'Quite. Addressed to somewhere in France.'

'Most curious.'

'Not really. Lestrange is a French name, after all.'

'Fancy that. Frenchmen in France. What's next, Scots in Scotland?'

'I'm just curious, Snape. Would it kill you to give a bit of information from time to time?'

'Horribly, if the wrong people found out.'

'You know what I meant.'

'I've no particular inclination to indulge idle speculations on your part, Black.'

'A man needs some excitement in his life.'

'Haven't you had enough?'

Black ignored him. 'So, who is she? A _friend_, perhaps?'

'Not at all. More a protégé.'

'A spy, then.'

'Nothing so vulgar.'

'You're like the damned Pythia, you know that?' Black growled with frustration and rose to pace. Snape gave him a malicious smile and kept sorting.

The doorbell rang, and Black transformed into Padfoot, now Salazar, and headed for the door. Snape sent the elf, and a minute later, an apple cheeked Lemuel Scabior was standing in the room, wearing a deep purple winter cloak and red muffler.

'Evenin, sir. Ates t bother you at this time a night, but Lestrange sent me t tells you the last of em as come onta British soil. The wolves, I means. Right grubby lot, aint they?'

'Indeed. And Greyback has retrieved them?'

'Yes sir, jus as planned. Ere's the papers for you. Madam Lestrange also sends er greetins, and asks me t tells you, sir, that they wuz mos grievously disrespected this afternoon whilst takin Flower back t school.'

'I'm rather in the middle of something, tell Bellatrix I'll see to it tomorrow.'

'That might not be the best idea, sir, for me. Madam is not feelin so cheery, if you catch me meanin. Always is after the lil girl goes back. Misses er, I daresay.'

Snape wished he could strangle the man. 'A woman's heart, Scabior, is not like a man's.'

'An a Mam's more n any, I should say. Me own Mam wuz that way with m' sister Nora.'

'I think I just heard my potions timer.'

'I'll be off, then, sir. G'evenin.'

'And yourself, Scabior.'

As soon as the door closed, Black turned back and stared accusingly at Snape. 'Did I dream that?'

'I should be so fortunate.'

'Trixie's got a daughter now?'

'What's it to you, Black, did you mean to send flowers?'

Black's eyes were sparkling. 'So who's the father?'

'Really, have you no sense of decorum?'

And then, damn him, Black was bent over laughing, clutching his stomach. Snape rose, nostrils flaring, too incensed to speak.

It didn't phase Black a bit. 'Who'd have thought...oh, this is too rich...ha hah hah hah ha! You and Trixie...a girl...'

'Stop that, idiot. The girl's not mine.'

'No? Whose, then?'

'Rodolphus's.'

Black shook his head, still laughing. 'My arse. You wouldn't be writing her if she wasn't.'

And Snape, to protect his honour, was forced to give a truncated version of what had happened. Black could, he thought grudgingly, be rather astute when he wasn't being the prat of the known universe.

'Poor kid. And she doesn't know what Trixie did to them?'

'No, and never shall.'

'At least she's got Cissy. Cissy's a sweetheart, for all her taste in men is pants.'

'Bellatrix has rather risen to the occasion, I would say.'

'Has she?' Black shook his head. 'I hate to think of another child being poisoned with all that Pureblood bollocks.

'Hermione is a very clever little girl.'

'She'll need to be, with those two for parents.'

Snape couldn't disagree with that, and so, instead, he started to explain his plan.


	23. Chapter 23

**A/N: Love to reviewers and Countess Black, who hosted me for a month. My thanks to her family, and especially her wonderful cat, Queen Smokey.**

**We've skipped ahead in the timeline again. Suffice it to say that nothing of note to our interests has happened, though, of course, we might discover that's not exactly true.**

**May first, 1993:**

Rinky almost danced as he finished the final trunk. He'd been allowed to come a night early to pack everything so Miss would be ready, and he'd been as buoyant as a hundred and fifteen year old ever since.

Hermione smiled at her elf and put her book down. 'Rinky, I have to go and see a friend. Would you mind staying here?'

'Is not a boy?'

'No, my friend Alise.'

'Is mudblood girl?'

Hermione frowned. 'That's not a nice word, Rinky.'

Rinky frowned right back. 'Was right word when Rinky was young.'

'Well, it's not now.'

The elf folded a slip, sniffing pointedly, and Hermione sighed and rested her head against his back. 'Don't pout, Rinky. You'll love Alise. She's wonderful.'

The elf softened, as charmed by his mistress as the other adults in her life. 'Rinky is not saying Miss Alise is not being wonderful, is saying is not fitting for Pureblood lady-_Lestrange_ Pureblood lady-to be associating with mudb-muggleborns. Is not right.'

'A lady is gracious and good to everyone, Rinky.'

'But not familiar with inferiors, Miss. What is Madam Narcissa saying?'

Hermione squirmed, cheeks pink. 'She'd not like it, but Mother said it was all right.'

Rinky had cared for too many children not to have an argument for nearly everything. 'Madam is not saying "All right", is saying "As long as there is being purpose".'

'There is.'

'Is purpose?'

Hermione grinned. 'I like her, and she needs a friend, Rinky.'

The elf huffed and gave his mistress his best gimlet eye. 'Miss...'

'Rinky...' Miss looked sadly at him, and Rinky found himself wishing that all Purebloods could be as gentle and kind as she, and as easy to train.

'You won't tell them, will you?'

Rinky looked down. 'No, Miss. Unless is being dangerous '

'Dangerous how?'

'Like fighting troll. Rinky won't tell about friend. But no boys!'

' Did Draco tell _everyone_?' Hermione resolved to pounce her cousin again at first opportunity. 'No boys, Rinky, I promise.'

Leaving Rinky to finish, a touch guiltily, Hermione almost skipped to the Green Tower, knocking on the door. Yseult was right behind her, and they went into Alise's room together.

Alise had changed since January. She wouldn't talk about what had happened, and she tried to be good natured and cheerful, but she seemed quieter than she had, and sadder. Today, in a muggle skirt and blouse, she hugged them both and motioned for them to sit down.

'_It is good that school is being over, yes?' _

Yseult nodded. _'It's so tiresome, waiting for holidays to come._'

_'I'm going to miss school, though. I can't wait for next years Transfigurations, do you know we'll be doing whelks to weasels_?'

Both her friends groaned and nodded. _'Really, Hermione, don't seem so excited. It isn't as though you've not got anything to look forward to on holiday._'

_'Hermione's boyfriend is coming to see her. He is wearing your handkerchief for matches, yes? Like a knight_?'

Hermione blushed and nodded. _'That's what he said_.'

Yseult took up where Alise left off. 'And _you'll promenade, and he'll want to kiss you in the arbour_.'

_'He can't. Draco's threatened to hex him if he does.'_

_'Your cousin can't watch every second.'_

_'You'd be surprised.'_

_'And he'll write you poetry, and compare your lips to coral and your eyes to stars.' _Alise sat on the other side of Yseult and grinned, enjoying the banter. Hermione laughed, shaking her head, and reached into her pocket for her latest letter.

_'I don't think Viktor is the poem sort. Just as well, I prefer practical people_.'

_'Well'_' said Yseult _'I'd never marry a man who didn't write me poetry. Practicality is all well and good, but really, what's life without a bit of sparkle_?'

_'School. Life without sparkle is school.'_

Hermione succeeded in fishing the letter from her pocket and unfolded it with great fanfare. '*_Dear Hermione,_

_I am missing you muchly. Quidditch is fine. Training is fine. Coach is fair but hard. Mother and Father greet your parents. I greet your parents and wish they feel well._

_Is school good? And friends? And health?_

_I am wearing handkerchief again. Match won 186 to 14._

_Yours, _

_Viktor.*_'

All three girls nodded sagely. _'Well, it's not poetry, but it serves nicely_.'

'_And he's kind and smart. I can't wait for you both to meet him_.'

Yseult stood up and stretched lazily. _'Well, girls, it's our last night. What shall we do now?'_

They trooped back to Hermione's room, where Rinky was still packing, and he bowed low to the girls, studying them from the corner of his eye. He'd met Miss Yseult before, after all, but the other one was new to him.

She was, at least, clean, even if her clothes weren't quite as nice as the others, and her hair was neatly styled. She smiled up at him. _'Hermione, is this your elf?'_

_'Oh! Yes, I'm sorry. Alise Sproga, this is Rinky. Rinky, this is Alise. She's a friend of mine.'_

'Hello, Miss' said Rinky, not sure what to do now. Yseult, fortunately, saved him from disgrace by saying cheerfully _'So shall we dance_?'

And dance they did. Rinky moved the furniture and started the gramophone playing, and within five minutes, the girls were having a good gossip as they danced.

The other two were spending the night, and so after they'd exhausted themselves, they took turns in the shower and then sat so Yseult could fuss with their hair. Alise's with thick and staight, but Hermione's was a rat nest of curls and tangles, and it took both other girls and Rinky to get the snarls out.

_'It runs in the family' _said Hermione, sighing. _'Mother's is almost as bad_.'

_'When you're older, you can wear it up everyday. It won't tangle as badly_.'

Hermione nodded. _'Mother doesn't, usually, but Aunt Narcissa does. Of course, her hair is beautiful and easy to tame.'_

Yseult had met Madame Lestrange and thought her strangely drab for a woman as famed as she. She could dress however she liked; why did she not dress to accentuate herself?

Hermione laughed when asked. 'Mother _doesn't do that sort of thing. She's very focused on her work.'_

_'I can't imagine why. A lady ought to be at leisure. It's our job_.'

Alise listened to all this with better grace than most people could summon. She had long since stopped minding Yseult's ignorance of the world, and Hermione's naiveté of who and what her parents really were.

Admittedly, she understood the second a bit better than the first, because she'd never regarded her Papa as a famous architect. He'd always just been Papa, who taught her to ice skate and multiply. When he'd died, letters had come from all over the world, and she'd glimpsed for a moment the other side of him, the one who'd created building and brought things into being from the air.

Was it the same for Hermione? Did she look at those about them and see people who'd always been kind to her? Who taught her to ice skate? Alise had heard things about people Hermione referenced with total casualness, things which made her spine feel like ice when she contemplated her innocent friend's nearness to them.

Hermione smiled and caught Alise's hand. _'Are you all right?'_

_'Tired, I suppose.'_

Yseult looked up at Alise, frowning. _'Haven't you been sleeping?'_

'I have.' But she looked guilty, and Yseult wasn't fooled for a second. _'Alise, you swore!'_

'_I know. But isn't so bad_.'

_'You'll never catch a husband if you don't rest so you look your best. And what good is Dreamless Sleep if one won't use it_?'

Alise shook her head. _'Yseult, I don't plan to marry any time soon_.'

_'It's something to think about. My parents got matched at fifteen. Papa saw Maman and was struck by her. His father owled hers and they were betrothed within a fortnight.' _

Hermione sensed this was a bad topic. _'Well, we'll sleep tonight. Rinky helps me when I can't fall asleep, so he can help anyone else who needs it.'_

Alise nodded. Yseult yawned and made for the bed, which had been spelled big enough for three. _'Shall we continue this in bed_?'

The other two followed and Rinky spelled the light down. They spent a few moments getting comfortable and then Hermione cast a translation spell for her elf, handed over her wand and said _'Rinky, would you tell us something, please_?'

Late that night, late enough that the sky was purpling on the horizon, Hermione felt movement along her spine. She rolled and came eye to eye with Alise, who was staring into the darkness.

'_Alise_?'

She inhaled and said _'Do you have nightmares, Hermione_?'

Hermione could sense that she'd have to be careful here, and gentle. She thought of what Aunt Narcissa would do.

_'Sometimes I do.'_

_'About your parents? The muggle ones?'_

_'Occasionally.'_

Alise nodded. _'It is worse, the not knowing. Do you think?'_

Hermione couldn't tell Alise that she didn't have nightmares about her muggle parents. When she dreamed, it was the auror, dying on the floor, face working, body thrashing itself out.

_'Sometimes knowing is worse, in some ways. If one doesn't know, it's always possible that...well, one doesn't need to dwell. But when you know a thing, you can't ever unknow it._'

Alise's eyes were distant. _'I saw Mama die. It was her heart. She was standing at window, ready to go. For playing in the snow, yes? Wearing her coat and hat. Then she got a funny colour in her face, and fell down._'

Hermione shoved the thought of the auror away. _'I'm sorry, Alise_.'

_'It's worse with Papa. He was in car. Got caught by the wolf mob. We don't know what is happening after. Just dead_.' She spread her hands and then bit her lip, trying to find words that express her feelings.

_'Worse this way. With Mama, there was no...'_

_'Suffering?'_

_'Yes. Here one moment, gone the next. Was happy. Was safe. Still is, but there, not here.'_

_'Oh, Alise.'_

_'Not knowing with Papa. Was scared? Was hurt? Don't know. Grandma is not being well. She has seen everyone die. Grandpa, Mama, Papa. All gone now. Worrying.' _In her distress, Alise's grammar was starting to suffer, but Hermione said nothing.

_'Worrying?'_

_'What do I do when she is being gone?'_

Hermione took her friend's hand. _'We'll take care of you, Alise. I promise, we'll think of something.'_

Alise felt a flare of anger that made her want to tell Hermione what she knew of her parents, wanting to lash out, wanting her hurt. But she looked totally serious, and Alise understood that Hermione had seen horrors, that she had lived with them for long enough that they registered as normal, and that perhaps it was her salvation that they did, because it meant she had no idea how hard what she was proposing was, how terrible the odds, how grotesque the consequences would be if they failed.

_'Is not being so easy_.'

_'No' _said Hermione _'but sometimes things that are scary to think about aren't as bad to do. One just has to be brave and keep fighting_.'

Alise looked out the window, where a tiny crescent moon watched them, timid as a bride on her wedding night. _'You are not afraid_?'

Hermione shook her head. _'No. I've seen things that...well, that scared me more than this. This seems sort of easy, actually_.'

_'What things_?'

Hermione wondered how to tell Alise without upsetting her or making her feel worse than she did, and started the story with breakfast and her biting of Alecto, mentioning, with reluctance, the time in the classroom.

_'And then something bad happened._'

_'What bad_?'

Hermione shook her head. '_I can't. Just that it was bad._'

_'Can't hurt you_.'

_'I know_.' She couldn't bring herself to bring it into life again with words, because that day had shown her, forever, what people were really capable of, and how normal a person could seem until they weren't, and how close to the surface violence really was in human souls.

Alise didn't push. Hermione had given her discretion and respect for her emotional privacy and she returned it by not demanding an answer. Instead, she said, almost idly _'And now_?'

_'Snape always says that we can't help the dead, but we can improve the lives of the living. That's what I want to do.'_

_'Is why you will marry Viktor Krum?'_

_'Yes. I feel like I'm taking care of them this way. My muggle parents._'

_'I take care of Grandma, then.'_ Alise's father had left them quite well off in terms of money, but her grandmother was afraid for her political future, and for the way that Latvia was talking with the Dark Lord's envoys. She'd lived through the dark and terrible times in the 1940s, and she felt, as though a train were passing, the vibrations of something bad coming.

_'And we'll help you.' _She sounded so absolutely sure of herself, so completely positive, that it suddenly made perfect sense that her parents were the Lestranges. There was a note of the fanatic, the slightest hint that innocent little Hermione had steel in her spine, and Alise shivered a little and rolled over, trying to get some sleep before the morning bell rang.

At Durmstrang, Viktor Krum was finishing his breakfast. They'd had bland porridge and dry bread, as they did every day. Headmaster Karkaroff insisted their food be bland and Spartan, to keep them from softness and womanly love of luxury. Viktor didn't particularly care one way or another what he ate, so long as it wasn't spoilt and gave him energy.

Beside him, Ilya and Sven were grinning. 'So, Krum, going to see the missus, are we?'

'You know I am.' He scraped a bit more porridge from his bowl and fixed Sven with a gimlet eye. He rarely had to do more than glare, but that didn't mean he wouldn't if someone insulted Hermione.

'Don't look so affronted, Krum. We can't all have your luck with the ladies.'

Viktor's hand tightened on his spoon. 'Did you want something, Ilya?'

'Just curious about your girlfriend. She's very rich, they say. Is that true?'

'I have better taste than to ask.' He couldn't stand until the Headmaster did, but he was afraid if he didn't, he'd do something he regretted.

'Is that what they call that now? Taste, he says. What about the girl? Is she to your...taste?'

No one even saw him move. One moment Viktor was gnawing a crust of black bread. The next, Ilya was flying across the room, gushing blood from his nose and mouth, face swelling. Viktor calmly set down his wand.

Karkaroff rose and approached his student, who was groaning, blood still pouring from his face. 'Next time you think to insult your betters, do it when they can't hear you. Krum, stay behind.'

The others filed out at a nod, Sven coming to help the blubbering Ilya. Viktor looked at his headmaster and waited for sentencing.

'That was cleverly done, Krum. Did he insult the girl?'

'Yes, Headmaster.'

'I knew her parents rather well, when we were young. They were the finest warriors I ever fought beside.' Karkaroff had a sudden, vivid mental image of a younger Bellatrix, standing over the moaning, mewling wreck of Lucullus Brown, laughing.

'Yes, Headmaster.'

'You have been greatly honoured. The Rodolphus I knew would not give his daughter to just anyone.'

'I hope to make myself worthy of Miss Lestrange, Headmaster.'

'See that you do, Krum. I wonder if you'd deliver a letter for me?'

'To my inlaws, sir?'

'No. To an old friend of mine. Snape, is the name, Severus Snape.'

Something tickled faintly at the back of Viktor's brain but he calmly ignored it. 'I'd be glad to, sir.'

'Excellent. No need to bother Martin with this, boy, he's got plenty on his plate.'

Karkaroff handed him the letter, sealed with the skull and crown of Durmstrang, and Viktor, understanding that something had transpired here, stuck it in his tunic and went toward his dorm, and home, and then England and Hermione.

The Lestranges came in the carriage at four o'clock. Hermione was taller, and seemed a bit less bubbly than when she'd left, but Rodolphus attributed it to the stress of leaving school and, perhaps, some female thing he'd be happier not knowing about. His daughter hugged them both and climbed in. She looked older, he thought, in some indefinable way.

'Darling, hello! You look so well.'

'You too, Father. Mother, you look pretty in that colour.'

Bellatrix made a rude noise. 'I see no reason for frivolity, but Narcissa insisted. You're forbidden from letting her teach you that, by the way. The getting your way thing, I mean.'

Hermione laughed. 'Mother, Aunt Narcissa just likes for us to look nice is all.'

'That word again., And anyway, a Death Eater does not need mere good looks, Hermione. She burns with the righteous fire of the Cause, and that's beauty enough.'

Hermione grinned and closed her eyes for a moment. 'Yes, Mother.'

'Don't you "Yes, Mother" me, girl. I can tell what you're up to.'

'I'm not up to anything.'

'A Black is _always_ up to something.'

'I'm only half. Doesn't that mean I'm only up to something half of the time?'

Both parents chuckled, and Bellatrix lightly swatted her daughter's wrist. 'Stroppy child.'

Rodolphus liked to see his wife and daughter playing. Bellatrix looked pretty, almost young again, when she really smiled, and Hermione seemed to make her do that a lot. 'Darling, we've a surprise for you.'

Hermione opened her eyes. 'Yes, Father?'

_'_We've a new house guest. A friend of ours from the old days.'

'A Death Eater?'

'Who else?' Said Bellatrix, who wasn't exactly enthused about all this. She sat back, frowning sourly, and took the cup of water she was offered with a snarl.

'His name is Barty Crouch. He's a very brave man, Hermione, and we want you to think of him as an older brother.'

'Yes, Father.' There was something not quite right about the tone of this conversation. She sipped the spa water Rinky was passing out and drank some, feeling it cool her.

'Barty served time as we did, but in a different way. His mind is still a bit...uncertain, but he's very keen to meet you. So if he says anything that makes you uncomfortable, just remember that, hmm?'

'I will, Father.'

Bellatrix's face was a mask of unhappiness. She was delighted her daughter was home, but she didn't know how she felt about having Barty there with Hermione. Might he scare her, or else let slip something which Hermione, as innocent and gentle as she was, would not be prepared for?

'He won't be with us very long, darling. Just a few days, until Alecto and Amycus-you remember the Carrows, I'm sure?-have his room ready.'

'All right, Father.'

The ride back was uneventful. They chatted about the school year, Hermione's marks (excellent) and Viktor's visit.

Finally the carriage set down in Lincolnshire, and Hermione waited properly until she was helped down. She picked up her robes and walked beside Mother into the house.

There was sudden movement from the foyer, and all three Lestranges raised their wands. A man as white as milk stood there giggling. 'Bella!'

'Hello, Barty.'

'Barty, this is our daughter, Hermione. Hermione, darling, this is Barty Crouch, Jr.'

Hermione put out her hand and the giggling man took it. 'It's nice to meet you, Mr. Crouch.'

'Oh, yes. Your parents are dear friends of mine, very much so. Went to Azkaban together, didn't we?'

'Oh.' Hermione darted her eyes toward her father, who stepped out and gently disentangled Barty from her hand. 'If you'll excuse me, Mr. Crouch, I need to...'

'Darling, go and greet your aunt, would you? She misses you so.'

Hermione took off as quickly as she could and not get scolded. She wanted away from the man and the strange air he had about them, and the weird way her parents were acting.

'Aunt Cunegarde!'

'Don't raise your voice, girl, you'll bring the lunatic.'

'You mean Mr. Crouch?'

'That or your mother.'

'Aunt Cunegarde...' Hermione bent and kissed her great great aunt's cheek and then stepped back. Aunt Cunegarde looked exactly the same as she had, though today her hair was purple and her jewels were amethysts.

'Well, how are you, then? Have been behaving yourself?'

'Yes, Aunt Cunegarde.'

'You've not been spending time with boys, have you?'

'No, Aunt Cunegarde.'

' See that you don't, then. Don't think I won't cane you if you need it.'

Hermione bit her cheek a moment to keep from laughing. 'I won't, Aunt Cunegarde.'

The old lady fixed her with a look and then settled back. 'I'm to have a nap. Come back after supper and we'll talk. And straighten your skirts, you look a mess.'

Hermione recognised this as Aunt Cunegarde's way of saying she'd missed her and gave her another kiss before she walked out, and almost into the strangely moving figure of Barty Crouch.

'Oh! Mr. Crouch, you scared me.'

He chuckled. 'You look like her. Bella. Like Bella.'

'Yes, sir. I need to ask my mother something.'

Barty trailed her, mumbling to himself. 'And have they said?'

'Said what?'

'About the aurors.'

'Aurors?' Hermione's mouth filled with bile and she swallowed it through sheer force of will. 'I don't know what you mean.'

Barty Crouch smiled brightly and moved closer to the girl, who was Bellatrix and not Bellatrix and was so small. His face was close to hers, too close, and then he started to whisper.

Five minutes later Hermione ran as fast as she could down the stairs and pounded the door to the study, breathing hard. Rodolphus opened it and saw at once that something terrible had happened.

'Sweetheart? Shhh, what's happened?'

Hermione stumbled to a chair and sat down. 'Is it true?'

'Is what true?'

'About the aurors. Barty said...is it true?'

Bellatrix stood up, eyes blazing, and started for the stairs. She'd kill him. That little bastard, she'd snap his neck. But her legs took her to her daughter's side and she knelt down and awkwardly wrestled the panting, shivering child into a hug.

'Of course it's not, girl. Stop being silly. Hush, I'm right here.' Hermione was too afraid and horrified to parse who was doing what. She squirmed against the hold, protesting, sobbing.

Rodolphus swished his wand and Hermione went limp, spelled to sleep. He silently took her in his arms and started for the stairs. 'Trixie, get Snape and Malfoy.'

She did.


	24. Chapter 24

**A/N: Love to Reviewers**

**Happy Birthday, Countess Black! I encourage anyone reading to send her a PM wishing her a good birthday.**

Severus Snape pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed loudly, wondering whether the muggle foreign legion would take a man with no qualifications other than magic and the desire to escape this mess.

Thinking that it probably wouldn't, he sat back down and sipped his wine. 'Tell me again what happened.'

Beside him, Bellatrix made a noise that seemed like pure rage and started to pace again. Rodolphus, torn between calming her and talking to Snape, took a fortifying swallow and then said 'We think Barty let it slip.'

'About the Longbottoms.'

'Yes. We think he might've told her what happened.'

Snape nodded impassively. 'And you never thought to plan for this?'

Bellatrix spun round, baring her teeth. 'Think it's that easy, do you? We'll just tell the girl everything, is that right, Snape?'

'I never said that, Bellatrix, now calm down.'

'I AM VERY CALM!'

Of all the times Narcissa had chosen to take a holiday to Venice...Snape shook his head and looked at Malfoy, who was staying out of things. 'Lucius? Any thoughts?'

'Why didn't you have an elf following him?'

Rodolphus looked down. 'We had. He slipped away. He's tricky like that.'

'Where is he now?'

'His rooms. He seems to have no understanding of what he did or who Hermione is.'

'And the girl?'

'In bed. I spelled her to sleep.'

Snape nodded. 'Good. This will need to explained to her in exactly the right way.'

'We could always obliviate her.'

Snape shook his head firmly. 'No. She'll find out someday. Better now when we can control it.'

' I quite agree' said Malfoy, who stood and went to the mantle. He slipped out of his cloak and took up the decanter of wine. 'Elf, get some soda water and bring it here, very cold. And a cube of sugar.'

He silently mixed the wine and the soda water and sugar and then set it down charmed to make sure it would stay cold. 'We used to give that to Draco when he'd had a nightmare. It calms nicely, and the summer wine is sweet enough to convince her to drink it all.'

Snape nodded. 'You'll go, then?'

'She is my niece.'

'Who asked you, then?' Bellatrix's pacing took on a frenzied, dangerous aspect, as though her energy would explode from her body. Rodolphus turned and look at her in mute appeal-couldn't she stop and sit down?

Snape wanted to throttle her. 'Really, Trixie, stop it. Malfoy is the only one of us who can do it.'

'They hardly know one another!'

'Precisely. He'd have no reason to lie to her, and he's married to Narcissa. Hermione adores Narcissa.'

'What about Barty?'

'What about him? Mentally he's perhaps seven or eight. We'll send him to the Carrows and they'll make sure he's contained.'

'No, it's not enough.'

'Would you torture him, Trixie? Take the chance to teach Hermione an Unforgivable or two?'

'If I could, I would do.'

'Are you a Death Eater, or not?'

Bellatrix's wand was out and brandished. 'YOU KNOW I AM!'

'Yes, I do, and I know you'd want to serve the Dark Lord in this, as in all things. And killing Barty wouldn't do that, would it? One war hero killing another?'

Bellatrix spun, and a strange thing happened, one that Snape would never credit having seen, even later, even to himself. Bellatrix Lestrange, who'd once burnt down a muggle hotel for sport, stood in the middle of the room, shoulders shaking. But only for a second.

'Of course not.' But Malfoy, if you upset her more...' The threat hung in the air, and Malfoy rolled his eyes as he stood. 'I shan't, Bellatrix. I've a son the same age, remember? Your nephew? Blond boy, looks a good deal like myself?'

'Arse.'

Taking the wine, he left, thankful he didn't have to talk Bellatrix down. Poor Snape, though. He'd send the man a bottle of cognac later, he decided, and quickly made his escape.

Hermione felt a warm hand on her shoulder and rolled into the pillow. 'Father?'

'No, Hermione, it's I. Sit up, hmm?' She heaved herself up and pulled the covers to her neck, feeling slightly exposed.

'Do you remember what happened?'

'Yes.' Hermione tugged her knees to her chest and wrapped both arms about herself. Lucius Malfoy studied her, looking like an older Draco, and then said 'I think we should discuss this, don't you?'

Hermione didn't want to. She wanted to sleep, sleep until she woke and everything was all right again, but she knew it wouldn't work. She'd tried that and failed once, after all.

'Yes, Uncle.'

'There's a good girl. What happened?'

Hermione inhaled. 'Barty...Mr. Crouch...he said...Mother and Father hurt Neville's parents. Is that true?'

'That's a very complicated question, Hermione. Do you remember the day we found you, love?'

'I do.'

'You know that you were supposed to have come and lived with Aunt and I, don't you?'

Hermione nodded cautiously. Her uncle always treated her nicely, but she'd never felt quite comfortable with him. He'd been the harbinger of the whole thing, and she retained that memory of him even as he hugged her or told her how pretty she was getting or teased her.

'It's hardly very fair, is it? Aunt Narcissa and I feel very strongly about that. We ought to had you if your own parents could not, and it's a terrible thing.'

'Mother says lots of things happen in wars that aren't fair or nice.'

'That's precisely right. And so, darling, Barty was confused.'

'They didn't hurt the Longbottoms?'

Lucius inhaled. 'Has Rodolphus explained to you about the Order?'

'A little. They took me, is that right?'

'Yes, it is. The Longbottoms were members, you see. Your parents believed that they'd helped to do something very bad, and went to confront them.'

'And Barty and Uncle Rabastan?'

'That's right. They thought they could save...that they could help what had happened.'

Hermione nodded. Nothing she was being told contradicted her experiences with her parents, and it made sense, explained this way. She slowly unwound her arms from round her knees and sat back.

'Did they?'

'It was too late. But the aurors, well, they might have hurt other people, mightn't they?'

'Hurt them how?'

Lucius reached out and began to stroke his niece's hair as he talked. 'There are people who don't like us, Hermione. The Longbottoms wanted to hurt our family. Your parents were trying to help them understand they were wrong but it didn't work.'

'And then they hurt them?'

'Sometimes we have to make people understand, love. Did your father help you understand that time you tried to get out the castle door?'

Hermione blushed but nodded. She'd never tried it again, she had to admit. Lucius kept stroking as he talked. 'Well, they tried to help the Longbottoms, too. But they were too far gone to be helped.'

'But isn't it wrong to hurt people?'

'For no reason? Yes, it is. But there's a difference between hurting because one likes it and hurting because it will prevent something worse. Children don't like taking potions, but adults make them because they're going to get worse without them, isn't that right?'

Hermione nodded. 'I suppose so.' But something about this made her feel...wrong? It just felt off to her, as though the pieces didn't quite fit together. 'What's Crucio?'

'Did Barty tell you that?'

'Yes. He said Mother's very good at it.'

'She is. You must understand, love, that most people have a very limited understanding of how the world works. So some people believe that some magic should be off limits because they don't understand it.'

'And Mother used off limits magic?'

'That depends on whom you ask. I say that magic is neither good nor bad. It's the way it's used.' Lucius kept stroking lightly, making sure the girl was associating him with comfort and good feelings.

'Your mother was very afraid of the harm that the Order would do. Not just to us, to all of Wizarding Britain, and she, and your father, and Barty, and Rabastan, wanted to be absolutely sure that it could never happen again.'

'But why did they hurt their minds?'

'Because it would stop them but make it so they could be helped, Hermione. Sometimes when a person is sick, they can be cured with a single draught. Sometimes they need a course of potions.'

'And they wanted to break the Longbottoms so they could fix them?'

Lucius smiled approvingly. 'Very good, Hermione. That's just why.'

'What happened then?'

'The rest of the Order found them, and because they didn't want the Longbottoms to get better, they sent your parents to prison.'

'So they couldn't help them get better?'

'Yes.'

'That's horrible' said Hermione, eyes damp. 'Why didn't they want them to get better?'

Lucius tugged the covers up higher. 'Because they were afraid the Longbottoms would say that your parents were right all along, love, and they didn't want that.'

'Oh.' Hermione gnawed her lip, clearly working this through. Lucius frowned. 'No, no, love, you'll make your lips rough. What would your aunt say?'

'"A lady always looks her best." Lucius smothered a grin at hearing his wife's voice coming from his niece's mouth. 'That's precisely right.'

'Uncle? Are all the people in the Order as bad as the ones that wouldn't help the Longbottoms?'

'No, Hermione. Many of them-most of them-weren't bad. They were just confused.'

'About the way the world works.'

'Yes. And that's what your parents and I do. We help them to understand.'

Hermione nodded and started to bite her lip again, stopping herself just in time. 'Uncle?'

'Hmm?'

'Did those same people...did they hurt...the Gr...I mean...?'

'We have a rule, love, that what's said in the family is private. Do you mean the muggles you lived with?'

Hermione nodded and tear ran down her cheek. 'It's not fair.'

'No' he agreed as gently as he could 'it isn't.'

'Did they _hurt_ them?'

Lucius felt a split second of discomfort before he realised whom his niece meant. 'I don't know, love.' He didn't, either, but he could make some very informed guesses. On the other hand, he wouldn't tell a traumatised twelve year old about them for all the gold in Gringotts.

'They tried their best, Uncle Lucius. They did.'

'I'm sure.' He was torn between explaining why muggles could not possibly parent a magical, let alone Pureblood, child correctly and simply nudging the conversation elsewhere when Hermione decided the issue for him by sniffling once and squaring her shoulders.

'Are Mother and Father very upset?'

He hadn't expected that, to be sure. 'Worried, love, not upset. They'd like to come and see you.'

'And Barty? Mother gets...grumpy sometimes.' Understatement of the year, but Lucius kept a straight face all the same.

'They understand that he doesn't know any better, darling. And you must understand, being locked up all those years hurt his brain. He's like a child who repeats things without understanding them very well.'

'So he doesn't understand what they did and why?'

'That's right. I've something for you to drink, and then we'll see about another rest, hmm?'

'And Mother and Father will come up after?'

'Of course they will. Here we are, all of it, now.' Hermione obediently swallowed the drink, grimacing a little, and then handed back the glass.

Lucius summoned a book from the shelf and opened it. 'Chapter six, the dungeons.' The child was soundly asleep in ten minutes and he crept back down the stairs, thinking that Hermione was a better child than Bellatrix deserved.

The room was no quieter than when he'd left. 'Hermione is fine, but she'll have questions for you both.'

'Questions? Didn't you explain everything to her?'

'I did, but you are her parents. She'll want to have you explain it to her. And I imagine at some point she'll ask after those muggles as well.'

'The muggles? Hermione doesn't even think of them.'

'And you would know that because...?'

Bellatrix was pacing again. 'She never mentions them, or complains of nightmare, or anything else.'

'She thinks it will upset you, I'd expect.'

Rodolphus could sense a fight brewing, and said as soothingly as possible 'Thank you, Lucius, for helping us. We appreciate it.'

'She's a nice little girl.'

Bellatrix moved too quickly to follow with the eye. Suddenly a vase exploded and she was still, the pieces settling about them. Malfoy raised an eyebrow at his brother in law, who shrugged and made a slight twitch of his mouth to show this was par for the course.

'If I'm not needed, I expect I'll head home.'

'Home?' Said Bellatrix with a malicious glee. 'What sort of sister in law would I be if I didn't insist you stay, dear brother in law?'

'The sort with more to worry about than me. Anyway, a man occasionally enjoys the chance to play bachelor again, wouldn't you say, Rodolphus?'

Rodolphus looked wry. 'Of course, the pleasures of home and hearth are a comfort.'

'No doubt. Bellatrix, Rodolphus, Severus.' Lucius stepped through the Floo and was gone.

Bellatrix finally could stand no more. She spun without another word and walked toward the stairs.

'Bellatrix?'

'I'm going to sit with her. Only for a moment.'

They watched her go. 'Strange, isn't it?'

'Pardon?'

'Bellatrix as a mother. I would've bet a thousand galleons it would never happen.'

Snape gestured slightly with his shoulder, a half shrug. 'One never knows.'

'That's true. We really do appreciate your help, Snape.'

Snape shrugged again. 'It's my pleasure.'

'Have you ever thought to marry, Severus?'

'Duty is my bride, Lestrange.'

Rodolphus smiled slyly. 'And Bellatrix and I always said we'd never have children, but look how happy we are. You should consider it, at least.'

'What prompted this?'

Rodolphus smiled indulgently. 'It's obvious you enjoy spending time with my daughter. I thought perhaps you felt a lack in your life.'

Snape looked into the fire. 'I won't deny it, but Britain requires my whole attention.'

Rodolphus clapped Snape's shoulder lightly. 'Severus, Our Master wouldn't deny you a chance for happiness. I'm sure if you asked Him, He'd give you leave.'

'I don't doubt it, but right now is not the time. Perhaps when things have settled down a bit.'

Rodolphus nodded. 'I'd imagine you've a lot to do with keeping tabs on overseas.'

No use pretending. 'Quite. Not to mention the domestic issues.'

'Perhaps someday one of us will go-between for you.'

Snape laughed bitterly. 'Oh, yes, Lestrange, between my good looks and vast personal forture, women will be falling over one another.'

'Power is an aphrodisiac, they say.'

'It had best be.' Both men chuckled a bit and settled back. It was getting dark out, and the light in the study was a deep blue, terribly, painfully beautiful.

'She's never mentioned them to you? The muggles?'

'Once or twice. I have the impression that she thinks it would upset everyone for her to bring them up.'

Rodolphus's eyes flicked towards the stairs and neither of them said anything.

Snape stood up and straightened his robes. 'I should go check on Barty.'

'Please' said Rodolphus, who resolved to work on some papers and try to forget this had ever happened.

Hermione heard footsteps. She'd woken twenty minutes or so after her uncle left, and she felt quite refreshed. She'd heard Mother go by, but she wasn't quite sure she was ready to talk to her parents.

She stood and crept to the door. It was Snape. 'Professor?'

'Hello, Miss Lestrange.'

Hermione took her dressing gown and slippers from a shocked Rinky and stepped into the corridor. 'What's happened?'

'That's a very complicated question.'

'Are you going to check on Barty?'

'I am.'

'Can I come?'

Snape blinked. 'To what possible end?'

'He isn't right in the head, Professor. I want to make sure I didn't hurt his feelings.'

Snape felt a swell of not-pride and fondness in his chest. He frowned to hide those non-emotions and then decided.

'All right, but bring your elf.'

They walked in silence to the forth floor, where the door was being guarded by a sour looking elf. 'Hello, Mimsy.'

'Hello, Miss.' The elf lightened a shade, adoring as all elves did wizarding children, and Hermione smiled brightly. 'We're here to check on Mr. Crouch, Mimsy. Is he awake?'

'Master Barty is awake, but being very...agitated.'

Snape wondered whether this was a good idea, after all. Beside him, the girl looked fearlessly forward. 'We'll see him, then, Mimsy.'

The elf stepped aside with some discomfort, and they walked into the room. Barty was in the corner, back to them, and before Snape could say anything, the girl stepped forward and said 'Mr. Crouch? Are you all right?'

Barty turned, face serious. 'Severus!'

'Hello, Barty. Miss Lestrange and I have come to see how you are.'

Barty crept closer, smiling uneasily. 'Bellatrix? Bella?'

'No, Mr. Crouch. I'm Hermione, remember?'

'Hermione. Hermione. I remember.'

He came closer and looked down at her. Once, Hermione thought, he might have been good looking, in a boyish way. His hand reached for her and cupped her cheek.

'I hope I didn't scare you, Mr. Crouch.'

'Scare me? A slip of a thing like you? No. Not scared me.'

'Barty, how do you feel?'

'Something bad happened. Very bad.'

'Yes, it did.'

'Did I upset you?' Barty looked very worried, and Hermione felt a need to reassure him, to make some of whatever had happened go away.

'Anyone can get confused, Mr. Crouch. That's all that happened.'

'Oh, good.' Crouch's eyes were darting right and left, and his hand twisted in his lap anxiously. Snape knew he'd have to dose Crouch with something to get him to sleep.

'Barty, I've something for you to take to help you sleep.'

'Can't' said Barty immediately. 'There's things in my head that come out when I sleep.'

Hermione shook her head. 'Not here, Mr. Crouch. My elf will protect you. You'll see.'

Barty's eyes stopped moving. 'Elves? I had an elf once. Winky, Winky, where are you?'

Hermione looked at Snape, hoping he'd stop this. The elf returned and handed him a phial of something purple. Dreamless Sleep?

'Barty?'

'No' said Barty, and crossed his arms. Snape frowned and used the tone he reserved for misbehaving first years. 'Crouch, this is not up for negotiation.'

'I'm as much as a Death Eater as you are, Snape.'

'You are my patient, and Healer Gibbon's. Should I ask him to come and assist me?' Gibbon and Crouch hated one another, and Snape hoped the threat would convince him to take the potion voluntarily.

'I'll complain to His Lordship if this keeps up.'

'Mr. Crouch? I have to go to bed soon, too. Why don't we each take some?'

'Are you sick, little girl?'

'I'm not well, sometimes. Look, I'm dressed for bed already.'

'I suppose. And your elf shan't leave?'

'No, Mimsy will stay all night, I promise.'

Snape called for a second phial, and Rinky, knowing what to do, returned with a phial of golden syrup laced with purple colouring. Hermione held it in her hand and looked at Barty. 'On three?'

'All right. One.'

'Two.'

'Three.' They each drained their phials. Barty went limp at once, eyes closing, and started to snore. Hermione handed her phial back and rose when Snape did.

'Well done, Miss Lestrange.' Trailed by Rinky, they walked down the silent corridor. 'I expect you'd like to talk about it?'

'Yes. It's been a rather hard day.'

Another understatement. Snape led the girl to a niche with a few comfortable chairs. She looked, he thought, very like her mother, all dark hair and soft eyes. Snape was not, by nature, a man who attracted others to himself; his voice was his only attractive feature, and even then, it often did not compensate for his usually abrasive and cold demeanour.

So he was shocked, _shocked_, when the girl plopped herself down on him as though she belonged there and said 'Is everything this complicated, Professor?'

He opened his mouth to evict her from his lap and give her a good scolding for...something, anyway, but she was somehow insinuating herself against him like a damned wisteria, and he instinctively reached for her and braced her so she wouldn't fall.

'Only for the fortunate amongst us. Easy lives are dull lives, Miss Lestrange.'

Hermione nodded. She needed closeness and comfort from an adult right now, and she didn't feel quite up to Mother, or even Father. But Snape was someone she trusted, someone who made her feel safe and relaxed, and because she'd been raised by people who made her feel the same, and because she missed her Dad so much, she perched on him without compunction and felt a little of her discomfort drain away.

'What did Malfoy tell you?'

Hermione summed it up as briefly as she could, and Snape found himself admiring Malfoy's way with words. The man could sell vanishing charms to house elves, he thought, and waited for the inevitable.

'Is that true?'

'More or less.'

'What does that mean?'

'There's some political considerations your uncle failed to mention, but it will serve for now.'

Hermione nodded. 'Uncle Lucius didn't go.'

'No, and nor did I.'

'Why? If it was the right thing to do?'

'It was a frightening time for everyone. Your uncle had his family to worry about.' He waited for her to ask why he'd been absent, but the girl didn't. Instead, she chewed her lip a little, eyes deep with thought.

'And Mother had me and didn't know it.'

'That's correct.' Snape wished, at some level, that he could tell the girl that Bellatrix would not have gone had she known, but it was a lie. Bellatrix would have given birth in battle if she'd had her choice in things.

'Why did Mother say it wasn't true, then?'

'Your mother said_ what_?'

'When I asked, she hugged me and said not to be silly, and that it wasn't true. What Barty had said. Is it because she knows how confused he is?'

Snape's mind was numb with shock. Bellatrix had...had denied the most important thing she'd ever done? The lodestone of her life? To her daughter?

Hermione looked nervous. Had she done something wrong? Snape awkwardly steadied her a bit more. 'I believe so.'

'It's not fair. Uncle said it wasn't, and it's not. Is it?'

'Fair?' The day Malfoy used such a weak word for something was the day kneazles flew across the sky. But the girl was nodding.

'Yes, because my muggle parents got hurt, and I was supposed to live with Aunt Narcissa's family and couldn't, and now this. And it's not fair for Barty, either, because his mind isn't right anymore.'

'Nothing in life is fair, Miss Lestrange. We've discussed this, have we not?'

Abruptly, the girl's arms were about his neck and she was pressing a damp little face into his neck. This was _definitely_ not right. Severus Snape, spymaster of Britain, did not hug, especially teary little girls.

The teary little girl in question sniffled again. 'I want my Mum.'

Snape felt a strange sense that he'd been complimented. She trusted him enough to show him the childish, vulnerable part, and he had to respond in a way that rewarded his little spy's courage today.

'I don't blame you.'

'Do you miss yours?'

Eileen? He sat still and hoped the girl would cry so he wouldn't have to answer. 'Sometimes we all do, Miss Lestrange.'

'Even you?'

'Yes. As foreign as this may seem, I do have feelings.'

'Of course you do.' The girl still hadn't moved. How does one dislodge a child? Perhaps charm the front of his robes with a no stick spell? Or some sort of gentle little hex?

'And everyone who's not dead is far away. Ron, and the Twins, and Neville.'

Snape had heard nothing of them since the autumn, and he nodded neutrally. 'I'm sure they're safe, Miss Lestrange.'

'Yes, but they aren't _here_. Everyone is gone.'

He nodded again. 'Yes.'

'Professor?'

'Miss Lestrange?'

' My friend Alise needs our help.'

'Our help?'

'Your help.' Hermione pushed aside her grief for everyone she'd loved and lost and concentrated on what she could help, explaining what had transpired between she and her friends.

'That is sincerely tragic, but what do you propose I do about it?'

Hermione pulled her head up and wiped her cheeks. 'You found me a good husband. Can't you find her one?'

'She's how old?'

'Almost fourteen, Professor. She speaks three languages and sews and can cook, I think. And her family's got money.'

It was the dirty blood which would be the problem. If she'd been a Pureblood or Halfblood, he could have done something. But as it was, only a person of very low rank would take her.

'I will make enquiries. She does understand there would be a very limited choice, does she not, in terms of potential partners?'

'The situation there isn't good, Professor. At least she'd get to be somewhere safe. And maybe she can help like I do.'

'Perhaps she can, at that.'

Hermione climbed down. 'Are my parents all right?'

'Worried about you. Your mother was livid at Barty, but she'll be fine.'

Hermione giggled, and it was so Bellatrix that Snape felt almost afraid for a second. 'Mother's got a loud bark, but she's really very funny and affectionate.'

Snape would have wagered Rodolphus's thousand galleons those words had never been applied to Bellatrix Lestrange before and would never again.

The girl tugged her dressing gown closer about herself and looked determined. 'I suppose it would be rude to worry them more than they are.' Snape rose and followed his little spy, feeling as though something had happened and he didn't know what it was.

Hermione abruptly turned back and looked up at him. 'Professor, have you got a dog now?'

'It would be more accurate to say the dog's freeloading off of me, but yes, loosely. How did you know?'

'There's a hair on my nighty.'

'So there is.'

'What's his name?'

'Salazar.'

'May I meet him someday?'

'I would not wish that on anyone. He is a filthy, ill mannered cur.' And newly back in the country, but she didn't need to know that.

Hermione laughed. 'He can't be that bad.'

'That, like most things, is a matter of opinion.' And they went to find Rodolphus and reassure him that his daughter was all right, after all.


	25. Chapter 25

**A/N: Love to reviewers and Countess Black**

**At some point, Hermione started calling their houseguest by first name due to his mental age.**

**For those of you wondering why the Veela story hasn't updated lately: I need to deal with some RL issues that relate to the story. You've all been very patient, but in the interests of the story, let me work through this and come back better prepared to confront these things in a fictional context. (Also posted in my profile).**

Scabior left Mother Goforth's at seven, just as the sky was getting light, and walked with Hetty to the Skull and Snake for a pie and some porter. He'd had a very good night, and intended to go and see Snape before he slept all day.

Over eel pies, she told him excitedly how much she'd made the night before (four hundred galleons), the new rinse she was using in her hair (walnut hull and cinnamon) and the way that shameless slut Eunice had chased after Noisome the auror.

'Ah, Ets, she aint alf as pretty as you.'

'And he's not even a highly placed auror. He's a junior auror.'

'An wouldn't know is arse from a ole in the ground. E's the one set Mr. Selwyn's shoes on fire that time.'

Hetty giggled. 'He didn't!'

'Did. Lestrange was fit to be tied.'

'I daresay.' She sipped elegantly at her gin and lemonade, face streaked with paint and powder, hair hanging in tangled mass, curls coming undone. He wished he could take her to bed right then and there, but duty called.

'Today's the day, yeah?'

'I know. I am so jealous. You must remember what everyone has on and tell me.' Lem could, too.

'Course I will. You'll be there at the gate?'

'We all will. Even Mother is coming.' The Wizarding press had been covering this event for weeks. Lucius Malfoy had made numerous statements to various agencies, and his wife had given interviews to all the witch's mags about this upcoming engagement.

'Should I take Chum?'

'No, my friend'll wants the lil bloke. E's a way with animals, e has.'

He patted his pocket, where the rat was napping contentedly, having taken a sip of shandy several hours earlier. Scabior tipped his mistress a wink and left for Spinner's End.

The dog, damn his eyes, was lounging when the knock came at the door. He transformed at once and trotted over, snuffling at the door. Snape rose and welcomed Scabior with a curt nod.

'Have you something for me?'

'Do I ever. Ello, Salazar. Ows doins, friend?' He palmed the dog the bit of pie he hadn't eaten, which the dog ate with doggy restraint, tipping his head as though in thanks.

'Well?'

'There was a bloke in with a funny accent. Ad a foreign look about im.'

'I see. What sort of accent?'

'Dunno. It was sort a like them nobs oo was ere. Krum an them.'

Snape nodded slowly. 'Did he say anything suspicious?'

'No, but e felt funny to me.'

'Have you heard anything from your men?'

'Not a thing. The girls is goin mad with excitement. Gettin all poshed up an all.'

'I understand there will be quite a crowd.'

'Even Mother's t come. Dont think the girls'll get another chance at sumthing so grand, yeah?'

'I'm sure once the diplomatic detachment arrives, their time will be...well filled.'

Scabior chuckled and nodded, delighted by the play on words. 'An the gold'll flow like rivers. Them foreign blokes spend to keeps us quiet.'

'Do take advantage, Scabior.'

'Shure will, sir. Slytherin pride an so forth.'

'Quite so' said Snape, who'd been Scabior's Head of House at one point 'and see you keep your wits about you. Possibly the fellow was some sightseer or something, but perhaps not.'

Scabior looked grim. 'Foreign elements, sowin dissent mongst loyal citizens, sir?'

'Where did you hear that?'

'Radio address, sir, every Thursday, innit?' The Dark Lord addressed his people every Thursday night, borrowing Mulciber's soothing, grandfatherly burr. Snape had assumed that no one listened, but Scabior, apparently, did.

'Precisely so. I wasn't aware you listened, Lemuel.'

'Course I do. I owes it all t the Dark Lord, yeah? A woman, a flat, an elf, an a job. An Lestrange, e set me over the others. That's one reason I watch Flower s'good, to repays his kineness t me an mine.'

'I daresay.' The irony of all this, naturally, being that Scabior would have been an ideal citizen if not for his propensity to mayhem. And a taste for more exotic pleasures, though not, from what Snape heard via the grapevine, as unsavoury as Limpkins or terrifying as Greyback's, who was more beast than man.

'If I should ears anythin, I lets you know, sir.'

Scabior reached into his pocket and handed out a dozing rat. 'Dont Chum look well these days?'

'He does. Sleek and fat. You aren't overfeeding him, are you?'

'Tryin not t, but the girls do loves the lil fella. E's awful popular with em.' Snape imagined that Pettigrew was a happy man, being passed from whore to whore and handfed dainties.

'May I see him?' The dose was prepared, this time in tea, so with the rat in his waistcoat, Snape got the draught into Scabior and then took the rat for debriefing. There was a slight problem. That drop of shandy had had the same effect as several glasses would on a man, and Pettigrew was...merry, to say the least.

'H'lo, Snape' he slurred as soon as he'd transitioned from rat to human. 'How are you?'

Snape's eyes widened. 'You're drunk.'

'Jus a lil. Ha' some shandy. Went t m'head.'

'You idiot, what use are you to me now?'

'I am. Still can help.'

'You'd best, or the dog gets you.' That sobered the rat up a bit, and he shook his head.

'There's information I need about the wolves. And the visit from the Bulgarians. I'll need you for a few hours this afternoon.'

The rat nodded. 'A'right, Snape.'

'Back you go, rat.' Pettigrew crawled into his palm, newly ratted, and Snape tucked him into his pocket.

Scabior, once woken, smiled and stretched. 'Didn't mean t fall asleep, sir.'

'Quite all right. You'll be ready by four o'clock?'

'I will. Me an the others.'

'Meet up at three pm at the Ministry.'

'Y'sir.'

'And bring the rat, it will amuse the children, I'm sure.'

Scabior looked thoughtful. 'Wont scare Miss, will e? Girls is so gentle.'

'I think she'll be up to it. And the reporters are vetted?'

'Did it meself, sir. One from the Prophet, one from Witches Weekly and one from Wizarding Radio Britain.' Scabior was most excited about the last, and he was smiling as he bowed and left. As soon as his smell had faded, Black turned back and rose in a bound. 'Spies and counterspies, is it?'

'Don't be adolescent, Black. It was likely some bored tourist who wanted a bit.'

Black chuckled. 'Please, you're worried.'

'Bah.'

'You are.'

'Why don't you go and make yourself useful, you insufferable bastard?'

'I am useful. Another brain to work things over, my dashing good looks, the fact that that chap was Romanian...'

Snape nearly choked on his mouthful of cold tea. 'What?'

'He's called Nicolae Pavel. He's a wolf. Greyback hates him.'

'Why is he here?'

'Their Ministry is probably using him to try and stir the werewolves in the Great Band to rebel.'

'What does he look like?'

'I don't know. I'd know his smell, but not his face, and he's probably Polyjuicing himself.'

'But he didn't bother to change his accent? Is he stupid?'

'Not at all. Perhaps he's hiding in plain sight. The Bulgarians are coming. They have accents.'

'How is it you know his smell?'

'He came to Greyback one night. It ended poorly.'

'You just happened to be there?'

Black shrugged. 'Padfoot was.'

'Whom?'

'Padfoot. You know' and he changed and then changed back 'Padfoot.'

'Salazar, you mean.'

'Not there. Here he's Salazar, but there he's Padfoot.'

'Dogs have names?'

Black's eyes were misty. 'It's impossible to describe, but for the sake of argument, rather.'

Snape didn't push. He had what he needed, and Black had more than sung for his supper. The question was, what should he do with it? Snape rose, mentally preparing himself to fight the day's battles, and headed for the stairs to shower and dress.

Hours later, dressed in his usual, Snape stood with the Lestranges and Malfoys, Scabior behind them, and the squirming, writhing Barty Crouch near an exit where he could be bundled off should he get over excited.

Barty suddenly shifted from foot to foot and sighed sharply. 'It's too cold here. Like Dementors. Have you ever met a Dementor, Nomascus?'

'Barty, shh.'

Crouch turned and glared. 'Stop it, Nomascus. You've been a ponce ever since you got your medi-wizard's certificate.'

Barty was valuable for publicity but he himself was a wildcard. He wouldn't be expected, as would some of the others, to make a statement, and if the reporters knew what was good for them, they'd politely ignore his ramblings.

Gibbon opened his mouth to respond, but before he did, Hermione, dressed in pink and her moonstones, stepped from her place, crossed the floor with quick, smooth step which pattered on the marble. Smiling, she reached down and took Barty's hand in hers.

'They'll be here any minute, I promise, and then we'll go see the people who've come. We have to be patient or it will take them longer.' Her Dad had used the same logic on car trips, and she'd found it useful to pretend Barty was a nursery schooler or something.

Barty looked downcast. 'Tell Nomascus to stop being a berk, then.'

'Healer Gibbon is just worried about you. Might Barty come and stand with us, Healer?'

Gibbon looked at the Dark Lord, who nodded beneficently. 'Dear child, your heart is as pure as the rest of you.'

Hermione blushed and bowed in thanks. Barty trailed her obediently as a puppy, delighted to stand with his dear friends and not that ass Gibbon. Snape intercepted Crouch as soon as he got close enough, making sure he'd be corralled if need be.

Bellatrix and Rodolphus were startled but not displeased by the way Hermione had headed that off. And the Dark Lord had complimented their child! The fact the Carrows were refusing to take Crouch was eased a bit, though they still felt their lives would be easier without a toddler in the body of a powerful wizard in his prime.

The Floo flared, and the dark head of Viktor Krum came through. Hermione almost bounced with excitement, restraining herself with the stern thought of being a good example of how a lady behaves.

Viktor was as excited to see her, and visibly struggled not to come over. His father and mother came through next, and the rest of the detachment. The Dark Lord, who was wearing Travers, stepped forward.

'*_Friends, how wonderful to see you again*._'

_'*It is an honour, as always, my Lord*.'_

Both groups came forward and exchanged greetings. Viktor, face scarlet, reached out and took Hermione's hand in his. 'Hello, Herm-on-en-ee. I have missed you much. You are vell?'

'Very well, Viktor. _There's someone you need to meet. Pretend he's Ivan_. And you?'

'Vell. _Is he simple_?'

_'It's hard to explain_. Viktor Krum, Bartimius Crouch, Jr., a dear friend of our family. Barty, this is Viktor, my intended.'

Barty sidled forward. He was almost the same size as Viktor, but much thinner, and he looked, to put it bluntly, like a lunatic. 'You mustn't scare Hermione. She's young, you know.'

Viktor understood a little and much at the same time. He'd ask his father for the man's history, but he decided the advice was good and nodded.

'Yes, yes. You like Quidditch?'

'Oh, my, yes. I was Chaser, wasn't I, for Slytherin?' He looked at Hermione, who had no earthly clew, but said as bravely as she could 'Of course you were, Barty.'

Snape slid over and nodded to Krum. 'Hello, Krum.'

'Professor Snape.' They nodded again, men of few words both. Viktor turned and gently tapped Zhivka's shoulder. _'Mother, have you met Professor Snape_?'

_'Re-introduce me, love, will you_?'

_'Mother, Professor Snape_. Snape, my mother, Zhivka Krum.'

'*_Of course, Madam Krum. How good to see you again.*_'

'*_And yourself, Professor. We've heard so much of your prowess at potions_.*'

'* _You are too kind. How is your family_*?'

'*_Well, well. Yana is five now. She wanted to much to come and meet her new cousin_.*' Both children adored Viktor, and had been very upset at being left at the Castle.

'*_And Hermione is eager to meet them. She does love children_.*' Which was true, as his little spy attracted all manner of helpless, needy, pathetic creatures to herself. Next to Martin was a thin, handsome man with hair that had gone a distinguished silver despite his age.

'*_My brother in law, Penko. He's our go-between. In Bulgaria, a family member often acts in that capacity_*.'

Snape could detect a note of something he could not place in her voice. '*_In Britain, we prefer a family friend, but I am eager to meet Penko.*' _There, let her chew on that.

Bellatrix managed to get closer to her daughter. 'Girl! Well done!'

Hermione's face lit up, and her mother's heart cramped a bit. Did she not do that enough? Well, no time to worry about it, she had to politick.

'Madam, your health is good?'

'Yes, thank you. Yourself?'

'Excellent. Son Viktor is most large now, yes?'

'He's grown.'

'Yes. Zhivka have much talking for you.'

'And I for her. My husband wants to take you to see a Quidditch match.'

'Ah, yes, Quidditch.' Martin's English was good but he spoke more than he understood, and so he extricated himself and went to Penko.

_'Penko, there's the potions master.'_

_'He doesn't look as much like a bat as I'd been led to believe.'_

_'A thousand pardons, brother. You've brought the things you need?'_

_'Martin, honestly. Would I disappoint my favourite oldest nephew?'_

Martin rolled his eyes and watched as Penko went to charm the terrifying Madam Lestrange. Across the atrium, the little Malfoy boy was talking with his son. Viktor was grinning, so Martin bet it was Quidditch.

Lucius had worked extensively with the press in order to put this day in the best of all possible lights, but even he was startled by the number of people, mainly witches, who were gathered at the gate, and who cheered when they stepped into the courtyard to climb into the carriages.

Lucius Malfoy, looking both regal and avuncular, stepped forward to give his statement about the great joy his family felt at the prospect of marrying their beloved Hermione to such an illustrious family, and the importance of the alliance for Wizarding Britain.

Penko gave a similar statement via interpreter, and then, with great fanfare, the three reporters were brought forth to ask carefully rehearsed questions of the families.

Hermione found she was uncomfortable with all this. Draco, at least, was used to people knowing who he was, and he smiled for the cameras and winked at her and Viktor to keep their spirits up.

Mother, thankfully, looked as uncomfortable as she. Hermione's hand crept down and wriggled into Mother's. Mother squeezed, and Hermione relaxed slightly, feeling safer because she knew she'd made Bellatrix proud.

'Madam Lestrange, is it true Mr. Crouch is staying with you to recuperate?'

'Yes.' Bellatrix was disinclined to give long answers, and even less inclined to indulge this silliness. She was a warrior, not a socialite.

Barty nodded vigourously. 'Oh yes, we are the dearest of friends.'

'That we are.' Bellatrix would strangle whoever had the bright idea to bring Barty for this. She suspected (hoped with her whole heart) it was Malfoy so she could shout at him.

'Miss Lestrange, what is like to have so many famous war heroes under your roof?'

Hermione hadn't anticipated having to speak, but she squeezed a bit harder and said, as bravely as she could 'I am so fortunate to have so many adults about who care for me and teach me things. It is an honour to learn from them.' And it was, though not in the way the papers would make out. And her voice only shook a little.

Bellatrix felt such a flare of pride that it was painful to her, painful in sweet it was and how much she loved her child. And she actually smiled, which was the picture the papers used. And she didn't even mind very much.

The crowd was still cheering. The Dark Lord said something to Lucius, who went pale for a second but then recovered with aplomb. He in turn called Scabior, who made it happen in record time.

A small door opened near the gate, and a number of Snatchers went out and came back with a half a dozen scared looking mothers and children, a few young women who looked respectable (three of them were whores, including Hetty, attired in very conservative blue, with a hat), and a few old men who claimed to be veteran aurors.

'Darling' said Narcissa very softly 'they'll bring the people over to you, all right? Just do what you've been doing.' Narcissa was almost as proud as Bellatrix, and she wished it was proper for her to give the child a hug.

Hermione nodded. 'Yes, Aunt Narcissa. Is Viktor all right?'

Narcissa said something to Lucius, and a moment later Viktor stepped beside her, looking anxious. _'Are you all right_?'

_'Fine, you_?'

_' All this makes me nervous.'_

_'Me, too.' _Viktor was relaxing now that Hermione was here. She smelt like his rose otto, and he wanted to reach over and rest his hand on her arm. Of course, that was not an option, and instead, he made himself smile and greet the people in his best English.

Everything went smoothly until a little girl of perhaps five beamed up at Hermione and said 'You have nice hair.'

Hermione thanked her, smiling, and then the little girl, without missing a beat, promptly sicked up on her shoes. The girl's mother fainted, convinced the whole family would be killed.

Hermione wanted to recoil, but it might hurt the little girl's feelings, she told herself sharply. Instead, she bent down and gently moved the child from the puddle. 'Is your tummy sad?'

The little girl sniffled and nodded. 'Father, may we have a cup of water and a hankie?' Viktor handed his, and Hermione immediately set to scrubbing the sick from the little hands and cheeks whilst Viktor spoke softly to her, distracting her from the adults running about.

Water was produced, and the girl drank it. Snape made his way over and dropped down to check the child's pulse. The girl cringed, and Hermione said brightly 'It's only Professor Snape. He's a very good potions master.'

Snape motioned to Limpkin. 'Have her and the mother taken to St. Mungo's and checked over. I think it's only stomach upset, but one never knows.'

The mother was revived and, sobbing, came for her child. Hermione smiled. 'Your daughter is very pretty.'

The woman was too overcome to respond. As they were led off, the girl tugged her mother's hand. 'Mummy, don't cry. The girl said I'm pretty.'

Lucius Malfoy, unwilling to risk any more problems, whispered to Snape that they should get everyone home now. Snape agreed, and the group moved to the carriages. Rinky appeared and took Hermione's shoes to be cleaned, and she settled back, barefoot, and said 'Did I do it right?'

Rodolphus looked at his daughter and laughed. 'Darling, that could not have gone better than it did. I am so pleased with you.'

Hermione didn't hesitate. She simply moved closer and rested her head on his chest. 'That was hard. Will I have to do that a lot?'

'No, sweetheart, not at all. You were very brave about the whole thing.'

Bellatrix thought so too. She motioned for Rodolphus to move down and squeezed in so she could whisper to her daughter. 'I am so proud of you, Hermione.'

Hermione pressed her cheek to her mother's. 'That little girl's not in trouble, is she?'

'Of course not.'

'Do you think she's sick?'

'Too much excitement, was all. Children do that.'

Hermione nodded. 'That's good. Uncle Lucius is good at this.'

'Yes, he is.'

Hermione's bare feet felt strange, the air rushing over them. She giggled, feeling how nice it was, and then closed her eyes.

Snape was riding in a Hogwarts carriage which the Dark Lord had given him for personal use. He savoured the silence of the ride, as much as he loathed the bouncing and cold drafts of travelling this way.

The whole thing had been splendid. He could not have planned any of what happened better than it had, and the fact the Dark Lord had noticed the girl made it even better, in some ways.

Snape didn't like the idea of letting his little spy be used for propaganda, but he couldn't protect her against everything, and indispensability to the regime added a layer of safety for her that meant she'd have to endure the discomfort of the spotlight.

And he had other worries at the moment. If this werewolf meant to move, he'd do it now. And if not, why come here now? Snape felt blind, and it made him nervous. But how could he resolve this?

Then it hit him like a bludger, and he actually laughed. Snape put his head up and said sharply 'Elf! Spinner's End and be quick about it!'

The elf charmed the carriage so no muggles would see it, and Snape entered the house like a man with a holy cause. 'Dog!'

Black padded in as Salazar (to give the ass his due, he was sensible about which form to take), and Snape conjured a leash and collar. 'We'll be taking an airing. Do you fly?'

The dog backed up, shaking his head human like. Black changed back and said 'Fly?'

'In a carriage. I need your help.'

'Help?'

'You're in luck, Black. We're going to see your darling cousin.'

Black laughed and changed back. Snape hooked the collar. 'You'll be sniffing the guests. I think the wolf is there.'

When the carriage touched down, Snape helped him down and found him a place in the carriage house. 'Be good, Salazar.' The dog wagged and, Snape would swear, winked.

Snape found Rodolphus Lestrange gladhanding guests in the foyer. 'I thought I'd surprise the children and bring the dog.' Hermione had told Rodolphus, he felt sure, and the man nodded, unsurprised.

'Of course, Severus. For a man who doesn't want to marry...'Rodolphus smiled archly and Snape said nothing. The girl, clad in clean clothes, was sitting with the Krum boy in a window niche, Draco watching them like an owl.

'Come with me, children. I've a surprise for you.'

Hermione jumped up. 'A surprise?'

'Quite. Hurry, now.' Snape led them to the carriage house and whistled. The dog appeared, a big, lean creature with a thick wiry coat and bright, intelligent eyes.

Hermione felt almost as happy as she had since the day Barty had got Confused (she'd been happier to see Viktor, but there was a quiet, pure pleasure in meeting a dog that she hadn't felt in a long time).

The dog sat on his haunches, studying her, cocking his head this way and that as though he was looking for something. She reached out a hand and the dog, after a second, came to lap it. 'Hello, Salazar. You're very handsome, aren't you?'

Snape felt a moment of irritation. Everywhere he went, Black got women fawning over him. Bastard. And he was playing up to her, too! He'd got up on his hind legs and bowed, which made Hermione laugh.

'He's so smart, Professor. Did you train him?'

'No, Miss Lestrange. He came this way.'

Krum knelt down. His family had Karakachans, big fierce dogs suited to hard conditions. He reached out a hand and the dog smelt it and rewarded him with tail wags and a few rasps of a soft pink tongue.

Draco seemed unsure. 'He's nice, Professor.'

'Draco' scolded Hermione 'he's brilliant. And he shan't...perhaps you'd accompany me whilst I get closer?'

Draco couldn't exactly refuse, and he swallowed his discomfort and stepped up. Salazar held out a paw to Draco, who slowly reached a hand for it. The dog sniffed his hand and then stood, putting his paws on the boy's shoulders as though he was embracing him.

Draco felt his fear drain away, or at least calm. This dog was like a big teddy bear. He'd been bitten by a crup at age six and had never felt safe with dogs after. Hermione stepped closer and winked at him. He winked back.

'Dog chase tree?'

'Stick. And yes, he does.'

'Stick. Dog? Chase stick?' Viktor conjured a stick, as there were, naturally, none on the lawn, and threw it with a powerful, arching swing. The dog took off after it, body a black smooth line, and Viktor wished he was more articulate so he could tell Hermione how much it moved him, the power and beauty of Nature at the most basic.

'Dog fly.' It was the best he could do, and he hoped she understood what it meant to him. Hermione looked at him, and Snape, sensing this was a chance for them to bond a bit, said to Draco 'Malfoy, come help me.'

Draco bowed and trailed after his godfather. 'I can't leave them!'

'Her elf is there, isn't it?'

'Father says I've a duty to protect Hermione.'

'You have. I wanted to tell you, there are a good many strange men here. If you notice one of them is staring at the ladies, you must tell Lucius or I, understood?'

Draco visibly stood straighter. 'I will, Godfather.'

'And I hardly think Krum some manner of seducer, do you?'

Draco wasn't quite sure what that meant. 'I suppose not, but Father says sometimes people get carried away.'

'Next year, Draco, you may worry. For right now, your cousin is too young for us to worry much.'

'Yes, Godfather.'

Snape didn't wish to crush the boy. 'But you're doing well, and I'm pleased by how seriously you take your obligations to your house.' Draco flushed with pride.

'Godfather?'

'Yes, Draco?'

'Is Scabior here?'

Snape wondered what this was about. 'Why do you ask?'

Draco shook his head. 'I don't trust him with any lady, do you?'

Snape gave the boy's shoulder a squeeze. 'Just keep an eye out, Draco?'

Draco Malfoy, guardian of his family's honour and his cousin's virtue, nodded and walked back, just to be absolutely sure Krum wasn't a seducer, whatever that was.


	26. Chapter 26

**A/N: Love to reviewers and Countess Black.**

**The reference to greyhounds straining their slips in Henry V, by Shakespeare. Also, Wizarding parents are as embarassing as the muggle kind, apparently.**

Dinner was over, and Bellatrix was taking a hot bath, lying back in the tub and letting the elf massage the tension from her scalp and shoulders with it's long, thin fingers.

She rose and let herself be wrapped in a towel, and stepped into her nightgown and slippers, water dripping from her curls. Rodolphus was in bed already, naked to the waist, and Bellatrix, feeling the stress of the day, resolved she would hex him at some indeterminate point in time.

He snorted when told about this. 'Trixie, you've been vowing to hex me for how many years?'

'Hardly the point, Rodolphus. It was your idea that they should all stay here.'

He set down the paper and raised a brow. 'Shall I make it up to you, dear heart?'

'Not right now. I want to read a chapter in my book and then-' she didn't finish that sentence for some time, as downstairs, one wall erupted into flames. The house shook, Bellatrix screamed, and Rodolphus leapt up and flung himself over his wife to protect her.

Underneath him, she scrabbled like a rat. 'HERMIONE!' He stood, and still shielding her, they took off for their daughter's rooms. The door was open, but the girl was not there.

'THE ELF'S GOT HER! WE NEED TO GO!' He grabbed her even as she clawed him and they Apparated onto the lawn. A second later, they were being pummelled by a little girl in a sooty nightgown and the elf, who was sobbing with relief.

'Mother? What's happened?'

Rodolphus bent and hugged his wife and daughter. 'All right, shh, shh.' From behind them, the elves battled the flames that were trying to engulf the west wing, and others were appearing, all clad or semi-clad in bed clothes as though they'd decided to have a sleep over on the lawn.

'Trixie?'

'Cissy, thank God! Is your son all right?' Bellatrix and Hermione pounced Narcissa and the women clung to one another. 'Yes, he's fine, they're both fine.'

Hermione suddenly gasped. 'Where's Aunt Cunegarde? And Barty?'

With a great cracking, the windows of the wing burst, and everyone dropped, Bellatrix covering Hermione from the red hot shards. Hermione wriggled. 'Mother, where's Barty and Aunt?' Over the flames, there came a terrible din, and the sounds of spells and screams.

'There they are!' Bellatrix leapt up, hand on her wand, and ran towards the noise of battle, yelling for Hermione to stay. Hermione stood and Viktor was there, along with a paler than usual Draco.

'Vhat happens?'

An elf appeared, screeching in horror. 'Madam is saying will not come. Is wanting to stay!'

'We need to get her! Take us!' Linky grabbed Draco and Rinky took Hermione and Viktor, their terror of the danger overcome by a direct order. The house was mad with colour and light, like a malign party, but there were no flames yet, not in the west wing where the family lived.

'Draco, get Cunegard! Viktor, this way!'

Draco ran for the old woman. 'Aunt, we need to go!' The old woman was cowering against a wall. Draco could see he had perhaps thirty seconds to make this happen, and begging forgiveness from the ancestors from his impiety, grabbed the old woman's arm.

'Elf, take us now!'

Cunegarde flailed. 'No! I'll die here! That madman took my wand! You leave me alone!'

'Elf, now!' The elf was powerless against a direct order and grabbed both humans by the collar, Apparating them outside and onto the cold, damp ground. Draco pulled from the elf's grasp. 'Defend your mistress, elf!' Then he sprinted toward the house, knowing he had to help Hermione.

Barty was gone. 'We can't leave him! He'll die!'

There was the sound of running from above them. 'The owlery!' She ran after, nightgown flapping, and Viktor ran too. He could sprint faster than any other boy in his year, and he overtook her, pulling her along.

The owlery was full of panicked birds, flapping and hooting. Hermione flung open and shutters and the birds took wing, leaving behind a trail of feathers. She whirled, eyes darting, until she saw the figure near the ledge. 'Barty, no!'

Barty turned, giggling. 'Isn't it beautiful?' His arm swished sinuously, and a green glow suffused the sky above them. Rinky, as terrified as the owls, grabbed Hermione's arms. 'Miss is going now!'

'Take Barty and Viktor!'

'No, you go!' Viktor grabbed his intended and thrust her toward the elf. 'Elf take!'

'No, Barty first!'

Barty solved the problem for them, as it happened. When they turned back, he'd clamoured onto the ledge, too far to be reached. He crouched on his heels, laughing. Far below, Draco screamed at the figures, demanding they come down. 'I'm telling Father if you don't!' It was the ultimate threat, and in his panic, it was all he could think of.

The elf made a choice. Grabbing Hermione and Viktor, he Apparated them, and set them on the lawn, next to the sobbing Cunegarde and furious, shaking Draco.

'We need to get Barty!'

'Elf! Broom!' Viktor was, after all, one of the greatest Seekers in the world. The elf grabbed one from the shed, leftover from Rodolphus or Rabastan, and Viktor mounted it.

He kicked up and flew to the ledge. 'Barty, you come!'

Barty shook his head. 'No. I'll wait here a while.'

'No! You come!'

Hermione could see flames starting to lick up the sides of the tower. Most of the west wing was on fire now, and she could see people streaming toward them. 'Rinky, take me to Barty, hurry!'

Next thing she knew, her feet were gripping the edge, tight to the wall. 'Rinky, get Barty! Go!'

Viktor pulled tight to the side of the building. He opened his arms and Hermione climbed onto the broom, cold sweat rolling down her back. He slammed his other arm in place and, making sure he had her snugly, took them down, wind rushing by their faces, and took them down like stones as the fire took the tower's base, sending them hurtling toward the ground and then up and away from the hungry flames.

Draco was almost beside himself. He half pulled his cousin from the broom and threw both arms about her, sobbing threats about telling Lucius and Rodolphus and whomever else.

'Draco, we're fine! I promise, we're fine!'

'You're NOT fine!' He cried harder and then pushed her back gently, spinning on Viktor. He raised a little fist and pounded the older boy hard in the stomach, which felt like a gentle poke.

Hermione stepped in between them. 'Draco, stop it! I'll tell your mother you scared me.' Draco dropped his fist, which hurt from hitting Krum, and then turned as adult feet pounded closer.

'Here they are! Draco, are you all right?' Draco turned and leapt onto his father, sobbing incoherently. Lucius put both arms about him, hugging him close, rubbing his back.

'Shh, shh.' Viktor turned as his mother's plump, dressing robed form came upon them. 'Viktor!'

_'Mother!_' She opened her arms and Viktor stepped into the embrace, feeling her tears on the back of his neck. Zhivka's heart was pounding like a mouse's, her hands gripping her only child.

_'I thought we'd lost you!'_

_'No, Mother, we're fine. Hermione and Draco and I are fine_.'

Zhivka didn't let go. _'My baby! My baby_!'

Bellatrix, blood streaked, burst through the small screen of hedges and nearly mauled her daughter. 'DON'T EVER SCARE ME LIKE THAT AGAIN!'

Hermione buried her face in her mother's neck. 'Mother! We're safe, Mother.'

'Not as soon as I get my hands on the three of you, you aren't! I ought to tan all you! How dare you risk yourselves like that!'

Hermione didn't mind. This was just Mother, who was fierce in all things, and especially with what she valued. 'Mother, it's all over.'

The others were coming, Martin and Rodolphus leading them. There was embraces, parental threats and reassurances, and even Cunegarde toddled over to scold them all in a quavery voice.

'And then this boy grabbed me! I told him to leave me and he refused, refused!'

'Draco, did you do that?' Draco, who was still holding onto his father, all pretence of being a big boy temporarily gone, nodded. His adrenaline rush was fading, and he was feeling weirdly drowsy.

Barty was rigid, staring at the sky, lying on his back. Malfoy passed Draco onto his wife and went to get the madman off the grass. He tugged the man up, taking the wand from his limp fingers. The Mark above them was staring down with blank, snake kissed eyes.

'Barty? Did you do that?'

'It's so beautiful. Isn't it, Lucius? Isn't it?'

Not as beautiful as the children your little game nearly killed, thought Lucius, seething, but he said nothing. He pulled Crouch to his feet and steered him toward the others, handing the wand off to Cunegarde's elf.

Bellatrix was torn between anger and the terrible relief of knowing her child was well. She'd stop screaming but was still muttering promises of terrible violence if Hermione should ever do a thing like this again. Hermione was quiet, holding her mother's hand for comfort.

The group spilt across the grounds in rough family groups, Rodolphus toting his aunt, Barty trailing them. He was humming to himself, eyes still fixed on the sky.

The west wing as gone. The east, where the family lived, was scorched but otherwise intact, and most of the heirlooms had been fire-charmed, and so were charred but not destroyed.

Scabior ran toward them, teeth bright in his soot stained face. 'Boss! Ah, thank God yer a'wright!' He stopped, clutching his side, and looked a half second from embracing one or all of them.

'We gots five a them. Romanians, I thinks. Mr. Yaxley's takin em to the Ministry.'

'Excellent, Scabior.' Scabior reached into his pocket and stroked Chum, who was shaking like a little leaf.

The flapping black form of Severus Snape was stomping toward them. 'What's happened?'

Rodolphus intercepted him before Bellatrix could. 'We aren't sure. Where shall we go?'

'Grimmauld Place. We'll take everyone there.'

The carriages were trundled out and packed with people. Miraculously, no one had been killed, though Cunegarde was bruised from hitting the ground and Hermione's feet were burnt. Viktor had pulled several muscles and Draco's skin was scratched from the old woman's nails.

Being as the parents couldn't stand to be separated from their children, the mothers went with them in the Krums' carriage, which was thickly padded against the chill.

Viktor passed out wolfskin lap robes and each little group split in on itself to recount what had happened.

'And Father is coming, Mother?'

'As soon as he can, darling. We'll all spend the night.' Draco wanted nothing more than his own bed, but he knew he had to protect the ladies and so said nothing.

_'It really wasn't as dangerous as it seemed, Mother_.'

Zhivka gave her son a look. _'Viktor, I know you better than that._'

He looked at his hands, ears red. _'Well, it didn't seem that way at the time.'_

_'Your father and I would be devastated if something happened to you, little bear.'_ She used his baby name, and Viktor was grateful Hermione was distracted, because even though she'd inevitably find out, he'd rather it not be tonight.

_'We couldn't let him burn, Mother_.'

_'You know, I thought she was such a soft, easily managed little thing_.' Zhivka's eyes rested on her daughter in law to be, who was speaking softly and earnestly to her mother. Viktor grinned, looking like his father, and said

_'Mother, do you remember the stories about the siege of 1171?'_

_'There's a lot of them.'_

_'Those women who drove the enemy back from the walls three times in single day?'_

Zhivka rolled her eyes. _'You sound like your grandfather.'_

_'She's a worthy successor to them, as you have been.'_

_'I've never had to brain anyone with a pole-arm, little bear.'_

Viktor looked grim. _'Neither will Hermione, if I have my say_.'

Bellatrix was having the strangest feeling. As upset as she was, her hand, like a magnet, wouldn't leave her daughter's. It was twined like ivy in the girl's, and the girl looked half ready to climb into her lap.

'Mother?'

'Hmm?'

'Are you hurt? You've got blood on you.'

'It's nothing, girl.' Bellatrix had taken a slashing hex to the shoulder, and it was still wet. Hermione opened her eyes and peeked worriedly at her mother. 'When we get to London, can Rinky look at it?'

Bellatrix's stupid hand wouldn't let go, even when she meant to scold the girl for...something. Instead, the other one moved to smooth the child's hair, feeling the mats in it.

'Not before you've had your feet tended to, girl. I can't imagine what you were thinking.'

Hermione closed her eyes again. 'Barty needs us, Mother. He's like a child.'

'He's a Death Eater.'

'He's a hero, like you and Father. And you'd come for me.' Her voice was utterly serene, sure of what she was saying, and Bellatrix's hand gripped more fiercely. 'If only to kill you should you ever do a thing like that again.'

'Yes, Mother.'

They set down at the Ministry and were led to the Floo. The house was musty, and the team of elves had made headway, but not enough for the smell to have faded, or the dust to be gone.

Hermione's feet were starting to throb. She settled on a chair and submitted to the poking and wailing of the elves, led by Rinky. Gibbon, attired in his nightshirt and a pair of trousers, arrived a few minutes later and went to work.

'Just a few minor burns. A bit of salve will take care of it, I'm sure.' The elves had scrubbed the dust from Hermione's feet, and Gibbon talked as he smeared the thick salve on and then wrapped both little feet in linen strips. 'Stay off of them for tonight, Miss Lestrange.'

'I will, Healer. Would you look at Mother's cut now?'

Gibbon snorted and rose with his black bag. 'Miss Lestrange, when you've figured out how to prevail on your mother to permit it, I shall be glad to pay you for the secret.'

Hermione smiled. 'Mother?'

Bellatrix came in. 'Girl, what's the matter? Do you need something for the pain?'

'No, Mother. Healer Gibbon wants to look you over.'

Bellatrix pulled a face. 'It's merely a scratch.' Hermione wriggled over in the vast armchair and Bellatrix sat down next to her. 'How are my daughter's feet, Gibbon?'

'Mild burns, Bellatrix. She'll be fine by tomorrow.'

'She'd best be. The Dark Lord is very upset about this, girl. You had no business doing such a dangerous thing, and you'll be very lucky if He doesn't scold you.'

Gibbon bit his tongue. The "Dark Lord" was outraged, was he? He'd scold the girl for endangering herself? Would he also take her pudding for a week? Perhaps send her to bed with no supper?

'Something funny, Nomascus?'

Gibbon recovered quickly. 'No, Bellatrix. She just looks so much like you at that age.'

'More like Father, I think, about the nose.'

'Definitely. You've a cut here.'

Hermione's hand found her mother's. Bellatrix held it and sat still whilst Gibbon examined the wound, frowning. 'I'll need some beeble berry poultice for this.'

Bellatrix tried to wriggle away. 'No, nothing like that. We've no time for this silliness, I'm needed in an hour at the Ministry.'

'Mother, will you see the Dark Lord?'

'Yes, and I'm sure He'll have some words for you.'

'He'll be worried if you're bleeding. Maybe Healer Gibbon can put some of that stuff on whilst Rinky gets us some clean clothes.'

Bellatrix looked cross. 'You're more like Narcissa every day.' She held out her arm and Gibbon dug in his bag. Hermione called Rinky and asked for clean robes and nightclothes for all of them.

The poultice burnt in the wound, and Bellatrix's jaw clenched, her hand clawing in pain. Hermione leant against her, ignoring the pain in her hand as her mother convulsively clenched and released.

'I'll need to change it tomorrow, Bellatrix. Should you like something for it?'

'No, of course not. Hermione, have your bath and then let the elves tuck you in. I'll be up in half an hour.'

Gibbon bent and murmured in Hermione's ear. 'I'll have a hundred galleons sent to your account, my dear.'

Hermione giggled. 'Am I all right to walk?'

'No. I'll spell you upstairs.'

There was a cough from the door. 'Is no need. I take her. Mother Lestrange, is good?'

Bellatrix rose to her feet. 'I'll come with you.' Viktor bent over his intended, and Hermione wrapped her arms about her his neck and he gently pulled her into his arms. It felt sort of funny-warm and shivery, but she liked it. She rested her head against him and closed her eyes as Bellatrix led them to the master bedroom.

Both children looked round the room. It was, after all, theirs, sort of. It was all dark wood and heavy velvet, with tapestried walls and brocade hangings. Viktor laid her down in the bed, face red, and bowed.

'Good evenink, Hermione, Mother Lestrange.'

Hermione's hand on his arm stopped him. _'You were splendid tonight_.'

_'So were you.' _He bowed again and then stepped out, uncomfortably aware of how she'd felt in his arms, how soft and warm she was. It suddenly hit Viktor that she would be his wife someday, in this room, in this bed, and her mother wouldn't be there.

He walked to the room he and Draco were to share, and sat on the bed, ashamed of his thoughts and still not turning them away, feeling her in his arms, head against his collarbones, thinking back to their flight together, the heat of the fire and the cold, whistling air as they'd fallen toward earth.

An elf popped in with a nightshirt for him. 'Anything else, Master?'

'No, is good. Shower here?' The elf showed him, and Viktor kept his nightshirt in front of him as they walked.

For security purposes, the women and children were being kept in Grimmauld Place that night. The men would stop in to see them, but they wanted to strike whilst the iron was hot. Bellatrix, of course, would be going as well, as even her reputation did a world of good with suspects. She donned her clean robes, let the elf spell the snarls from her hair and went up to tuck in her daughter, whom the elves had bathed and got into bed.

Hermione was lying back in the bed. 'Mother, will Aunt Narcissa be in soon?'

'She will. You really don't need anything for pain?'

Hermione shook her head. 'No. I'm all right.'

'Hmmph. I've half a mind to take the hairbrush to you. What were you thinking?'

Hermione nibbled her lip. 'I didn't see Cunegarde or Barty. I knew they'd need us, and the adults were busy.'

'Why did you not send an elf?'

'We did, but Barty had got away.'

Bellatrix laid next to her for a moment. 'Never worry us like that again.'

Hermione's stomach lurched as little as something occurred to her. 'I didn't mean to upset you, Mother.' There was a hitch in her tone, and Bellatrix rolled and laid her head next to her daughter's.

'No one is going to leave you, you silly child. Not ever. Now close your eyes and go to sleep.' Hermione was still nibbling.

'Promise?'

'Promise.'

Hermione rolled and held onto her mother tightly for a moment. 'I love you, Mother.'

'And I you, now roll on your stomach.' Hermione did, and Bellatrix began to pat her back awkwardly.

When Narcissa crept in five minutes later, Bellatrix made a hushing motion and led her sister outside. 'She's fragile right now.'

'I'd imagine she is.' Narcissa looked down at her sister with enormous love and said 'But I know precisely who she was acting like tonight, Bellatrix Druella.'

'Hmmph. She isn't either.'

'Is.'

'Go to bed, Narcissa.'

'Must you go? It's so late.'

'Duty calls, and anyway, there's Snatchers downstairs to protect you.'

'No one can protect me like my big sister can.'

'And no one can make me absolutely mad like my baby sister.' Bellatrix reached up and pecked her sister's cheek gently.

'Rest tomorrow, all of you.'

'Of course we will. We are truly lucky.'

Bellatrix nodded. 'Yes, we are. Good night, Cissy.'

'Good night, Trixie.' Bellatrix turned and left without another word, donning her cloak and mask to slip into the Ministry. Rodolphus and Malfoy were sitting in the atrium on chairs dragged there by elves. They rose when she entered and handed her a cup of strong, sweet coffee.

'We've the suspects in custody, and as soon as everyone's assembled, we'll be off.'

A tall, distinguished looking young man with prematurely silver hair was standing next to Rodolphus. He smiled charmingly at Bellatrix. 'Is good seeing you, Madam.'

'Penko, is it?'

'Yes. Nephew Viktor.'

'I remember.' Bellatrix's eyes scanned the room. When would He come and give them His wisdom? Her heart beat faster and her cheeks flushed. Seeing her like that, Penko could detect a shadow of the woman she had been.

The Floo went green, and the massive form of Galvin Goyle stepped through. As soon as he turned, they could see it was not him. 'Hello, friends.'

'My Lord! We have longed for your presence.' Bellatrix beamed and stepped toward him, blushing like a bride. The Dark Lord gently took one of her tiny hands in Goyle's big paw.

'Of course, darling Bella. And we will see you are amply rewarded for your pains this evening.'

The group went to the Minister's office. All walnut and deep gold upholstery, to Bellatrix, it looked like a cathouse. She perched on a settee and stared at the Dark Lord, the man she'd loved since he'd come to see her father when she was fifteen.

Scabior summed up the situation. 'An we thinks these blokes'll give us what we needs, M'Lord.'

'Rodolphus, I trust you will interrogate them?'

Rodolphus nodded. 'At Your word, my Lord.' The Dark Lord nodded, pleased, and gestured to Snape, who had followed him through.

'Severus and I were at work on my memoirs when we got the distressing news. What are your thoughts, Severus?' They'd left after supper to go to Hogwarts.

'I believe we ought to treat these people with all due harshness, my lord. It is my understanding that several non-combatants were nearly killed.'

Bellatrix nodded. 'My Lord, my daughter was nearly killed!'

'What a terrible thing.' The Dark Lord pulled a sorrowful face with Goyle's rough-hewn, homely features.

'What do we believe their next move to be?'

Rodolphus and Snape looked at one another. 'We aren't sure, my lord. We've people on all boarders, the Floo is cut off, except for our special connexions, and the post is being monitored.'

'Excellent. And the Bulgarians?'

Penko stepped forward and swished. '* _My lord, we're eager to help in any way we can. Our Minister has pledged a thousand aurors to secure Britain against this menace_*.'

'*_How kind of him. I shall take him up on that_.*'

He turned back to his Death Eaters, who were straining at the slips like greyhounds, eager for the hunt.

'I shall need you all to help coordinate this effort. Our very way of life is under attack.' They all nodded, and the Dark Lord turned to Selwyn, who was taking notes. 'And Ajax, the treasury will rebuild the damaged wing and replace whatever is damaged. See to it.'

'Thank you, my Lord' said Rodolphus, who'd been worried about the house. It had been in the family over a thousand years, and he wanted to make sure it stay there a thousand more.

'My Lord, perhaps you would deign to come and see the children? They, too, crave Your wisdom.'

'I will certainly find the time.'

'We would appreciate it very much.' Bellatrix thought a few good words from the Dark Lord would discourage this nice thing her daughter had.

'My lord, the children were nearly killed tonight. All three of them got safely from the house but returned to find Cunegarde Lestrange and Barty Crouch whilst the adults were occupied in fighting the interlopers.' Snape's face was impassive.

'Did they? How exemplary.' The Dark Lord rose and started for the door. He turned to his best and most loyal, who had a strange look on her face.

'Bella?'

'Could my Lord have a word with Hermione? She was the one who convinced the others. We worry that her kind impulses might hurt her.'

'Did she say why she did such a thing?'

'Because she said we would do it for her, and Barty is...not well. In his mind.' Snape almost felt sorry for Bellatrix, her face corpse white, her eyes like holes punched in a marble slab.

'Again, most exemplary. But Bella, we must all make sacrifices. Surely you, of all people, must know that?'

And before she could answer, he had swept off, giving orders to Selwyn.


	27. Chapter 27

**A/N: Love to reviewers and Countess Black**

**We're preparing to move in a few weeks, so things might get crazy in terms of posting. **

Sirius Black donned his latest togs-faded trousers, a ripped, muddy jersey and trainers-and submitted, with no good grace, to a haircut. Clean shaven, hair coloured a medium brown, he looked more or less like any down on his luck wizard.

Snape handed him a pouch with a hundred galleons in, with some minor personal effects to add authenticity, papers, and a small phial of something sludgy and deep brown.

'What's this?'

'It would be in both our interests for you not to be taken alive, Black.'

Sirius nodded as Snape disillusioned the phial to look like a comb. 'The word is "apple", Black.' Should he be captured, all Black would need do was say the word and the glamour would fade long enough for him to bite the phial.

'Thanks.' Sirius looked up and found the elf. He extended his hand and the elf took it. He had his marching orders, after all, and he was prepared. 'Good luck, Snape.'

'And you, Black. You'll need it.'

The elf took him to Knockturn Alley. Sirius's heart was hammering. There was, he supposed, a perverse thrill in being in the heart of Wizarding London, but damned if he could feel it.

He started to walk toward the tavern he'd been directed to. Snape's directions were, of course, perfect, and he found it in less than ten minutes of purposeful but not hurried walking.

He stepped inside, to the reek of sweat and cheap, badly made ale and fatty pies. He sat at the table and motioned to the barmaid. 'Porter and pie, please.' She nodded, unsmiling.

A dodgy looking bloke was sidling over. Sirius felt for the wand Snape had got him from who knows where, and then ignored the fellow.

'Ello, friend. Mighty fine weather, innit?'

Sirius smiled. 'Not as fair as your sister.' The bloke sat down, and Sirius ate his pie, which was all gristle, and listened, and was afraid and exultant. His blood was singing, his mouth dry with excitement. He felt alive again. _Now_ he'd found the thrill.

Snape himself returned to Grimmauld Place. It was still early, and none of the others had returned yet.

'Miss Lestrange?'

'Hello, Professor.' The girl turned and limped toward him, smiling despite her obvious discomfort. Snape frowned down. 'Why are you not in bed?'

'Can't sleep.'

'Why not?'

Hermione squirmed a bit. 'My feet hurt.'

'How did you get downstairs?'

Hermione looked up at him, feeling pride despite her discomfort. 'I put a cushioning spell on them.'

'Come and sit down, Miss Lestrange. We'll dose you and put you back to bed.'

'I'm not tired, Professor, really.'

'_I_ am tired.'

Hermione made a face but let herself be gently guided up and over the settee. The potions master unwound the bandages and called for his bag. Rinky watched him suspiciously as Snape fished out a dose of something and handed it over.

Hermione drank it and made a face. 'That's horrid!'

'You made it.'

'At your direction!'

Snape bit back a chuckle at her affronted expression. 'You know how I delight in torturing you.'

He raised his wand and flicked at the bandages. They unravelled like white snakeskin, and as Rinky scowled above them, Snape plucked out a tin of salve and started to apply it.

'Is there some reason you did not just have your elf come and help you?'

'Well...I didn't want to wake Aunt Narcissa. And I feel bad I made Father and Mother worry. I wanted to apologise.'

Snape suspected that fear of abandonment was pricking the girl, whether she knew it or not. 'You understand your parents were merely worried, do you not? This will not unduly harm your relationship with them.'

'I know.' She looked at her hand. 'But I still feel bad.' He flicked again and rewound the bandages.

'Your mother spoke to you?'

'Yes.'

'Do you think Bellatrix Lestrange prone to lying?'

'No' said Hermione immediately. 'She never lies, that I know of.'

Except, of course, denying that hideous thing with the aurors to calm her daughter, but Snape had absolutely no intention of bringing that up. Instead, he nodded roughly.

'All right. Now up to bed with you.'

Hermione looked piteous. 'I've only been awake an hour or so. Can't I sit up with you, Professor?'

'No.'

'Please?'

'No.'

'They shouldn't be so much longer.'

'Miss Lestrange.'

'Professor.'

'No. And those sad eyes will not work on me.' Hermione's eyes were big and damp, and Snape frowned sternly at her. The girl was strangely uncowed by his display of annoyance. If anything, she looked almost...amused.

'Just for a moment?'

'Miss Lestrange.'

'Professor?'

Before this irksomely circular argument could continue (which Snape would definitely have won, mind you. The spymaster of Britain did _not _lose to little girls in nightgowns who don't want to go to bed, sad eyes or no sad eyes) the door opened. Both drew, though Hermione was perhaps not very fearsome in her nightgown and bandaged feet.

Rodolphus Lestrange came through the wards looking exhausted. 'Hello, Snape. Hermione Bellatrix, why are you awake?'

'I wanted to see you and Mother, Father.'

Rodolphus turned to his comrade. 'This does nothing to convince me, Severus. Now, my girl, you're going back to bed.'

'I'm all right, Father, really.'

'Hermione Bellatrix, this is not up for debate. And Mother will be very cross with all of us should you be awake when she comes home.'

That got her attention (and since when had the child been more afraid of Bellatrix than Snape, anyway?), and she nodded. 'That's true.' Rodolphus bent over and Hermione said something to which her father nodded.

'Yes, that's fine. Excuse us, Severus.' Hermione got to her feet and Rodolphus picked her up and carried her into the library. The door closed, but not before Snape heard Hermione say 'Oh, my! Look at the books!'

As the door closed, Rodolphus sat down on the divan. Hermione nestled against him, sighing deeply, and said 'I'm sorry, Father.'

'For what, love?'

'Mother said how worried everyone was.'

In truth, Rodolphus hadn't known she was in danger until he'd seen her on the ledge, clinging to the boy. But he wasn't about to tell her that, and so he nodded sagely. 'We care about you very much, Hermione.'

'Yes, Father. And I didn't mean...' Her voice was hitching a bit, and Rodolphus's mental antennae, as sensitive as cat's whiskers, gave a short sharp twitch. He leant down and cupped her face in his hand.

'Hermione, is something the matter?'

She didn't answer right away, and when she did, the words were slurring a little from emotion and pain reliever. 'Mother said no one would leave me. That's true, isn't it?'

'Of course it is. You're a child, sweetheart. You do naughty things sometimes. We understand that.' Her hands were holding him with panicky tightness, and Rodolphus pressed her head against him and hummed tunelessly, meaning to calm her down before they talked any more.

'And we just don't want you to be hurt. You were all terribly brave this evening, and we are so proud of you for that. But you know what you did was dangerous?'

Hermione nodded. 'Yes.'

'And you knew to send an elf rather than go by yourself, is that right?'

'Yes, Father.' She was still clinging to him, but her muscles were starting to relax a bit, and he thought she'd stopped breathing quite as hard. Rodolphus put a hand on her forehead and she snuggled into it.

'Are you going to smack me, Father?'

Rodolphus hadn't planned on it, exactly, though the thought had crossed his mind. He didn't move. 'Do you think you need to be?'

Hermione swallowed hard. 'I don't know. I might feel better.'

'Why is that?'

'I scared everyone. It was dangerous.'

'Yes, it was. But was it purposely bad, Hermione?'

'No. I wanted to save Barty and Aunt.'

'And you did.' Rodolphus honestly didn't know what he should do, but he thought asking would be useless. How many parents have to deal with their children's rogue heroism causing them to run into burning buildings? Not many, he supposed, and most of those were probably Gyffindors, and thus not inclined to think about it too much.

'I know. But Mother was upset.'

'Everyone was, darling. Because we would be very sad if anything happened to you.'

Hermione nodded. Her chest hurt, and all the feelings she'd had since Alise had told her the realities of her situation were roiling under the surface like an infected wound.

Hermione juddered unsteadily to her feet and bent across her father's lap without another word. Rodolphus hadn't expected it, but he thought perhaps the child was simply being very honest; she needed to feel like she'd got punished for making them scared.

He raised the hem of her nightdress but left her knickers in place. Hermione yelped when his hand made contact, but did not protest. Rodolphus felt her breath deeply and gently shifted himself so she could kick without her feet hitting anything.

Hermione was confused by her own behaviour. She didn't like to be smacked. It hurt, and it was embarrassing. One the other hand, she didn't like how uncertain and bruised she felt emotionally, and she thought a cry might fix it.

Rodolphus smacked another minute or so, enough that the girl was starting to squirm. 'Hermione, you do not put yourself in danger. We are very proud of how brave you were, but you tell an adult, do you understand?'

Hermione gasped, kicking. This hurt! He was smacking a bit harder than before, and every one burnt. 'Oww! Yes, Father!'

'And furthermore, you will stop worrying about being left. You did nothing to cause what happened, do you hear me?'

'OWW! Yes, Father!'

'That's a good girl. Now, what will you do next time?'

'Tell an adult! Oww!'

'That's right.' Rodolphus gave her another few smacks and then stopped, rubbing her back and tugging her hem down. Hermione was crying, and he made no move to help her up until she made as though to stand.

Rodolphus scooped her up and carried her for the stairs. 'Do you feel all better, darling?'

Hermione nodded, head on his shoulder. 'Yes, Father.'

'And you can sleep now?'

'I think so.'

He carried her to the room and opened the door. Narcissa Malfoy groaned and squinted. 'H'lo?'

'It's me, Cissy. Hermione needed to ask me something.'

'Are you all right, love?'

Hermione nodded. 'I'm fine, Aunt Narcissa.'

Narcissa rolled over and opened the covers. Rodolphus set his daughter down, and she closed her eyes at once. He kissed her cheek, gave his sister in law a smile, and left, closing the door.

When Bellatrix returned half an hour later, her husband appraised her of what had happened. She nodded, half hearing, feeling a thousand years old at least. 'You did well, Rodolphus.'

'Thank you, love.'

There were Snatchers sleeping in the attic or cellar, or even the corridors, so Bellatrix picked her way between them and into the room. Her daughter and sister were asleep. She donned her nightgown and climbed in, the bed more than big enough for them all.

In the dark, Bellatrix laid a long, long time, and wondered things she dared not put into words, even for herself. It would be fine. Everything would be fine.

But really, she wasn't very sure about that.

Snape had sent the Black and the elf at five thirty, and seen the Lestrange girl at quarter after seven. He knew it was too early to expect any news from the dog, but he found himself wondering frequently whether it would pan out.

There was a chance, however slim, that the contact could be a Snatcher. Or a free lancer, who'd turn Black over to the Snatchers for the hundred galleons it entailed. Or simply a robber and murderer. And he couldn't send the elf as a safety net, because the girl needed it, now more than ever.

He finally found the bed which had been put aside for him at nine thirty. Head buzzing, he stripped to just his shirt and laid down. His high status meant he had his own room, and so, feeling relatively safe, he rolled on his side and went to sleep, sparing a last thought to his little spy and her worrisome fears. It might damage his enterprise if she worried overmuch; how could he fix this?

The house woke en masse after noon, and because Gibbon decided the burns looked a bit more serious than his initial diagnosis, he decreed that Hermione was on bed rest for the day. She was less than enthused, but since she had no choice, she decided to make the best of things by sending Rinky for books from the (_her_, her's and Viktor's) library.

Settled against a stack of fluffy pillows, she spent a few very happy hours buried in books, enjoying Rinky's pampering and stories more than usual. At two o'clock, she convinced the elf she needed visitors to keep her cheerful, and the first one was her cousin.

'Hello, Hermione.'

'Draco! How are you?'

'Sore. That old woman has nails like a hag.'

Hermione giggled and nodded. 'She's furious we didn't let her burn, you know.'

Draco sat on the edge of the bed, being exactly young enough that it wasn't an impropriety.

'She's not so bad when one gets used to her.'

'Like having some sort of terrible injury, I expect. One endures and learns to live with the constant pain and misery.'

Hermione giggled, covering her mouth, and laid back against her pillows. 'Were your parents very angry?'

'Not as much as I'd have thought. Father gave me the usual lecture about thinking before I act, but...' he shrugged to indicate that's what one could expect from parents 'I think they understood it. And people from the newspaper are coming, you know.'

Hermione made a face. 'Not them again. They're irritating.'

'Well, yes, but we've an obligation to lesser people. This will encourage them to serve the common good, or something.'

'Do you think so?'

'Father says so. He says we're all obliged to serve our betters.'

Hermione suspected that Draco thought his father the source of all Truth, but said nothing. She understood how it was to love a parent despite other people's perceptions of their behaviour. And Uncle Lucius had always been nice to her. She'd just have to overcome her discomfort, was all.

'You'd best get used to it, anyway. Krum's going to be a great Quidditch player soon, and everyone will want to interview you and take your picture.'

'Ugh, can't imagine why. It's nothing to do with me.'

Draco's eyes widened. 'But you'll be an example for other girls. They'll copy your hair and robes, and want you to speak at witch's clubs and everything.'

'I'm very proud of Viktor. But he should get the attention, is all I mean.'

'Hermione' said Draco with utmost patience 'it doesn't work like that. And you've an obligation too, you know, to serve the Dark Lord by your good example.'

'I know.' Hermione had heard all this before, and she sometimes wondered whether women really did have the easier part. She thought she'd rather get to go on raids and fight like Mother than supervise dinners, but she couldn't tell Aunt Narcissa that.

'He likes you, I think. His Lordship.'

'I'm honoured, of course.'

Draco wondered why his cousin seemed so sad all the sudden. Some sort of girl thing, he thought with the wisdom of a twelve year old. 'Do you need to rest, then?'

'No. I'm just being silly. Shall we play gobstones? I'll bet there's a set.'

Rinky did indeed prevail on a house elf to dig up a set, and the two played without much serious conversation for almost an hour. There was a knock and Viktor, attired in a casual tunic and trousers, came in when bidden. He bowed to Hermione and smiled at Draco, who immediately got more vigilant. There was a bed now, and that somehow made it more dangerous for his cousin. That was his impression, at least, and he resolved to ask his godfather at first chance.

An elf brought a chair (Viktor was a bit too old to perch, for all no one, even the elves, thought he meant any harm to the girl), and they settled in to talk about what had happened the night before.

'Parents is angry?'

'No, mine aren't.'

'Nor mine' said Hermione, who saw no reason to mention she'd got smacked, especially because she'd more or less asked for it. The others had each got a few swats (Draco) or a long, serious lecture (Viktor) so it was an unstated assumption that she, too, had been in more trouble than she was letting on.

'Have book. Book of...histories. Of family.' Viktor handed Hermione the book, which was bound in faded leather and flaking gold. Even Draco could find no fault in his intentions, as it looked both heavy and deadly dull.

Hermione's eyes lit up. She opened it reverently and saw the hand drawn plates, the carefully done maps and portraits. Her heart soared. It was in Bulgarian, however, which she couldn't read.

Viktor bent over and flipped to a page in the middle. 'Miraslava Krum in 1171 made scairt Bogomil armies. Three times made scairt. They run. Three times in one day.' Hermione studied the woman, who'd had a fierce set of eyebrows and a hard mouth, and understood what Viktor was trying to communicate to her.

'Oh, Viktor...' She smiled at him, which made him blush to the hairline. Draco looked away, feeling as though he was interrupting but unable to slip out without crushing his family's trust in him and leaving his cousin to the predations of this shy, harmless bloke.

Fortunately, Aunt Trixie came in and glared at them for a second. 'Aren't you supposed to be resting, the lot of you?'

'It's my fault, Mother. I asked them in.'

'You got out of bed?' His aunt's brows lowered, and Draco felt a bit unnerved. How did Hermione stand it? He liked his uncle well enough, but Aunt Trixie made him feel like he was a little kid again, and not almost a man.

'No, Mother. I asked Rinky to invite them for me.'

'Oh. I suppose that's fine, then. Are you feet hurting? I'll know if you lie.'

'No, Mother. My next phial is at four, and then I'll nap, I promise.'

'You'd best. That Skeeter woman is coming just before supper.'

Hermione made a face, as she had when Draco told her. 'Can't we all be resting?'

'Our Lord needs us to make the people understand.'

'Draco said that, too.'

Bellatrix nodded approvingly at her nephew. 'There's a good boy, Draco. Come walk with me.'

Rinky popped in and hovered discreetly above the intended couple as the others went into the corridor. 'Aunt Trixie, is everything all right? My parents?'

'Fine, fine. Just wanted to thank you. I know you've been watching them together.'

Draco smiled at the praise. 'She's younger than I, Aunt Trixie. She doesn't know how boys are.'

'That's right. What's that he gave her?'

'Some old book. I think about history.'

'Oh' said Bellatrix, who preferred novels. 'Well, can't say it's not proper.'

'Even Grandmama would have liked it.'

Bellatrix nodded. 'Quite. Go and find Madam Krum for me, would you? She and I ought to talk. I'll watch Hermione and Krum.' Draco knew they couldn't send a mere elf for a near family member and went to mind his aunt, humming a bit to himself.

Hermione listened as Viktor explained, determined to learn to read Bulgarian. She would have to give him a truly wonderful gift for this, something really special. She got it and when he'd done talking, she called for Rinky to go and get her copy of Hogwarts, a History.

Viktor turned it over in his hands. It was common, something he could have bought new, but he saw how well thumbed it was, how tattered, and that it was something she valued. He read no English, and he determined he would learn as quickly as possible so they could talk about it.

Neither of them, examining their new books, even heard Bellatrix come in. She stood silent, watching as they looked over their treasures, and felt a strange warmth in her heart. To think they'd nearly wasted the girl on Wetherell McNair! Snape, for all she hated him, had chosen splendidly, and Rodolphus as well. The McNairs had offered more in terms of property and assets, but she thought the Krum boy would make her daughter genuinely happy.

And the Dark Lord, of course. He had approved the match, and had made the stage for it to be possible. And he knew her heart completely, so much he'd generously chosen a wonderful boy for her only child.

She ignored the tiny, tiny worm of doubt that nudged her brain. The Dark Lord had merely been tired the night before, was all. His new and little form couldn't sustain as much as it would once it had grown a bit.

He'd come and make sure Hermione understood how precious she was, how it would hurt them if she was injured or worse. He would, and the girl would comprehend, and stop fearing, and they'd be fine. Fine, they'd be perfectly fine.

Hermione smiled. 'Mother, come see.'

She did. Wizarding people saw nothing strange about receiving visitors in one's night clothing, but she saw her daughter in her little linen nightgown and saw how small she seemed, and how innocent. Bellatrix would do anything to defend that, she knew in her heart, a certainty like the breaking of bones. She'd waded through a river of blood and would again, to protect the child.

'How pretty, Hermione.'

'Is ancestor. 1171, scairt army three times. Was siege.' Hermione had taught him the new word, and he used it wanting to make her proud. She smile blindingly at him, and Bellatrix found herself squinting at the boy, approving of the way he went red every time the girl looked at him.

_'Is your mother upset with me?'_

_'Mother? No, that's her happy face.'_

Viktor nodded cautiously, hoping Hermione wasn't translating right. Mother Lestrange seemed to him the sort who would bite a gnome back, and much as he approved of that in theory, in practice, it was disconcerting. Hermione was doing it too, which made the odds of a mistranslation unlikely.

'Trixie? Bellatrix? We've a meeting in ten minutes.' Travers bowed when he saw the girl. 'How are you, love?'

'I'm all right, Mr. Travers. You know my intended, Viktor Krum?'

'I do. Mr. Krum, it's good to see you again.'

'Hello. You too, sir.'

'His Lordship needs us in ten minutes. He wants to start sweeping the boarder region.'

'As He commands, I obey. You two' she meant the children 'I trust you to behave. I'll know whether you've been good.' She couldn't technically order the elf to tell her, but no need for them to know that, was there?

'Yes, Mother.'

'Yes, Mother Lestrange.' They both looked sufficiently uncomfortable to Bellatrix, and so she left them there with a final sharp look. As soon as the door shut, Viktor raised an eyebrow. Hermione translated what had just happened and he nodded.

_'Ah. So your cousin isn't coming back in?'_

_'I don't know. I think he is.'_

'_Doesn't he like me? He gives me very strange looks_.' Viktor didn't mean that they all seemed to do it. Was it some custom he didn't know about? Did they not like his attempts at English?

_'No, it's...he's afraid..._' Hermione went pink. She was ordinarily a very forthright girl when it came to things of that nature, but she was aware that being with Viktor like that was no abstraction. It was almost a sure thing, and she suddenly wondered what it would be like to lie beside him in this bed and close the curtains.

Viktor was having similar thoughts. He was, after all, almost fifteen, and his body was aware, even as his mind desperately thought of other things, that the girl beside him would be his wife someday.

Hermione decided this was silly. She reached out and took his hand. _'It's scary, isn't it?'_

_'Scary?'_

_'Everyone decided for us. And someday we'll...I mean..._'

_'I...yes...but I won't...I'd never hurt you.'_

_'Of course not' _said Hermione firmly _'and we'll learn together_.'

_'Learn?'_

_'About being married.'_

_'You want to marry me?'_

_'Yes, very much. You're kind and brave._' If she hadn't earned his whole heart before, she did then. Not what she said, but the way she said it, as casually as though she was talking about the weather.

Viktor was a solid brick red to the roots of his hair. He could find no words, so instead, with no planning at all, he leant over and pressed his mouth very gently and carefully to hers, lest her overwhelm her.

Hermione went rigid but then found herself relaxing a little. It only lasted a second, and as kisses go, it wasn't exactly earth shattering, but she came up pink cheeked, her eyes sparkling.

_'Do it again_?'

And so great was Viktor's absolute shock that she'd enjoyed it, and his gratitude, and his wonder, that he did. This time, Hermione controlled things, and gently touched his hand whilst their lips were together.

Viktor bent and pressed his lips to her forehead. 'I go now.'

Hermione nodded. She knew nothing could top that, but a good many things soil it, and so she relaxed against the pillows, eyes closed, face pink with pleasure.

'Rinky?'

'Miss?'

'You won't tell anyone?'

'No, Miss. No one at all.'

'Promise?'

'Yes, Miss.' She closed her eyes and snuggled back, reliving the moment in her mind, feeling the slight rasp of Viktor's nascent facial hair, and how his hand had touched her's. She felt a deep, mysterious happiness that she could not have put into words had she wanted to. She didn't.

When Draco came back, having finally found Madam Krum after twenty minutes of fruitless looking and bad translation charms, he discovered his aunt was at the meeting and his cousin asleep.

He closed the door behind himself and crept out, back to the room he and Krum shared. The other boy was a quiet sort, so Draco didn't notice that he was deep in contemplation.

Finally, after a solid hour of silence, Viktor said 'Drago?'

Draco had been reading a magazine, and he turned to his cousin in law to be. 'Viktor?'

'I no hurt Herm-on-neen-ee. Never. Promise.'

Draco nodded. He took it for granted that Krum wouldn't, because then Draco's father would be angry with him, and that was one of the worst things Draco could conceive happening to someone.

'I know.'

'I no hurt name.'

It took Draco a second. 'Compromise her, you mean?'

'Yes, compromise.'

'How does one do that?'

Viktor nearly laughed, seeing the boy's overly casual look, but said seriously. 'Is like this...'

It was, to put it mildly, enlightening.


	28. Chapter 28

**A/N: Love to reviewers and Countess Black**

**I really meant for Draco to go and find Snape. Unfortunately, Malfoy Sr had other plans, and I've learnt when to push and when to give in (always).**

**Also, spoiler A/N at the bottom.**

**For much of history, people were deeply concerned with making sure their wives and daughters weren't stolen by rivals. Heiress abduction was a serious problem as late as the 1600s. It was unusual for people to actually do what the characters are talking about below in order to thwart a potential abductor. See below.**

Draco Malfoy was troubled. Krum was having him on, clearly, and so, once the bloke had laid down for a nap, he rose silently and went downstairs. His cousin, too, seemed to be sleeping, or something, because he poked his head in as saw that she was lying against her pillows, cheeks pink, eyes closed.

'Must be a really good dream' he mused, and then went to find his father. Father was in a parlour with that creepy Scabior and a few of the others. Draco's feelings for them could be described as fearful contempt-he was afraid of them almost as often as he reminded himself that they were scum, not fit for a Malfoy (or Lestrange, which was as fine as name) to wipe his shoes on, but there was something about them which made the primal parts of his brain tingle with warning.

Father smiled as Draco came in and sat down. 'Something the matter, l-Draco?'

Draco smiled back. 'No, sir, I just wondered whether you have a moment.'

'I do. Thank you, Scabior.' The men nodded and vanished like smoke, and Draco found he could breath again.

'Those fellows are dreadfully...'

Lucius smiled. 'A place for everyone, Draco, from high to low, and that includes your uncle's mad dogs and freaks.'

Draco didn't quite follow, but reminding himself he was a big boy who didn't need to be cuddled all the time, he settled next to his father and rested his head on his shoulder, wishing he wasn't too old to sit on his lap.

Lucius's hand crept up to rub the place between his shoulder blades. 'I take it you didn't come to ask me about the kennel?'

Draco snorted. 'That'd be werewolves, Father, wouldn't it?'

'Quite, and very clever of you, Draco. Even people-and beasts-like that have their functions.'

'Like what?'

'Have you seen how they dress? It encourages people to fear them.'

'They look silly, though.' Draco considered himself quite well dressed, and when he was old, as old as Father, he'd look very smart all the time, and have women whisper how handsome he was.

'Do they? To us, perhaps, but imagine they showed up at your door and accused you of a crime. They'd look very distinctive and threatening, would they not?'

'Like those snakes with red scales?'

'Precisely so. And it adds to their mythos-your uncle has a reputation for...forcefulness, shall we say? And the appearance of his men is part of it.'

'So they dress like that because everyone will know who and what they are?'

'Just so. Is everything else all right?'

Draco snuggled closer. 'I think so. Father, how does a man ruin a woman?'

'Sorry?'

'I was just talking to Krum, and he said he'd never compromise Hermione.'

'Do you have some reason to doubt his honour in that?'

'No. No, except that then I asked him how one does that.'

'I see.'

'So he explained it.' Draco was gnawing his lip between words. He looked down. 'Do you suppose he's the sort that would put someone on?'

'What did he tell you?'

'He said...well...he said that when people are married, they share a bed.'

'You knew that, Draco.'

'Yes, I did. But then he said sometimes they touch one another, and it can ruin the woman if the wrong parts touch before they're married. Is that true?'

Lucius inhaled. 'It depends on the parts of the body involved and whether they're both clothed, Draco.'

'Married people have to sleep naked?' Draco's cheeks were crimson at the very idea, and Lucius sternly forbade himself from laughing. The boy was being honest, was all, and he owed it to him to keep his trust and not belittle him.

'Not have to, love.'

'Well, if they have to be naked, Father, why do we worry about Krum and Hermione, then? It's not like we wouldn't notice them undressed.'

Lucius did laugh then, because the logic was impeccable, if not quite right. 'Because...it's very complicated, Draco. Did he say anything else?'

'We used a translation charm, so it wasn't very easy to follow, but he said a man can't touch a woman below the shoulders until they're married or he's not a gentlemen anymore.'

'He's correct. Have you reason to believe he has violate that?'

'No. He wouldn't, I don't think.'

'Is something else worrying you?'

Draco looked down. 'Not really. I just wanted to check.'

'Krum didn't tell you anything else.'

'He said that if another man says you've touched a woman, you're obliged to duel them to defend her virtue and your honour. Is that true?'

'More on the Continent than here, Draco, but traditionally it is.'

'If they're not in bed, is it all right?'

'No.'

'But if they aren't in bed, how would they get ruined? They aren't touching naked.'

'It's not just in bed, Draco, or naked. It's touching in private places.'

Draco's eyes lit up with comprehension. 'Wait, you mean...'

'Yes.'

If anything, he looked more worried than ever. 'But that's...'

'Where babies come from.'

' But you said before that babies come from love between two people.'

'That's true as well.'

Draco looked appalled. 'Father, I can't imagine what touching there has got to do to love.'

Lucius dug his nails into his palms to keep from laughing out loud.

'There's many kinds of love, Draco. When a person loves someone else enough, they want to share everything with them, even that part of themselves.'

'And that's why we have to watch them together? Krum and Hermione?'

'Yes, it is.'

Draco looked round the dusty little room, littered with knick knacks and the faint, persistent smell of dust and wet. 'So they love one another?'

'I don't know, Draco. And sometimes people do it for less elevated reasons. But it can be easy to forget oneself, so we watch, not because of any failing in Krum. Or your cousin, for that matter.'

'He really likes her.'

'I'm glad.'

'I am, too. Wetherell McNair is a plonker.'

'I shan't disagree with you on that.'

Draco stood and hugged his father. 'Thank you, Father.'

'When you're older, Draco, we'll discuss the specifics of...these matters. Be a good boy, now, and don't say anything to Mother.'

'No, Father.' He wandered up the stairs and peeked in on Hermione. She was awake and smiling, still rosy. 'Hello, Draco.'

'Hello.' Draco perched on the edge of the bed and took his cousin's hand in his. 'Hermione, you know we care about you.'

Hermione blinked, a cool feeling crawling down her spine. 'Has something bad happened, Draco?'

'No, no. Only, make me a promise?'

'All right.'

'If a man should ever try to touch you below the neck-except the hands must be fine, because men take ladies' hands all the time-let me know so I can duel them.'

Hermione nodded slowly. 'Did something make you think of this?'

Draco looked serious, so serious Hermione sort of wanted to giggle. 'Nothing for you to worry about. Just be careful, all right?'

'I will.' And because Viktor had no touched her below the neck, and she had touched his hand and not vice versa, she said nothing. Draco leant over and pecked her forehead. 'Are you going to take your potions soon?'

Hermione made a face. 'Honestly, the lot of you.'

'We worry.' The elf brought the phials and Hermione swallowed and laid back. His duty done, Draco gravely tiptoed out, and decided he'd read something that had absolutely nothing to do with body parts touching.

Rita Skeeter was not insensible of the great good luck she'd had in being invited to come and interview the three child heroes of the attack on the Lestrange house. She'd dressed well and doused herself in perfume, and didn't even complain when she had to give up her wand and purse in to the Snatchers who waited in the atrium likes ghosts of themselves. More accurately, like the ghosts of other people, as she recognised several of them from their trials. Her heart started to beat faster as Phidippides Limpkin, the London Fog Killer, began to go through her purse, and on her other side, Lemuel Scabior politely asked her to step from her shoes so he could check them.

After they'd approved, Scabior handed back her shoes, and Limpkin (whose trial she had covered in salacious detail), her purse. 'There y'are, ma'am. Limpkin n I'll takes you to Miss Lestrange. Er intended and aunt are there too, an the other ladies.'

The corridors were quiet, with other flamboyantly dressed, silent men stationed every few feet, like statues. Outside the door, Rodolphus Lestrange himself was smiling gently.

'So nice to see you again, Miss Skeeter. How have you been?' He took her hand and held it a beat. His hands were big and smooth. Rita recalled every rumour she had ever heard and had to fight not to pull away, shivering.

'My daughter is very enthused at this opportunity, but please remember how fragile Hermione is. We wouldn't want her overexcited or upset.' Rita did shiver then, and forced herself to smile and nod.

'Of course, Mr. Lestrange.'

'And you'll be able to speak to some of the others, as well. Mr. Krum and the younger Mr. Malfoy are there, as are his mother and my wife.' If the stories about Rodolphus and his chamber in the bottom of the Ministry were the stuff of terrible rumours, Bellatrix and her games were the stuff of nightmares.

'Of course.'

Rodolphus opened the door. 'Sweetheart, Miss Skeeter is here.'

The girl, Rita had to admit, was pretty, with her big, soft doe eyes and a cloud of dark curls. She was propped on a pile of pure white pillows, dressed in a little bed jacket. The cynical reporter part of Rita had to admit, these people put on an excellent show.

Beside her, Bellatrix Lestrange was perched like a bird of prey. She watched suspiciously, wand surely close, one hand in her daughter's. The Krum boy was next to her on a chair, face blank, and next to him, Malfoy's son, looking at her as though he thought she'd try to attack them.

'Miss Skeeter, how good of you to come. Please, sit down.' The Krum boy rose, bowing a bit, and offered her the chair. Rita sat down, knees together, and looked up at the boy, who moved back, not looking at her.

'How are you, Miss Lestrange?'

'Well. My feet hurt a little, though.' She smiled, looking down self deprecatingly. 'And yourself?'

'Sorry to hear about your misfortunes. Is it true you rushed back into the house to get Madam Lestrange and Mr. Crouch from the flames?'

The girl actually blushed. 'Well, not precisely. Mr. Krum and young Mr. Malfoy and I didn't see them and we wanted to be sure they were safe. Where we were wasn't on fire.'

Oh, this was too good. Rita bit back a giggle. Witches' Weekly would love this. She was mentally picking out new furniture for her flat as she wrote the response. The Malfoy boy raised an eyebrow at his cousin, who actually blushed a bit.

'She's being modest, Miss Skeeter.'

'Yes' agreed the Krum boy 'Herm-on-nee-ee very brave.'

'Where was Mr. Crouch?'

There was a slight pause, a kind of verbal comma which said everything. 'Mr. Crouch was in the west tower. His rooms are near there.'

'And your aunt?'

'Aunt Cunegarde was in her rooms also. But Draco-young Mr. Malfoy-would know better than I about that.'

Rita turned and looked at the Malfoy boy, who was visibly sitting up straighter. 'Madam Lestrange wanted the elves to be sure we were out of the house first. It was difficult to convince her not to sacrifice herself for the rest of us.'

Rita nodded and made an admiring noise as she recorded the answer. She wondered what had really happened. Had Crouch, who was obviously mad, kidnapped the old woman?

'And Mr. Crouch?'

'Mr. Crouch insisted Mr. Krum and I leave before he would. Mr. Krum used his Quidditch skills to help him.' The girl looked at the Krum boy, who went red but nodded.

'Miss Lestrange did. Mr. Crouch go vith her, not me. Mr. Crouch muchly luffs.'

'No doubt.' Rita took the whole thing down. The accent was actually sort of charming, shame she couldn't use it.

'And then?'

From the edge of the bed, the Lestrange woman spoke in her dry voice. 'We'd repelled the invaders and came to find them.'

'My goodness. Were you very afraid?'

'They're our children.' The woman's eyes were fathomless, and her lips were painted a red so dark it was almost purple. Rita nodded, disturbed by what she perceived in the woman's demeanour, and turned her attention to Narcissa.

'Madam Malfoy, have you got anything to add?'

'I don't, but thank you. The children are the heroes of the hour.'

'Of course.' Rita wondered what else they wanted her to do. She had more than enough for a story that would send the readers into a screaming frenzy, and given how hard the Ministry had been pushing the Bulgarian alliance, this would be the icing on Lucius Malfoy's cake.

'Well, thank you for speaking with me. Is there anything else you might like to add?'

Hermione shook her head. 'I don't think so. Viktor?'

'No.'

'Draco?'

'No, thank you.' Rita rose and nodded to the assembled. 'Are you badly injured?'

The girl shook her head. 'No, not much. Healer Gibbon's said we'll all be all right in a day or so.'

'All?'

'Nearly all of us got minor cuts and bruises.'

'How terrible. But you were hurt the worst?'

'I didn't think to wear slippers. Silly of me.' She smiled again, and Rita saw the shadow of her mother as she'd been, all good skin and hair and intelligence. Bellatrix hadn't moved from the girl's side, and her eyes followed the Skeeter woman without cease.

'Madam Lestrange, have you any comments for people concerned with their safety in the face of this foreign horde?'

Bellatrix stared at some point above Rita's head. 'Talk to my brother in law about that. He's all the best information.'

'Would it be all right for us to talk about Miss Lestrange's experiences more generally? The girls of Wizarding Britain are dying to know.'

The former Black sister exchanged a look. 'If Hermione is up to it.'

'I'd be willing, Mother. But we don't want to hold up supper for anyone.'

'I'll have Kreacher serve the men downstairs, love.' Narcissa Malfoy rose smoothly and walked out to speak to the elf, turning back at the last moment. 'Join us, Miss Skeeter?'

'I'd be honoured.' Now Rita was seeing the new clothes she'd buy to go with the new furniture. Perhaps even a fur. She'd always wanted a mink caplet, and now she suspected she'd get one. Perhaps with a matching alligator handbag? She smiled and settled down to ask the questions that would pay for it.

As the ladies chatted in the bedroom(the boys having decamped when the talking about hairstyles began), the world was moving about them. In the Ministry, Snape, who had left just after lunch, silently approved the offer Penko Krum had sent. He stood and went to the Minister's office, where the Dark Lord was waiting.

'My lord, the final offer has come from the Bulgarians.'

'Excellent.' The Dark Lord signed it with a flourish and handed it back. 'Send it at once, I want this started immediately.'

Snape's sallow face lost a shade. 'My lord, the girl is twelve.'

'It's not as though they'll marry tomorrow, Severus. But we must show the Bulgarians we mean to take this alliance seriously.'

'My lord, I do not feel-'

The Dark Lord rose. 'I feel. And bring me Gibbon, I'll borrow him.'

As it happened, Draco was the first to see Penko,who had the offer in his hands. He was wandering about the downstairs, hoping someone interesting would come in, when the door opened. He drew his wand, looking as fierce as he could, only to discover it was only Penko.

'Hello, Uncle Penko.' Draco had been ordered to address Hermione's in-laws that way as a courtesy, and he rather liked Penko, anyway.

'Hello, Draco.' The man took off his cloak and handed him a parchment and velvet bag. 'Taking this to Uncle with compliments?'

Draco was glad to have something to do. Wondering why Penko didn't come in, he obediently trotted off, looking for Rodolphus. He found him, along with the men, discussing something grave in the parlour.

'Pardon me, gentlemen. Uncle, this is from Uncle Penko, with his compliments.'

His uncle took the scroll and bag, face subtly different, and opened them.

The room was quiet. 'Draco, do you bring these of your own free will?' Uncle's voice sounded sort of strange to Draco, but he had no time to parse it.

Draco felt eyes on him. 'I do, Uncle.' He'd been well taught, and he knew he had somehow become part of this. His uncle came closer and spoke clearly enough for everyone else to hear.

'And you swear under pain of death this is the letter you were given by Penko Krum in regards to this matter?'

'I do, Uncle.'

Rodolphus nodded and gave his nephew a small smile. 'I accept with pleasure. Invite our guest in, and be welcome.'

Draco did, and when he returned, there were two glasses of wine on the table, and the scroll between them. He looked at his father, eyebrow cocked. Father nodded encouragingly, but didn't smile, which was strange.

'We'll need to wait for His Lordship, of course.' So they did, on the cusp of a major change.

Upstairs, the women were still talking. Rita had to admit, the girl talked a good game. Either she was sincerely as cute as she seemed or was a damned good actress. An elf appeared and whispered something to Malfoy's wife, who stood up, eyes wide, face whitening.

'Miss Skeeter, an event of some import has happened. If you'd excuse us, the elf will show you downstairs to the parlour.'

Beside Hermione, Bellatrix had gone rigid. Hermione turned. 'Mother?' Mother's face was deathly white except for two spots of colour, very high on her cheeks.

'Girl, shhh. Elf, dress my daughter and be quick about it.' Rinky pulled clean robes from the wardrobe and helped Hermione into them, combed her hair and then turned to Bellatrix.

'Madam is taking Miss how?'

'She'll have to walk.'

Hermione smiled. 'It's not bad, Rinky, really. But Mother, what's...'

'Shh, I said.' Hermione sat up straight and waited, more and more confused. Below them, all sound had ceased. The door shut and opened, and the air seemed to grow, assuming an electricity which made her skin tingle.

There were footsteps on the stairs, and Severus Snape bowed himself into the room. 'Ladies, will you accompany me?' He, too, had a pinched look. Hermione raised an eyebrow but he ignored it, and took her arm for her to lean on him.

'We will' said Bellatrix, who looked, to Snape, ready to faint. Narcissa came back in, face a mask, and helped get her niece to her feet, saying nothing.

Her feet hardly hurt, thought Hermione as she walked down the corridor and into a parlour. The men were gathered there, silent and strangely serious. Father came and took her hand in his.

'Is this the girl?' Uncle Lucius was using a loud, resonant voice which seemed a little flat, like he was acting. Father nodded. 'It is she.' Something felt off here. Hermione fought the urge to run up the stairs and back to her room, burnt feet be damned.

'And she is free of stain?'

'She is.'

'And she comes of her own free will?'

'She does.'

'And she understands her obligations to her house and that of her intended, Viktor Krum, and will fulfil them?'

'She will.'

'Then let her come and say these things for all men to hear.'

Father gently nudged her forward and Hermione found herself in the midst of this ritual she didn't understand and hadn't been prepared for. On one side, her cousin was winking at her to give her courage. That, at least, was normal.

'Hermione Bellatrix Lestrange, your father has sworn that you are virtuous. Do you swear it in the sight of the assembled and the ancestors?'

'I do.' Her legs were shaking, and she only understood a little what she was saying, but the air was heavy, and the very walls seemed to bend under the weight of this momentous and ill understood thing.

'And you wish to unite yourself in marriage to Viktor Krum?'

'Oh! I mean, I do.' The group laughed at her sudden comprehension, and Uncle paused a beat before he went on, giving her a friendly little smirk that didn't quite reach his eyes.

'And you understand the obligations this entails?'

'I do.'

'Come and sign.' Hermione came and carefully put her name on the parchment. After that, her brain whirling, she didn't hear much else, and Viktor's part was a blur. She stood between Mother and Aunt Narcissa, fighting the urge to hold both their hands, listening to Viktor answer in English and Bulgarian.

Healer Gibbon stepped forward and bent to sign. Hermione realised it was the Dark Lord as soon as he moved; like a snake or something, she thought with a shiver.

The Bulgarians signed as well, and then it was done. Father hugged Hermione hard, hard enough it almost hurt. Uncle did too, without his usual joke or playful ribbing. Hermione held onto both men for longer than usual, knowing better than to ask for an explanation right now.

Viktor, too, had picked up on the strange atmosphere. He shook hands with everyone who came to him, and hugged Mother when she hugged him, but his mind was spinning a million miles an hour. He knew the customs, but they were Bulgarian customs, not English. What happened now?

Zhivka and Martin felt it too. Penko looked nervous, almost guilty, and Martin had to resist the urge to go and start questioning him. What in hell had he been thinking? The children were twelve and fourteen years old; was the girl even bleeding yet?

Zhivka's lips were a line of white. She made herself speak pleasantly to whomever approached her, but if Martin was unhappy, she was livid. The girl crept to her side, looking nearly as scared as Zhivka was angry, and timidly held out a hand.

_'Mother Krum_?'

Zhivka pulled the child into an embrace. _'There there, darling one. No one will take you from your parents_.'

Hermione relaxed a little. The woman was squashy and soft. Hermione liked it; it reminded her of her kindergarten teacher. But she thought she sense a very real anger from Mother Krum, and she liked that, too. She wasn't sure how she felt, but maybe she was a bit angry, too.

Narcissa came up and gently tapped Hermione's shoulder. 'Darling, let's get you back into bed, shall we?' Her stomach felt like it was filled with lead. She'd had no idea this was going to happen, and she felt as though an earthquake had hit.

Hermione nodded went to follow, feeling strangely numb. Rodolphus excused himself long enough to carry his daughter up the stairs, holding her tightly. Any sacrifice, he told himself sternly, was worth it for the Dark Lord. But he would have waited, were it up to him.

Settled in the bed, Hermione looked at her mother and aunt with a trust they both found painful. Bellatrix sat down, swallowing hard, and crawled up beside her daughter.

'Mother? May I talk now?'

'Yes, of course.' Narcissa surprised everyone, even herself, by crawling in the other side. Hermione felt a little bit better, nestled between them, visibly surrounded by the people who loved her and kept her safe.

None of them could quite figure out how to start. Hermione took a hand in each of hers. 'Why did Mother Krum tell me that they wouldn't take me away?'

Bellatrix's jaw was clenched so tightly that Narcissa was afraid she'd break teeth. 'Darling, this was...a surprise to all of us.'

'Because it wasn't supposed to happen yet?'

'Well, it was a bit early, but precious, you needn't worry.'

Bellatrix still hadn't said anything. She finally rolled, and to Narcissa's shock, there were tears in her eyes. Bellatrix was crying.

'Mother?' Hermione sounded panicked. She was panicked. Mother was always brave. If Mother was afraid, obviously, there was a good cause. Bellatrix forced herself to breath deeply and blinked the tears away. 'It's fine, girl.'

'So what happens now?'

'Nothing' said Bellatrix with all the enormous force she was capable of. 'Nothing for now. You're much too young.'

'Under British law, Hermione, you won't marry until you're of age.'

Hermione nodded. 'So this doesn't change anything?'

There was a knock on the door. Lucius Malfoy stepped into the room and swished a silencing spell. 'Ladies, may I come in?'

'Please' said Narcissa, more brittlely than he'd heard in a very long time, as though she was trying not to cry. The sound made Lucius's heart ache. He came closer slowly, sensing there was some female thing going on here.

'Hermione, are you all right?'

The girl smiled up at him, which just drove the knife deeper. 'I am, Uncle. You?'

Lucius leant over to kiss her cheek. 'Darling, are you surprised at what happened?'

Hermione nodded cautiously. 'A bit, Uncle.'

'Well, there's some more things we need to do tonight.'

Bellatrix sat up. 'Get out.'

'Bellatrix, it's the custom, you know that.'

'No.'

'Nothing will happen. Draco will be here. The elf will be here.'

'No, I said.'

'We've not got a choice.' Bellatrix looked beyond furious, beyond anything but animal rage. Beside her, the girl was white as snowdrops, cuddling against Narcissa. Lucius wished he could calm her with a joke or some gentle teasing, but he had to do this, however little he liked it.

'I understand it's a shock, Bellatrix, but needs must is needs must. And you know as well as I that it's just for show.'

'No no no.'

'Darling' he said to Hermione, ignoring Bellatrix 'in a little while, we'll eat. And then you'll come up here and get ready for bed, all right? And Viktor will join you, isn't that interesting?'

The girl looked as though she expected to be killed. 'I don't understand.'

'It's customary to solemnise the engagement by...well, making it clear to everyone you're engaged. It's a very old custom, darling.'

'Viktor is going to sleep in here tonight?'

'Viktor and Draco, yes. It will be like a camp out.'

Hermione's big eyes were clouded with confusion. 'We'll all sleep here?'

'Draco will sleep on the divan there. And nothing is going to happen between yourself and Viktor, darling. You'll just share a bed for the night.'

'Why will Draco sleep here? Not that I don't want him to.' She didn't wish to be rude, after all. And it would be fun with both of them, but she and Viktor could hardly kiss if Draco was there.

'To make sure that nothing untoward happens. We'll explain later. Right now, all you need to know is that Viktor shan't touch you or make you afraid. You'll just lie in the bed and sleep.'

'Why?'

Lucius looked at his wife, who nodded, resigned. He tried to telegraph his abject apologies with his body language; he felt like he'd hit a kitten. He even felt sorry for Trixie, who looked absolutely violated.

Narcissa bent and whispered in Hermione's ear. The girl's eyes widened. 'Oh.' She said it in a tiny little voice that hurt his heart. Poor little thing, and she was so brave about it. Lucius decided to get all three ladies something special to lift their moods.

'Malfoy' said Bellatrix suddenly 'has Our Lord commanded this?'

Lucius actually wished he didn't have to do this. 'Yes, Trixie, he did, this afternoon.' Like the others, he'd thought Hermione would be at least sixteen before all this was formalised.

Bellatrix stood and walked for the door. 'Then I'll just go and talk to Him.'

The door closed and Lucius looked at his wife above Hermione's head. He had the feeling this would end poorly.

Hermione was chewing her lip. 'And all we do is sleep?'

'That's right, precious. And your elf will be here, and we'll have cocoa and games sent up, doesn't that sound nice?'

Hermione looked ninety rather than twelve. 'Yes, Uncle.'

'Are you sure?'

'We must all make sacrifices, Uncle.' She'd got that from Bellatrix, Lucius knew in his bones. Did she still believe that, he wondered, and praised his niece for being such a good little girl.

**Spoiler A/N: To be absolutely, unambiguously clear with this: They are in no way expected to do anything but sleep. Steps will be taken to prevent that from happening. **

**In circumstances when the bride and groom were this young, provisions were always made for the couple to be supervised until they were of age, which is not for several years. Repeat, nothing but sleep is expected, encouraged or allowed.**


	29. Chapter 29

**A/N: Love to reviewers and Countess Black**

**Someone asked me about good reading on heiress kidnapping, and I can't recommend Antonia Frasier's 'The Weaker Vessel' enough. Lady Fraiser's research and presentation is excellent, and I can't recommend her work highly enough (I've also read her Marie Antoinette).**

**Also, I've mentioned how much I enjoy Marilyn Yaslom's works in the past. I heartily suggest either woman as good nonfiction reading.**

After supper, Bellatrix finally got the Dark Lord alone. Everyone was sort of mulling awkwardly, and now, she hoped, was her time. 'My Lord, may I see You?'

The Dark Lord nodded beneficently and they slipped into the library from the parlour, where coffee was being drunk with brandy. The reporter, Skeeter, was still about, asking stupid questions. Bellatrix decided she hated the woman.

'Yes, Bellatrix? Something the matter?'

She felt a great swell of pleasure in His presence. He would fix everything. He would understand. 'My Lord, I defer to Your judgement in all things, as always. But Hermione is so young and vulnerable. Is there no way we might hold off on this part until my daughter is a bit older?'

Gibbon's face was smooth. 'Bella, I'd almost think you were quailing about what must be done here. Surely you know that this sacrifice is not much to ask?'

'I do, my Lord. It's just that Hermione's very modest and shy, and so much has changed for her. It might be...disturbing to her sense of safety.'

'Really, it's just a nap. You mustn't shelter her overmuch, Bellatrix. She's a part of the New Britain, as are we all.'

'A proud part, my Lord. She wants only to please you, but perhaps...'

'Nothing will please me better than her enthusiastic compliance in this, and yours as well.'

Bellatrix realised she'd been told off in no uncertain terms. 'Yes, my Lord.'

'Just a nap, Bellatrix. Chastity charm the girl if it will soothe your fears.' He smiled benevolently. 'And do look happy, that Skeeter woman will want to interview you.'

Hermione's heart was pounding all through dinner. She could hardly eat the duck and parsnips she'd been served. All three children had been offered a little watered wine as a treat, but none of them had taken the offer; Hermione thought she'd vomit it, Viktor that he would spill it with his shaking hands, and Draco that he'd fall asleep too early and shirk his job.

Draco had another problem. He'd suffered from migraines since he was young, and he could feel one coming on. It was a terrible, nauseous pressure which felt like someone was squeezing his head like an overripe strawberry.

Mostly they weren't so bad, but stress could make one come on, and he could feel it starting. But he couldn't let on. He had a job, after all, and he'd do it, even if it killed him.

Rita Skeeter was almost delirious. At this rate, she could buy the whole paper. Here she sat, just a shopkeeper's daughter from Sheffield, eating parsnips with Lucius Malfoy!

The girl, though, looked half ready to cry. The others weren't much better; the family looked as though they were at a funeral, not an engagement. The Malfoys looked thoughtful (except for the boy, who was looking absolutely vigilant, like a blond cat), the Krums looked worried, and Bellatrix Lestrange, the most feared Death Eater in all Britain, looked as though she was within a moment of attacking someone.

The meal ended with bowls of hot trifle, and Rita dug in with pleasure. These people really did have the best of everything, she reflected, not without a tinge of class bitterness.

The Dark Lord, in Nomascus Gibbon's flesh, rose smiling. He'd drank watered wine as well, and he seemed mellow, well pleased with his little puppets. '*_Friends, shall we start the festivities?*'_

As Rita watched, the girl's face went chalky. She drank a bit of her pumpkin juice and squared her shoulders. Rita's trained mind noted it and wished it could put it in; like Krum's accent, it added colour to things. The girl saw her watching. She smiled brightly, eyes damp with discomfort, and she turned and spoke to her cousin.

'Draco?'

'Are you all right?' His head felt a size too small. He could do this. He could. Hermione needed him.

'Of course' whispered Hermione, not feeling a bit all right. 'Are you?'

'Yes' he lied. 'It'll be fun.'

The Dark Lord turned to the other end of the table. 'Draco, would you do the honours?'

'Hermione?' Draco shoved himself to his feet, wavering for a second, and held out a hand to his cousin, the room starting to seem too bright and strangly jangled.

Hermione took it. Her hand was small and damp. Draco helped her out of the room and toward the stairs, as Viktor's father and uncle led him, the others behind them in a stream.

In the bedroom, the party split. The women clustered about Hermione, having moved the dressing screen to cover her whilst they helped her into her nightgown. She found Bellatrix's hand and held it for a second as they quickly brushed her hair out and even sprinkled a little cologne water on her neck.

On the other side of the room, Viktor was changing as well. Ordinarily this was a happy, ribald occasion, with lots of obscene jests and playful banter. Not today. Viktor came from behind his own screen, face set, like he was going to a wake.

The women finished with Hermione and helped her into the bed. She looked like a little doll, lying back on the pillows, ropes of flowers and fruit garlanding the bed. From the Embassy, the gifts the Krums had brought with them were sent. Zhivka, face waxen, handed Hermione the gifts she'd brought for her.

Hermione's face lit up. 'Oh!' Mother Krum had brought her a doll. Hermione was officially too old for dolls, but this was no common poppet. It was made of cotton, attired in Bulgarian dress, fabulously detailed. To Hermione's eyes, the embroidery and sewing must have taken weeks. It was perfect, the stitches so small as to be nearly invisible.

'She's wonderful.' She beamed, and Zhivka felt a flush of pleasure that the girl liked it. Just as quickly, it was replaced by an anger that burnt in her stomach. The child she had just engaged her son to still played with dolls.

She liked Hermione very much, thought Zhivka as she handed over the second gift. But she felt as though the children's childhood had been abruptly cut short, and she'd been made complicit in that. The girl should be free to play with her new doll and not worry about all this-it was too much for them both.

Hermione carefully opened the pouch, and drew out the diamonds. They were ancient, cloudy, hand cut. They'd been pulled from the earth and worked when the Krums had been boyars in a hall of split logs, when Britain was an island of isolated hamlets, when the Conqueror had come across the sea with his armies and his new language and his fierce, wild house-carls.

'Mother, look. Isn't it pretty?'

Bellatrix felt even worse than Zhivka. She nodded politely at the bracelet, feeling as though none of this was real. It couldn't be. Her daughter was twelve years old; she had a doll propped at her elbow, for God's sake.

Hermione handed the bracelet back and then turned her eyes to the Dark Lord, who was smiling at them. Her skin felt funny every time he did that. Squirmy and hot. She didn't like it.

'Children, join hands.'

They did it, and the Dark Lord drew his wand. 'I pledge Hermione Bellatrix Lestrange for the purpose of bearing legitimate children.'

'I accept Herm-on-nee-nee Lestrange for havink legitimate children.' The Dark Lord swished, and a weak glow suffused the room. Polyjuice or no, his body was twelve years old and not strong.

He turned to Snape. 'I'm afraid I'll hit the children, Snape. Would you?'

Snape swished, and the glow brightened, twining their hands with gold. Bellatrix looked ready to retch, and beside her, Rodolphus's hand came up and held her shoulder.

The Dark Lord beamed down paternally. 'Congratulations, Viktor.'

'Thank you, my lord.'

Gibbon's bony frame bent and pressed his lips to Hermione's cheek. 'Best wishes, Miss Lestrange.'

'Thank you, my lord.'

The others came one by one and did the same. Cunegarde was still in St. Mungo's, her age necessitating a stay due to the stress of not being able to die in the fire. Barty was there, and he kissed Hermione's cheek.

'Are you still sick? You should take a potion.' His voice was much too loud, and Rodolphus turned and gestured for the elf to take him away.

'I'm fine, Barty.' Hermione smiled, stomach dipping as the elf tried to inveigle Barty from the room. He turned and shoved it off. 'You aren't Winky! I want Winky!'

Hermione lunged and caught his hand. 'Barty, please? Tomorrow we'll play gobstones, all right?'

'No, you aren't well. You should rest. Krum, she needs to rest, we have to leave.'

'Barty, Viktor is staying with me tonight. We've just been engaged, remember?' Barty hadn't been at the ceremony but he'd been at the supper.

'Engaged? You're a little girl, you aren't engaged.'

'We'll talk about it tomorrow, all right?'

'No, now.' Barty would have plopped himself on the bed had Snape not grabbed him. He tried to squirm free but couldn't. 'Stop it, Sev!'

Hermione knew she had to end this. 'Professor Snape will bring his dog if you're nice, Barty, and we'll play with him tomorrow. Won't that be fun?'

Barty finally nodded. 'Promise?'

'I do.'

Barty nodded slowly. 'If you're sure.'

'I'm sure.'

'All right.' He turned and walked out without another word. Narcissa Malfoy, who'd looked like a porcelain doll all night, smiled her approval, strained and sad under her impeccable makeup and hair.

The rest of it went smoothly. Bellatrix hugged her daughter hard, pressing the girl tight against herself. Even Rodolphus, normally unflappable, looked disquieted. 'Everything is perfectly fine, darling. I promise you.' Just to be sure, he swished a Chastity spell on the bed, which would prevent anything other than a bit of cuddling.

On the other side of the room, Lucius bent into Draco's ear. 'Your uncle's charmed the bed, so I want you to relax and go to sleep at a reasonable time, Draco.' He knew Draco wasn't feeling well from the look on his face. Draco nodded, eyes starting to dull with pain, and sat back on his little bed, transfigured from the divan. The phial of pain relief was at hand, and he wanted it desperately. But not yet.

'*_Friends' _said the Dark Lord _'shall we leave the happy couple alone now?*_' They would stay up the night, dancing and drinking, and sleep the next morning until the ball at night.

No, Bellatrix wanted to say. No, they're afraid. Can't all of you see how afraid they are? She turned to encourage her daughter and saw that the girl was shyly stroking the doll's little headdress, smiling with genuine delight.

She had to get out. Bellatrix turned and walked to the lav with as much dignified haste as possible, refusing to give into her need until she was in private. She bent over the commode and vomited as quietly as she could, snapping her fingers for an elf. The elf silenced the room and stood over her, shurring softly as her stomach emptied itself.

She stood, legs shaky, and took the cold towel the elf held out to her. 'Get my toothbrush and things, idiot. And some makeup, I need to fix my face.'

The elf bowed and vanished, then returned with the things she needed. She brushed her teeth, swallowed a potion to sweeten her breath, and let the elf apply more mascara and powder.

Made up, she walked from the room and toward the downstairs. Someone, probably Narcissa, was playing the piano. The idea of going down there to dance made Bellatrix want to sick up again. But she wouldn't. She was Bellatrix Black Lestrange, and she could do this.

In the bedroom, the children were quiet.

'Draco' said Hermione, breaking the silence 'do you need your potion now?' She knew at once what the phial was, and her mind had moved smoothly into the familiar groove. She couldn't stop what was happening, but she could make sure her cousin wasn't sick whilst it was going on.

He shook his head, feeling the pricking behind his eye growing into a throb. 'I'm all right.'

Hermione sat up farther. 'Aren't.'

'Are too.'

'Draco Malfoy, are you being honest with me?' She sounded so much like Mother that Draco almost forgot his headache a second. He sat up, wincing, and Hermione raised her wand. The lights went down and plunged the room into soothing, cool darkness.

'Rinky' said Hermione 'could you lower the temperature in here a bit, and get Draco some water, please?'

'I'll be fine.'

'Draco.'

'Hermione.'

Hermione turned and whispered into Viktor's ear. 'I'll be right back.' She hopped from the bed and crossed to her cousin.

'Draco, please take your potion. You'll feel all better.'

'I'll sleep if I do.'

'So? Nothing's going to happen.'

'I feel all right.' He didn't. His stomach was racheting, and the room had aquired a terrible metallic smell he knew was the precursor to a real whopper.

'Please?'

'Hermione, I'll be fine.'

From the bed, Viktor said 'Nothing happen. Promise. Take potion?'

Draco stood unsteadily, weaving his way to Viktor's bedside. 'Do I have your word, Krum?'

'Word. Elf here. You take, you wake up, elf here. Yes?'

Draco couldn't stand it anymore. 'Yes.' Hermione took his arm to lead him back, and he swallowed the potion, sighing with relief as he sank onto the bed. Rinky spelled the covers up and Draco was sleeping before he was totally covered.

Hermione turned and made her way back to the bed. She struggled in, wiggling her way up, and then crawled to Viktor. _'Sorry about that. He gets a bit stubborn sometimes when he thinks he might let someone down.'_

Viktor snorted in the dark and rolled on his side so he was looking at her. _'Not like the girl who ran into a burning building? Twice_?'

Hermione crawled closer. _'Not at all_.'

_'No?'_

_'I don't see it. What shall we do?'_

Viktor was almost paralysed by her nearness to him. She smelt good, warm and sweet, and she was close enough to touch. He reached out shyly. Would he scare her? The bedroom was chilly now, cool enough to soothe Draco's migraine. Hermione looked at the little bed, frowning a bit, meaning to scold him when he woke about being sensible when it came to his needs.

_'Are you cold?'_

_'A little.'_

Viktor inhaled and slowly opened his arms. Hermione hesitated, like a doe hearing a strange noise, head slightly cocked, eyes soft and curious and afraid. She didn't feel ready for this.

She closed the distance. Taking a deep breath, she laid down directly next to him.

_'You don't have to_.'

_'I want to_.' Hermione's voice only shook a bit. The chastity charm prevented anything untoward, but it was a lot for both of them, proximity and the events of the day.

Hermione liked Viktor very much, and she trusted him. Both her aunts had drilled her over and over on her duty to her future husband, but their instructions had carefully ended at the bedroom door. What did she do now?

Viktor wasn't sure, either. His father had never said, and the coarse dorm room banter was not applicable here. He wished he had something clever to say but his tongue felt like a lead bar in his mouth.

Finally, because it seemed the right thing, he said _'Have you ever seen the sea_?'

Hermione relaxed a little. '_Yes! I love the sea_.'

_'So do I. Especially at night_.' And he started to describe the view from his window at Castle Krum, and when she rested her head on his shoulder, it felt natural to them, and they spoke a long time in the cool darkness, Draco's soft breathing nearby.

Downstairs, Narcissa played on with the desperation of the condemned. She played grimly, perfectly, her face a mask, angrier than she'd been in years. She couldn't bear to turn and see them all, pretending that this was somehow all right.

The elves had moved the furniture and the group was dancing. They talked and laughed, sampling from the cold collations which the elves had set out, and large punchbowls of shandy and negus.

Bellatrix was drinking water. She'd never especially liked drinking, and tonight of all nights it wouldn't be a good idea. She sat in the corner, cup of water in hand, watching them, seething with feelings that were darker and more terrible even than hate. Hate she could have expressed, given a target, but these had to be held in.

Rita Skeeter moved through the scene, feeling that there was cold water in her veins rather than blood. Seeing this whole thing play out made her sick, watching the girl sacrificed for political expediency, and with a smile. She thought she'd see the kid propped in that bed, doll and future husband both beside her, every time she closed her eyes for a while.

And then there was this, the party atmosphere and the creepy sense that something was terribly wrong. She forced herself to sip her lemonade (like Bellatrix, she thought it a bad idea to indulge) and then, handing the glass back to the elf, decided she'd get some statements.

She kept carefully to people who had no stake in this-undersecretaries, attaches, minor Death Eaters. She spent twenty minutes listening to a drunk assistant to Martin Krum stumbling around metaphors about how happy the engagement made him; she flirted mildly with Metellus Travers, who invited her for drinks the next night (she accepted); and then she somehow found herself face to face with Bellatrix Lestrange.

Rita had been a young reporter during that trial, and she'd been there when the woman had proudly avowed her support of the Dark Lord. She remembered it with a shiver, and made herself smile.

'Madam, have you any words on this happy occasion?'

'I have.' Bellatrix drained her cup, and Rita, with her bird-dog instincts, noticed she smelled nothing. The woman was drinking water. How interesting.

'It is an honour to serve the Dark Lord. We must all do what we can to further the greater good of our country.'

'Of course' said Rita, annoyed she hadn't got better copy 'but I mean, about tonight?'

The woman's eyes darkened, and Rita nearly lost control of her bladder just on the strength of that look. The woman silently shook her head, as though deep in thought, and said finally 'Our family's happiness is too great for words.' She stood and walked off .

Rita wrote it down, not sure how she would spin it so it was acceptable for her readers. They wanted happy, shiny stories about happy, shiny aristos. She wished, at some level, she could show them this-two scared children in a bed together and the adults downstairs pretending not to be appalled.

Perhaps it was better she couldn't. Let the little people keep their illusions about how the upper crust lived. It would add some colour to their lives. As for Rita, she'd had enough colour to last her a long, long time.

Severus Snape had slipped out just after the children were bedded. He made some excuse, promised to return in an hour, and Apparated to Spinner's End. The house felt strangely empty without the dog's asinine comments and terrible cooking.

'Elf.'

The elf appeared, face like a dented shield. 'Master, Rinky is being needed by Miss.'

'Not right now, you aren't. You need to find me the dog, and do it quickly.'

'Master Dog is being-'

'I'm aware. Just do it, elf.'

The elf vanished, and returned fifteen minutes later with a startled Sirius Black adjusting his clothes. Snape rolled his eyes. 'Interrupting something, Black?'

Black grinned. 'Afterglow, Snape. Afterglow.'

'Please, I meant to eat again someday.'

'Don't let my prowess put you off your feed. Not all men have as awesome an endowment as mine.'

Snape's face twitched strangely, and Sirius realised the man was trying not to laugh. 'What, it only takes them ten minutes to find it? Anyway, it'll have to wait. You're needed tomorrow.'

Black sat down and raised a brow. 'What's happened?'

Snape outlined the thing. 'She's asked for you, and it will seem suspicious if I can't produce you.'

Black nodded. He hardly knew the kid, but this had hit a nerve in him. 'Things like this are precisely what's wrong with this society. All the Pureblood shite, and the end result is what happened here.'

Snape didn't disagree. 'I never suspected you had it in you, Black.' He felt mildly surprised that Black was so het up about this, and then thought of Andromeda Black. Had the dog been fond of his cousin, and was remembering what had happened?

'Hasn't this stupidity ruined enough lives?'

Snape didn't disagree with that, either. 'Just be Salazar and everything will be fine. Barty Crouch will be there.'

'Barty? He died eight or nine years ago.'

Snape outlined that debacle as well, and Black sat down, shaking his head. 'Fuck me.'

'Just be ready to go at nine.'

Black nodded, still deep in thought. He thought the kid seemed nice enough, but it wasn't really about her, for him at least. He would go and be the best Salazar he could for her, because he felt sorry for her, but the face he saw in his mind was his brother's.

'All right.' He rose and headed for the stairs. He was too disgusted to contemplate being awake with his thoughts.

In London, Hermione and Viktor were lying in silence in the dark room. _'You liked Mother's gifts?'_

_'Very much.' _She snuggled closer and closed her eyes, starting to feel a little sleepy. Viktor liked how she felt next to him. He was remembering his thoughts of the night before, and desperately shoved them away, not wanting to have a problem he couldn't take care of.

_'We've some things for you, too. I made some shirts, and Father has things._' Her father was going to give Viktor a pair of gold cufflinks and a cloak clasp set with rubies that had been in the family for a long time. They were still in the vault; Zhivka had simply happened to have Hermione's things packed in her personal luggage.

Viktor turned to her in the dark. 'You make me shirts?'

'Yes. I hope you like them.' She did, too. Rinky had done the cutting but she'd spent laborious hours bent over the cloth, making tiny tucks in the fabric, and banding the sleeves and collars.

Viktor's breath tickled her cheek. 'Is good. Am liking you think of me.' He spared a thought to Ilya, who was good looking but would never find a girl as sweet as Hermione, nor one his parents respected the way the Krums respected Hermione.

'I go this summer to Bulgarian team practice.'

'You must be very excited.'

He shrugged. 'Is fun.' His English and her Bulgarian simply couldn't find a common ground for him to tell her how it was for him, the total freedom of the skies. That was, he wanted to tell her, what spoke to him in her; she had a quality which made him feel as though he had wings, even as he clomped along the ground.

'You come and watch?'

'I would like to.'

'No, I mean...you come home and see. With parents, you come. And Draco.'

Hermione's eyes widened. 'I...we'll ask, Viktor, but my parents are so busy.'

Viktor nodded against her head. 'I know. Maybe then you come? Meet Ivan and Yana. They want seeing you.' They did. Ivan had announced very firmly that girls were silly (except his Mama and Aunt Zhivka), but that since this one was marrying Viktor, he supposed it would be fine for her to come and see them.

'We'll ask my parents, Viktor.'

He nodded again. 'Someday you come there to live. You are afraid?'

Hermione shook her head. 'No. My home is where my husband is.'

Viktor wondered who had taught her that. 'You _needn't lie, you know. It's normal to be afraid._'

Hermione sighed from the soul. _'Sometimes I think that when we see something bad enough, it makes us lose what we feared. That's almost worse. Because now you know how bad it can be.' _Hermione loved Britain, but she had lost her home once and it held few terrors for her; how could going to Bulgaria be worse than what had happened the summer before?

What could he say to that? He moved a bit closer to his fiancée and lightly brushed his lips over the top of her head. Her hair smelt like rosemary and cinnamon. He wanted to know what had happened with a desperation borne of the feeling she gave him, a feeling like freedom. Couldn't he repay her?

_'Tell me?_'

_'Will you tell anyone_?'

'Never' he swore, and she thought he meant it. Hermione snuggled closer, wanting to feel safe as she talked. She couldn't tell him everything, not quite yet, but once she'd asked Snape's advice, she'd tell whatever she could.

_'Part now and part later_?'

Viktor didn't want to push. _'Whatever makes you comfortable_.'

She nodded. _'I was at Hogwarts, in a classroom_...' She left out more of it than she told, but she told him the auror, leaving out the fact it was Scabior who'd struck the killing blow.

Viktor said nothing as she talked. He kept his arms around her, letting her relive the thing in the safety of darkness and quiet. Her voice was level, though she spoke slowly, asking for words sometimes. He told her with a detached calm, feeling more and more angry as she talked. Why had she had to see a thing like this? It wasn't right. It wasn't fair.

_'And then what happened_?'

Hermione shook her head. _'Another time.'_

_'All right. Are you sleepy_?'

_'A little. You?_'

For the first time, Viktor lied to his intended. _'Yes. Shall we call for something_?'

Hermione nodded. She didn't want to dream tonight. Rinky came at once when called and brought them a mild sedative in milk. They drained their mugs and were both asleep in ten minutes, twined in one another's arms.

The next morning, Snape came early, trailed by the dog. The ancient elf frowned when he saw the huge, unruly looking beast. 'Dog in Black house! Dirty dog! Smelly dog!' The dog growled, and Snape sharply tugged the leash.

'He's well trained, Kreacher. He shan't do anything untoward.'

The elf nodded. Getting bad dog scraps and water?'

'Do. He especially likes veal.' The elf set out a pile of raw bones and wetly glistening offal, which the dog set about with enthusiasm, munching delicious marrow and a chewy, muscular heart.

Snape left the dog for now and went up the stairs. People had gone to bed at first light, and so the rooms were silent. Every so often a Snatcher would ghost by, nod politely and make himself scarce. Snape went to the master bedroom and listened. He heard nothing from within, but that didn't mean nothing was going on. The door slid open soundlessly and Viktor Krum was standing there, watching Snape with eyes that were far more alert and searching than they had any right to be.

'Hello, Krum. Everything all right?' The children would stay cloistered until the ball that night. Snape made a mental note to check Draco later. If the boy hadn't felt well, he'd sleep most of the day, but as his godfather, Snape made it a point to examine him regularly.

'Yes, fine. Maybe we talk?'

'If you'd like.' Snape stepped into the bedroom. Krum led him unerringly to the small dressing room that connected to the room. It was, Snape supposed, officially Hermione's, but who was counting?

They settled on the two little stools in the room. The only other furniture was a large mirror bolted into the wall and a dressing table. Walberga's things might well still be in, he thought suddenly. How strange, the ghostly bits people leave behind.

'How was last night?'

'Good. Herm-on-knee-nee very good. Am being lucky man, Snape.'

Snape nodded immediately. 'And clever for recognising it.' And he was, so far as Snape was concerned. Yes, this boy was just the setting his little spy needed to sparkle, and her sparkle would lend the rough gold of Viktor Krum a bit of panache.

'Headmaster send wish for good health.' Snape took the letter, which was marked with the crowned skull of Durmstrang, and stuck it in his frockcoat pocket. He knew exactly what it was, and he'd respond to it later.

'Would you mind if we used a spell?' Krum nodded, knowing his English could stand only so much, and Snape swished the spell and then waited. Make the boy fight for it.

'*_If I may ask, should I prepare to bring a reply to Headmaster Karkaroff?_'*'

Snape nodded, smirking a bit. Hermione was quite right, this one was cleverer than he looked. '*_Do you think one will needed? Given your knowledge of dear Igor?*'_

_'*I would think he'll want one so as to come and...swear his fealty...as quickly as possible.*'_

'*_'*And you have no objection to acting as courier?'*_

_'*Gentlemen must help one another, wouldn't you say?*' _Viktor's face was absolutely neutral, but Snape could detect an edge of something underneath, a bit of iron that pleased him.

_'*And I suppose he told you not to disturb Mr. Krum with any of this?*'_

_'*Headmaster is too thoughtful to want to disturb my father or uncles with private affaires.'*_

_'*Yes, of course. I expect I'll send one, then. Has he given you advice? In the spirit of thoughtfulness?'*_

_'*He didn't.*' _

Snape wondered whether Krum actually understood what he was getting at, or whether a boy his age could be trusted with discreet matters of this nature. '_*You know, Igor joined at seventeen, not much older than yourself, is that right?*'_

_'*Two years. I'd imagine he was precocious*.'_

'*_Yes, quite. A person shouldn't rush these things unless they feel sure they're ready.*'_

_'I'm afraid I lack the headmaster's polish. I'm a country bumpkin, I prefer flying and dogs to book learning, much as it shames me.'_ Snape had read Krum's records and knew that was not true, or not true enough.

'_*Self knowledge is the first step on the road to prudence.*'_

_'*And humility springs from an honest acknowledgement of one's flaws.'* _Snape hadn't expected the boy to know, let alone finish, the quote. He nodded again. He'd thought to recruit the boy, but perhaps he would wait and see what he could do on his own.

_'*You know, Headmaster Karkaroff did make a statement to me about coming here.*'_

_'*Oh?*'_

_'*That it is an honour to be held worthy to marry the daughter of Rodolphus and Bellatrix Lestrange.*'_

_'*And your response?*'_

_'*That I hope to be worthy of it.*' _

Snape swallowed hard and steepled his hands. '_*Of course.*'_

_'*Perhaps, sir, you'd be kind enough to guide me in that.*'_

Snape blinked slowly and then said finally. '*_Suppose I did have an idea, Krum. It might not be palatable to you.*'_

_'* I would consider it an honour to help you, sir.*'_

Snape made a decision. He silenced the room and started to talk.


	30. Chapter 30

**A/N: Love to reviewers and Countess Black**

**We're set to move this weekend (yay!) so things might get wonky for a while. **

**This chapter makes me think of my first grown up event. It was an opera, and I felt very sophiscated and mature, while still looking and acting like a dorky thirteen year old. Ahh, memories :)**

Viktor would never say exactly what Snape had told him. He couldn't; Snape made him swear, and he honoured that vow for the rest of his life. But he understood his fiancée more clearly, and it only deepened the love for her which was growing in his heart. He left and emptied his bladder, the reason he'd been up at all.

Both the younger children were still asleep, and after depositing the phials Snape had given him for Draco,Viktor slid into the bed. Hermione was on her side, mumbling softly in her sleep. He spooned her and closed his eyes, pondering what he'd just heard.

Hermione woke at the movement against her back and half rolled. 'What's wrong?'

'Shhh. Sleep.'

One eye opened. 'Is something the matter?'

'Snape come. He...look in, yes?'

'Yes. Is he all right?'

'Vell, is vell. Just checking. Brought him letter.'

_'A letter_?'

'From Headmaster Karkaroff. Elf bring in my bags.' Viktor told her what Snape had said about the situation. Hermione's ears had perked up. She like things which tickled her curiosity, and this definitely did. _'What happens now?'_

_'I expect he'll have to come here-the headmaster-and see the Dark Lord.'_

Hermione couldn't suppress a small shudder. Viktor frowned a bit and pulled her closer. _'You know you can tell me anything, don't you_?'

Hermione nodded, eyes closed. _'He rather...well, scares me. The Dark Lord.'_

_'Me, too. And some of those people...those _Snatchers.'

_'Why does he scare you_?'

Viktor tried to find a way to put his feelings into words. '_Ruthless people do ruthless things, I should think.' _He could sense something dark and terrifying under the skin of some of the men his father in law to be surrounded himself with, for all their friendly exteriors and picturesque accents might be a good front.

This sort of careful communication was second nature to Hermione now. She looked instinctively at the door, and seeing no one, responded, thankful that Alise was teaching her Bulgarian.

_'Sometimes they do. War does things to people.'_

_'I'd imagine it might make it hard to feel safe_.'

Hermione swallowed. What had Snape told him? _'I'm fortunate to have people who care about me. My safety is with them.'_

Viktor shyly raised his hand and touched her hair, wondering if she'd mind. She snuggled into his hand, and he relaxed a bit, and dropped his voice so Draco wouldn't hear, speaking Bulgarian or no.

'_You know, it was custom once for noble women to have retinues. Other women to keep her company and assist her. It would be fitting if that custom was revived, wouldn't it_?'

Hermione wondered if he could possibly be getting at what she thought he was. She paused to collect her store of words. _'Traditions are important._'

Viktor nodded firmly. _'It would be best if she spoke Bulgarian, I suppose, so she could help you learn our customs. And French. Our children ought to speak French_.'

Hermione's smile lit up the room. _'I know just the person_.'

_'I thought you might_.' Viktor hoped she understood what he was about; he wanted her to think of him as a safe person, and their castle as a safe place. If sheltering this Latvian girl would help, that's what he would do. It's not like one person, or two, even, would eat very much.

And Snape wanted to send some men as security, too. That was also fine as far as Viktor was concerned. It was a new age, and he understood that danger would stalk their lives together like a ravenous beast. It didn't unduly upset him. He was young, and thought at some level that he was immortal.

And Viktor had faith in his prowess as a wizard, and in Hermione's as a witch. If he had his way, she'd never need to use her skills to make war, but he was old enough to know that it might not be possible.

Hermione inhaled deeply. _'Did Snape tell you anything else_?'

_'He would never violate your confidence, and neither would I._'

_'That's not a "No", Viktor._'

_'We talked more about what I could do to help than anything._'

_'Did he tell you about my parents_?'

Viktor shook his head. _'When you're ready to tell me, tell me. We've a lifetime._'

Hermione nodded. _'I think I'm ready. If you are_.'

Stunned by his own nerve, Viktor brushed the top of her head with his lips again. If this was what being married was, he liked it very much. He'd have this to warm him at school, at least, and when they taunted him, he'd know they didn't have the promise of these memories to succour them.

Hermione had got used to the idea that this had happened to her. Some days, it all felt like a dream, like it had happened to someone else years before. She remembered her muggle parents and missed them, but she found their absence more bearable as time went by.

Deep down, she thought they were dead. But she'd found, because she would never know for certain, a sort of acceptance of mystery that allowed her to think of them simply as Elsewhere. In her heart, their places were still waiting for them, as though they'd gone on holiday, in expectation of meeting again someday.

She told it plainly, her Bulgarian unable to support anything else, and that made the whole thing worse, hearing it said in short declarative sentences. When she got to the part with Barty, her voice started shaking.

'And my uncle...my uncle said...' Hermione couldn't finish. She put her head against his chest, breathing hard, trying to control the emotions of the last twenty four hours, and that, unfortunately, is when Draco woke up.

'Hermione!' He jumped from the bed and came over, glaring fearsomely at Viktor. 'What've you done to make my cousin cry? Hermione, should I challenge him?'

Hermione took a deep breath. 'Draco, I'm fine.'

'You aren't! You're crying!'

'I'm better now. Really, I just needed a moment.'

Draco took her hand in his, still looking ready to try and hex Viktor. 'Did something happen?'

'No, it's all right. I was just talking about...something sad, was all.'

'What sad thing would that be?'

She raised her head and said 'Remember that thing with Barty?'

'Father told me.'

'It hurts a bit to talk about, is all.'

Draco nodded and turned to Viktor. 'Barty's not right in the head, is all. He doesn't understand things.'

Hermione sat up, gently wriggling away from Viktor. 'It's all right, Draco. Why don't you take the rest of your potions?'

Draco pretended not to hear. 'She's getting more like my mother every day. I'd be careful, mate. Mother always gets her way.' Viktor laughed and nodded, glad the potentially ugly scene had been averted.

'Mothers do that.'

'Yes, well, Hermione's started early. She's even good at getting Barty to behave. He's almost a child, you know.'

Viktor nodded. 'Like cousin Yana. Doesn't know true from not true.'

'That's right.' Hermione stood and donned her dressing robe so she could go and brush her teeth. Rinky popped in and started to follow. Draco jumped up to follow so he could ask his cousin some questions.

'Elf, go get us something to eat. I'll walk Hermione.'

In the corridor, Draco dropped his voice. 'You're sure you're all right?'

'Positive, Draco.'

'And he didn't try to touch you? You know, below the neck.'

Hermione laughed. 'Draco! Of course not. We talked and then slept, and then talked again.'

'Yes, well. Things can happen.' Draco tried to sound mysterious and knowing without revealing the things Father had told him, which would upset Hermione and get him smacked if he wasn't careful.

'What sort of things?'

Draco motioned Hermione ahead of him into the bathroom. She stepped in and brushed her teeth, washed her face and stepped out again, curious about what he was hinting at.

Whilst Draco was using the lav, Hermione wandered down the corridor a bit. The house was sleeping-she could hear snoring and murmuring from all corners. The Snatcher standing watch at the head of the stairs nodded politely. Hermione thought his name might be Limpkin.

She heard a scrabbling noise from behind herself and spun in time to see the loping form of Salazar coming across the floor. She dropped down and opened her arms to him.

'Hello, boy. Have you come to see Barty?' The dog licked her hand and she giggled, pressing her face into his ruff. She rose, and Salazar followed, tongue hanging from his mouth.

Draco came out to find his cousin and the huge dog waiting for him. 'Snape brought Salazar to see us! And what kind of things?'

Sirius could smell the boy's fear. It was thick and old, but overlaid with determination not to seem cowardly in front of his cousin. He rose on his hind legs and begged, head tipped rakishly to one side to encourage the kid not to be scared of him.

'Things' said Draco solemnly, not wanting to give away too much. 'That's why you must tell me if Krum tries to touch you.'

'Draco' said Hermione patiently 'you mean making a baby. Don't you?'

How did she know? '_Hermione_!'

'Well, that's what you meant. Right?'

'I, err, no, not exactly. You can't make a baby until you're married.'

Hermione was preparing to enlighten her cousin when Salazar whined and started to lead them toward the bedroom. They both followed him to the bedroom and came back inside.

Hermione clamoured onto the bed and settled next to her fiancé. _'Draco looks put out. Did you do something to him?' _Viktor waited until the younger boy was hesitantly patting the dog to ask sotto voce.

_'He wanted to ask whether we'd done something we shouldn't.'_

_'What did you tell him?'_

_'We didn't.'_

Viktor nodded. _' _Draco, nothing happen.'

'Yes, well, it's not that I don't trust you. It's easy to forget oneself, is all.'

Viktor smiled at his cousin to be and said 'I don't forget. Is matter of honour.'

'Yes, exactly!' Draco looked up as the elf brought back three goblets of pumpkin juice and a tray of food. 'Took you long enough.'

Hermione invited Draco to join them on the bed to eat. 'Did you sleep well?'

'All right. My head feels better.'

'Good. Are you excited about tonight?'

Draco made a face. 'No. What about you, Krum? You don't want to go to this, do you?'

Viktor sipped some juice. 'Could be vorse.'

'I can't imagine how. Well, I can, but practically I can't.'

'We get to dress up and dance. That's fun.'

'There's a war on! I'd rather do something useful.'

Hermione patted his arm. 'You'll get your turn, Draco. I don't want either of you to get hurt.'

Draco felt a bit ashamed. 'Nothing will happen, Hermione. We'll be safe.'

Viktor nodded firmly. 'Yes, come home safe.'

'Of course you will.' Hermione looked determined enough that both the boys believed that, if such a thing could have been prevented by sheer will, she would have done.

Bellatrix woke at two PM. Making herself minimally acceptable to be seen in public, she walked immediately to the master bedroom and knocked before pushing the door open and coming in.

'Mother!' Hermione was lounging in bed with the Krum boy and her cousin. There were gobstones on the bed, and the elf stood by the headboard, grim faced. Moreover, there was a huge black dog on the end of the bed, head on paws.

'Hello, Hermione. Viktor. Draco.' Both boys made as though to stand and she waved irritably at them; this was no time to stand on ceremony. She called for a chair and sat down on it.

'Well?'

'We've had a good time, Mother. And Draco is much better.' The boys were nodding. From what Bellatrix could see, her daughter was fine, but she still wasn't happy about what had happened.

'Yes, well.'

'Vas your sleep vell, Mother?' The boy was sitting right next to her daughter, and the girl turned big, soft eyes on him when he talked. The boy seemed to notice it as well, and as she watched, their hands brushed.

'Well enough. This is the dog, I take it.' She held out a hand and the dog lapped it, eyes soft. Bellatrix smiled-she liked dogs, so long as they weren't the little fussy kind. The dog came closer on his belly, tail thumping, and she scratched his ears as she talked.

'Yes, Mother. Isn't he brilliant?'

'Very friendly' admitted Bellatrix, who was satisfied her daughter wasn't too traumatised by all this. She wasn't happy, precisely, but didn't the Dark Lord know best, after all? How foolish she'd been!

She looked round the room. It looked like she remembered, dusty and dark. The elves had done their level best to make the place liveable, but the flowers emphasised the darkness rather than dispelling it.

Perhaps she'd ask Rodolphus about refurbishing parts of it. Tradition is important, but they could surely have the tapestries cleaned and sconces modified to hold more candles.

Hermione noticed her looking round. 'It's nice here.'

Bellatrix nodded. 'Your great aunt and uncle lived here, and my cousins. They both died serving the Dark Lord when they were young.'

The dog cocked his head and whined, and then pushed under her hand. Bellatrix stroked his head gently, surprised that it hurt a bit to say. The cousins of her youth were dead. Andromeda was lost to them forever, and she'd lost ten years of her daughter's life that she'd never get back. The dog's tail was still thumping. How clever, she thought, that he's picked up on my mood.

'You're free to look about, by the way, children. This is all yours now.' The deed had granted them everything, including the contents of the Black family vaults, not that either of them would know that until they were of age. She suspected mouldy old robes and tattered books would please Hermione better anyhow.

'May we?' Hermione's eyes did light up, and she translated for the boy, who looked similarly interested. Draco seemed somewhat less enthused, but Bellatrix thought he looked a bit pale like it was.

'Draco, have you taken your potions?'

'Not yet, Aunt.'

'Well, do. Cissy'll be up, and she'll want you to have taken them.'

Hermione grinned and mouthed 'Told you so' to her cousin. He rolled his eyes but obediently drained the phials Snape had left for him. They tasted foul but he had to admit, they loosened up the muscles in his neck. He'd probably end up taking more before the ball, but this would keep Mother happy for a while.

Bellatrix gave the dog a final pat and rose to her feet. She'd go and work on some files at the office for a while, or perhaps go on a quick raid. Then she'd apologise to the Dark Lord, admit her foolishness, beg his forgiveness. That's what she'd do.

She left and headed down the corridors. Zhivka Krum was there. 'Hello, Bellatrix.'

'Zhivka.' The woman fell into step beside her, and they walked toward the dining room for breakfast. The elves had set out last night's cold meats, rolls, pound cake and jam, and brandied coffee for those fighting hangovers.

Getting some rolls and plain coffee, the women faced one another. '*_How are the children_?*'

'*_Well. Your son and my daughter like one another very much.*_'

'*_That is a relief to Martin and I. Viktor is a very shy boy.*'_

_'*He's certainly charmed my daughter.*'_

Zhivka smiled with real pleasure, hearing that, and sipped her coffee, which tasted like vase water to her. Did these people not know how to make proper coffee?

'*_We were thinking it might be nice for your family to come to Bulgaria this summer. Viktor is going to start training with the national team, and he'd so like Hermione to go. and see him. And your sister's family is invited too, of course.*'_

Bellatrix nodded. She couldn't go, of course, nor Rodolphus, but Narcissa and Draco could, and it would be a nice holiday. And Hermione ought to get used to the different climate and customs. She felt a slightly guilty twinge of relief at the little mudblood girl, who had, she'd be the first to admit, prepared Hermione splendidly.

'*_I will talk to the Dark Lord_.*'

'*_My husband already has. He's given his leave. Weren't you told_?*'

The blood drained from Bellatrix's face so fast Zhivka thought she'd made her sick. Bellatrix smiled painfully and stood up after a second, legs shaking. She sat back down and said something in English that Zhivka couldn't follow. Perhaps she was swearing.

_'*Of course, I defer to His judgement, as in all things.*' _Bellatrix felt flensed. Wasn't she needed? Hadn't she pleased Him well enough? The Krum woman was looking at her.

'I, ahh, pardon me.' Bellatrix lurched to her feet and walked up the stairs, desperate to get away, desperate to figure what she'd done so she could correct it. She heard the door open and prayed that it wasn't the children. It would scare Hermione to see her this way, and she didn't want that.

The dog padded out and nudged her from behind. She let herself be harded into the first empty room. She sat on the bed, which was Snape's when he was here. The dog climbed up after her, and rested his head in her lap. His fur was soft, and he sat up to offer his ruff for her to lean against.

Bellatrix pressed her face into the dog's neck. He smelt clean, with the slightly dusty undertone she associated with dogs. 'It's hard, dog. Everything is hard.' She snorted, still resting against the dog's neck; was she as mad as they said she was?

She rested a few moments more and then stood up, gently displacing the dog. 'Well, complaining never solved a problem.' She went and dressed quickly.

'*_I did not mean to startle you, Zhivka. I was merely surprised_.*'

'*_Of course. I hope I didn't ruin a treat for you_.*'

'*_I shan't tell if you don't.*_'

Zhivka nodded and looked at her coffee again. '*_I think I'll walk in the garden_.*'

_'*I need to go to the Ministry. I'll be back before tonight.*_'

The women went their separate ways, not before Zhivka saw Salazar and commented on how handsome he was. The dog bowed politely and grinned at her with doggy roguishness.

Bellatrix went to the Ministry, unaccompanied by even a single Snatcher. She was likely the best witch in Britain; why should they help their better in that regard?

As she hoped, Snape was in his office. She barged in without a knock and threw Selwyn out by looking at him fearsomely. He turned tail and ran, robes flapping.

'Why does Zhivka Krum believe I am going to Bulgaria?'

Snape was used to Bellatrix's rudeness. 'I'm sure I don't know. Did she conflate your vast stores of knowledge about it into some sort of desire to see for yourself?'

'I mean it, Snape, I was not told.'

Snape put down his quill. 'I was not aware that the Dark Lord needed to run his decisions by you, Bellatrix.'

'You know damned well what I mean!'

Internally, Snape was reeling. He'd not got wind of this, either. He needed to find a way to keep better tabs, but how? Well, no matter for the moment.

'Did it never occur to you, Bellatrix, that our master might desire your skills in some area other than killing and maiming?'

Bellatrix threw herself into the chair across from his. 'Like what?'

'It's well known how good you are at magic, Bellatrix. Our lord feels that getting you out of the country might encourage the wolves to strike.'

'And how will I be of help when they do, sipping tea in some castle?'

'Because it will show the Bulgarians how seriously we take their friendship. And it would be awfully friendly of us to have you train their elites in your...talents, would it not?'

'So the wolves will strike...'

'And the elite aurors you trained will come in and save everyone, with you at their head.' At least, they would once Snape had brokered the deal. He suspected Malfoy had a hand in this. If he did, Snape meant to find out just how many hexes he could get in before Malfoy struck back. He thought the answer might be four.

Bellatrix nodded, looking displeased. 'If Our Master thinks it best, then I'll go with pleasure.'

'I knew you would. And Bellatrix, we must keep this between ourselves.'

'Of course. I'm not stupid, you know.' She rose and left without another word, and as she did, Snape mused that the tragedy was that no, she wasn't stupid.

The children decided to defer explorations for another day, and let themselves be bullied into a meal of cold meats, bread and cake from breakfast.

They played games and relaxed until seven o'clock, when Rinky and Kreacher both popped in, fighting like bull moose. 'No! Rinky dresses Miss! Always dresses Miss!'

'Kreacher being Mistress Walburga's maid for fifty seven years! Dresses Miss! Miss is Mistress now!'

'No, Rinky is maid! Rinky dresses Miss!'

'No! Kreacher dresses Miss!'

Hermione held up a hand. 'Stop it! You can both help everyone. Do the other ladies have maids?'

Viktor nodded. 'Mother has maid with her.'

'And mine brought Lemmy. Does Aunt Bellatrix have hers?'

'I think so. The gentlemen will need valets, then.'

Draco shook his head. 'Father and Uncle both have theirs, and I'll bet the Krums do as well. Viktor?'

'Yes. You have two elf now.'

Hermione looked momentarily daunted. 'Well, I'm sure we'll make the best of things. Is Aunt Narcissa awake?'

Rinky nodded. 'Is being awake, Miss.'

'Would you ask her what I should wear? I'd like to wear the peach silk.'

Rinky vanished and returned a second later. 'Peach silk is being fine, Miss. With diamond bracelet and family tiara?'

'Yes, that sounds good.' Hermione rose and donned her dressing gown. 'I'll go have my bath, boys. Should I have anything sent up?'

'No' said Viktor 've are good now.' His English, he felt, was improving, especially when he concentrated. He meant to have Draco work with him whilst Hermione was dressing. Hermione winked and followed the elves down the corridor.

The tub was brimming with fragrant oils and steaming water, and Hermione beamed as she got in, feeling very grown up to be allowed all this, and her peach silk, and her jewellery. She felt like a princess.

Rinky washed her hair as Kreacher set to work on her fingernails with a brush. She sat back, sighing with pleasure. If this was being married, she liked it very much. She knew there was more to it than just balls and talking and cuddling, but she had decided not to worry much about the other parts. She had complete faith in her mother and aunt to prepare her, and even Aunt Cunegarde, who'd be there tonight.

The elves had prepared dozens of women for hundreds of balls, and they worked in efficient tandem, the fight for supremacy being a sort of draw. Within twenty minutes, Hermione was almost ready, nails buffed, hair oiled, dusted with a very light coat of rice powder, and even sprinkled with a tiny dab of perfume.

Back in a clean nightdress and her dressing gown, she padded down the corridor flushed with excitement and pleasure. The Snatchers who saw her smiled fondly, remarking loudly to no one how pretty she looked, and seeing in her echoes of little sisters and nieces, and some of them even wives or daughters, who'd had similar if more modest transformations.

The boys would have done but couldn't. When they saw her, even in a dressing gown, both were silent. They suddenly understood, even if she didn't, the power of female beauty, and how it could be used, and how much more powerful it was when the woman didn't know it, as Hermione didn't.

Draco didn't especially want to leave his cousin alone with Krum, for all he felt a bit better about it. But he knew since he was younger he should go next, so he rose, giving the bloke a stern look, and walked down the hall, determined to go quickly so he could supervise.

Viktor went next, and by the time he returned, Hermione was dressing in the dressing room, door firmly closed. He donned his formal summer tunic and a pair of starched trousers, with high boots and a light cloak.

Draco, too, was dressed to the nines. Father had spelled a pair of his own robes smaller since Draco didn't have many formal ones of his own, and he felt very grown up, hair slicked with pomade, shoes shined to a diamond sheen.

'So do you feel different now that you're engaged?'

Viktor considered. 'Yes. Feels like now is being important to be responsible. Making good choices, doing what's right.'

Draco nodded. 'That sounds serious.' He was glad to be single and free, himself. But for how long? He decided to ask Father and make sure this happy state of affaires would continue as long as possible.

'Yes. But good serious. Happy serious. I want...so much..protect...to protect...Herm-on-nee-knee. To be a good husband. Good father. Good lord of Castle Krum.'

Draco still thought he'd rather stab out an eye than be married, but if Hermione had to be married, then he was glad it was to Krum.

There was a knock on the door, and Lucius Malfoy came in smiling. 'From my brother in law.' He held out the small bag with the cufflinks and cloak clasp. Viktor smiled his thanks and affixed everything with Draco's help.

The door to the dressing room opened, and Hermione slowly stepped out. The peach silk, which Cunegarde Lestrange had once worn to her coming out a century earlier, had been left largely intact by the seamstress elves. The neckline was still high, and the sleeves trailed gracefully over Hermione's wrists, where Viktor's bracelet gleamed. Her hair was down her back in shining curls, and the tiara mellowly in the light.

'Am I all right?'

The two younger boys were speechless. Lucius Malfoy, who was used to such things, was more than slightly amused by the reaction the girl was getting, and apparently ignorant of. Ah, to be young again...

'You look lovely, darling. Are you ready?' She nodded and stepped into the centre of the room, head back, seeming to glide. Narcissa had taught her well, and so had that French school, he thought, and lightly brushed his lips over her cheek, careful not to muss her.

The others were waiting by the door. The other women looked beautiful as well, beautiful and moneyed and blessed by fortune. It was perfect; the Dark Lord ascendant and his people the children of fabulous wealth and privilege. Even Bellatrix looked wonderful in violet silk. Snape, in his eternal black, waited like a blot at the margins of the evening, whilst Barty Crouch played with the dog in the corner.

Barty jumped up. 'Hermione! You look pretty!' He stepped forward and the dog reached up and seized his robes gently, tugging him back. The girl turned and smiled.

'Thank you, Barty. I'll save you a dance.'

'All right. Can the dog come?'

'No, Salazar needs to stay here.' Hearing his name, the dog stood and bowed to the ladies, provoking a wave of admiring coos and sighs. Snape glared down fiercely at him.

'Manky cur. Go and lie down.' The dog snorted and looked up at him with an expression Snape could only quantify as smug. Bastard dog. Even like this, he had women falling all over him.

The carriage pulled up. Viktor stood very straight and took Hermione's arm. They looked like a child's notion of a fairy story couple, Viktor tall and handsome in his uniform and Hermione dressed in her spangled silk and diamonds.

For the rest of her life, Hermione remembered that night with a species of wonder. Had that really been her? Dressed like a princess, the people around her dressed like royalty themselves, she felt as though this must be the first night of the rest of her life.

The sight that greeted them did nothing to dispel that. The Ministry blazed with light. The Dark Lord had decreed that the ball should show that they were not afraid-his children feared nothing, for they were under his protection. They circled the capital city so the people below could see, and so the children could see the crowds that gathered to cheer them.

The carriage finally landed in the courtyard, and Rodolphus lifted his daughter down so she didn't soil her slippers, dyed to match, with common dirt. She turned without being prompted and waved at the people.

'They're here to see you, darling.' Rodolphus was so proud of his child he wanted to burst. She smiled up and shook her head. 'No, Father. For all of us. We're making history.'

He gently guided her a little closer, knowing Scabior's boys were watching like owls. 'Let them see you, love.' He knew most of them would never see such a thing again, and Rodolphus knew the crowd wanted to live the dream with them, if only for a few moments.

Viktor came and stood beside his fiancee, waving and smiling. The shrieks grew louder, and his face went a solid pink. Hermione turned her head and whispered '_You look handsome, Viktor_.'

_'So do you. Well, not handsome. You know._'

_'Thank you_.' He smelt good, spicy and warm, and she nestled closer, pretending to be cold, sorry they couldn't chat and snuggle again all night. He winked at her and they turned to go into the Ministry itself.

The atrium looked stunning. It was lit with lanterns and candles, and the checkerboard floor shone with a mirror gloss. The people there were the top of the inner circle, and they clapped as the couple of the hour came in.

The elves had set out huge platters of prawns on ice, cheeses and caviar. Of course, there would be a late supper at Malfoy's as dawn broke, and the wine would flow like water, but people had to have energy to dance and play games.

Scabior, too, was there. Dressed in his finest (and out of deference to Flower, plainest) clothes, he bowed to the happy couple and gave Flower a wink and a grin. His boys had this placed sealed like a boomslang's eyelid, and God help the bloke he found snoozing on the job.

The waltz struck up. Viktor bowed and Hermione curtsied as they stepped into the centre of the room and started to dance. Viktor worried he was doing badly. Suppose he embarrassed her?

Hermione felt like they were floating. _'You dance well_.'

_'I'm clumsy. Like watching a bear ice skate._'

Hermione giggled and shook her head. 'Of course you aren't. No more than I am.' Much as she might not love Yseult's behaviour sometimes, she owed her for making her dance so much, she thought as they swirled across the floor.

The others joined the dance, starting with the parents and relatives. Draco beamed at his cousin as she danced by, fully intending to dance with her as soon as it was proper. Like it was, he was keeping Cunegarde and Barty company.

Cunegarde was sniffling softly. 'That was my dress.' She felt so moved she could say nothing else, and when she looked, she saw long dead witches and wizards spinning about, and a girl with a cloud of dark hair and a waist like a reed in peach silk and pearls in her hair.

Draco nodded politely. Beside him, Barty was humming to the music. 'You look like your father did at your age.'

'Oh.'

'Your cousin's promised me a dance.'

'I remember.'

'His Lordship said I can make the Mark later. Isn't that exciting?'

Draco nodded, hoping he could get away soon. He frowned, shifting, and wondered when things would get interesting. He hoped it was soon.

They were both right.


	31. Chapter 31

**A/N: Love to reviewers and my dear Countess Black**

** Best wishes to Prince William and Princess Catherine on their marriage! It definitely gave me some ideas, to say the least. Also, I fully intend to start wearing hats due to how chic everyone looked in them (people have been suggesting it to me for years, except they usually call them "burlap sacks". Odd, huh?).**

It was an excellent party, even Snape had to agree. He was standing dourly by the oysters, having just been subject to some clumsy, winking attempts at barracks talk from a tipsy Travers, who seemed to have the idea that Rita Skeeter would oblige him.

Snape wished him luck and munched some brie, watching Barty from the corner of his eye. The tall and handsome friend of his youth was dancing the girl about the floor in haphazard swoops, chattering rapidly.

The Lestrange girl caught his eye and smiled. Snape nodded, face unchanging, and braced himself as the dance ended and Barty walked Hermione over to where Snape stood.

'Sev! Some party, isn't it?'

'Yes, Barty. Miss Lestrange, is everything all right?'

'Fine, Professor. Would you please pour me some punch?' Snape nodded and poured a small amount of cream punch into a goblet for her.

She sipped it, smiling up at him. 'It's wonderful, Professor. Thank you.'

Snape sensed she was on the cusp of some emotional thing and mentally prepared himself. 'The elves do cook well.'

'No, I mean this whole thing.' She sipped more punch and watched as a tipsy Amycus Carrow stumbled, laughing, into McNair, who laughed as well. They each put an arm about the other and started to sing off key as Narcissa swiftly glided over to direct them to a more appropriate place.

The girl was still looking at him. She set down her cup and smiled. He flashed on the little bushy haired girl he'd known and then looked at her now, two inches taller and dressed like a princess, eyes bright.

'Something you wished to ask, Miss Lestrange?'

'Dance with me?'

'What?' Snape, the spymaster of Britain, did not dance. Not slightly, not ever. And not with his little spy, who was getting so big these days, who was engaged now. He set his face and tried to find a suitably sharp retort.

'Miss Lestrange, may I have this dance?' Snape was so startled he almost changed his expression. Almost. He wondered what on earth was possessing him as he bowed and she curtsied, giggling, and then they took their places.

'I thought we could talk this way.' she said softly as they swirled. Snape nodded his approval. 'Well thought out.' Thank God! She didn't want to dance with him because she liked him!

Yes, she did. Hermione wanted Snape to enjoy himself during their party, and that meant dancing and having fun with others. She wished he could find someone to marry, too, so he'd be happy like she was with Viktor.

'You talked to Viktor.'

'I did.'

'Headmaster Karkaroff is in trouble with the Dark Lord?'

'Oh, yes.' He didn't mention the man had gone missing three days previously. Miss Lestrange was nodding seriously, clearing thinking this over.

'Viktor and I had a good night. But it was sort of scary, too.'

'Was it?' Snape shoved down the flare of concern that lit up his spine. She was his spy, not his child.

'A little. But Viktor made me feel better. We talked about Castle Krum-there's a dog kennel there-and going to swim in the sea.'

Snape nodded. He shoved down a similar flare of pleasure that she was clearly happy with his choice. 'And you feel Mr. Krum will be a good husband?'

'I think so. Someday we'll have a baby, I suppose. Viktor would like that. And Mother and Father, and Aunt Narcissa.' She seemed to be mulling this over, and Snape knew he'd have to talk her through this at some point.

'Yes, they would.'

'And you, Professor? You and Salazar could come and see us sometime.'

Snape felt stupidly touched. 'We certainly could. What prompted this?'

Hermione related what Draco had said. 'And so I asked if that's what he meant, and he said it wasn't, because you have to be married.'

Snape nodded gravely, curling his toes in his boots to keep from laughing. 'And this made you think of that?'

'Well, that's why they want us to marry, isn't it?'

'Partly.' Snape hoped she wasn't going to cry. He didn't do tears, especially not during parties on which the fates of countries rested uneasily. But she didn't. She raised her chin and said sternly 'Everything will be all right. I won't ever have to leave my children because Mother and Father are making everything safe for us.'

Snape forced himself to nod. He'd have to address this fear of abandonment at some point, too, obviously. 'Exactly so. Was Barty good whilst you were dancing?'

Hermione nodded. 'Isn't there some way to fix his mind, Professor? A potion?'

'No. He's too far gone.'

'Oh. Will he live with us forever?'

'It looks that way.'

'When I get married, can he come and visit?'

Snape could read the subtext as clearly as any other man. The child was terrified she'd lose them, even the collection of freaks and misfits she'd picked up somehow. How the hell did the most hated man in Britain come to be a little girl's comforter?

'Mr. Krum would be pleased, I'm sure. What did you tell him?'

'The truth. Most of it. Not about Scabior. Or Alise. Or the thing with the Stone, or Harry, or Ron.' She lifted her head and kept step, and Snape felt a thrill of real pride in her resolve to keep dancing.

'What did he tell you?'

Hermione outlined the conversation in rapid sentences as the dance was winding down. 'Miss Lestrange, you look peaked. Let me find you a chair.'

Hermione allowed herself to be guided to a chair. Snape listened, nodding, and was pleased by what he heard.

Rodolphus came over and sat on Hermione's other side just as she said 'And his cousins are excited, too. Isn't that nice?' She was clearly anticipating having children to care for, and it made him feel old that she was so excited.

'Here we are again, hmm? Darling, go and save Draco from Aunt Cunegarde. She's been railing at him for an hour.' Hermione nodded and slid across the floor to save Draco, whose eyes were glazed with boredom.

'Severus, really.'

'I've no idea what you mean, Lestrange.'

'Mmm hmm, of course you haven't. I've a third cousin, you know, blood pure on both sides, talented at charms. French, even.'

'My French is lamentable.'

'It would improve.'

'I'm ignoring this.'

'I'll get Narcissa on it.'

'I'll kill you as you sleep.'

'Bellatrix's reserved that honour for herself.'

'She's taking her own sweet time with it.'

Both men chuckled slightly. 'You did splendidly for my daughter, Severus. Thank you.'

'She deserves it.'

'She does.' Rodolphus frowned a bit, shaking his head, and then motioned the champagne elves over. Each man took a flue and settled back for a bit of talk.

The door flew open and everyone in the room drew as one. It was Limpkin, blood streaming. 'THEY'RE HERE! GET THE WOMEN INTO THE FLOO!'

The room exploded. The Death Eaters gathered into a loose knot as the women raced for the Floo. Viktor found Hermione trying to shove Cunegarde in. 'You go now!'

'No! The others first!' Hermione had been well drilled as to her obligations to others, and she knew she should go last. Viktor seemed prepared to argue the point when there was a burst of fire from the entrance, and that quickly, the Romanians were amongst them.

It was chaos. Firing spells, the wolves moved in, screaming. The other reacted in kind. Hermione caught sight of Mother, wand a blur, shrieking exultantly as she downed three men almost faster than Hermione could see.

Her own wand was in her hand, and she pointed it at a wolf. 'Wingardium Leviosa!' Nothing happened. Hermione darted closer and concentrated, feeling her fear and anger sort of meld together. She could do this.

'Wingardium Leviosa!' The man flew up into the air, and from behind her, Narcissa's voice seemed very loud. 'Stupify!' She caught sight of Viktor plunging into the fray, and then he, too, was gone, firing hard.

Hermione plunged forward, her aunt at her side. She didn't feel afraid. She felt something almost worse, something that made her glad she could make them go down.

There was blood everywhere, and screaming, and smoke from someplace. None of it registered. She wasn't helpless this time, and she felt safe, knowing Aunt Narcissa was there. The two of them ran, felling whom they could, until they found Uncle Lucius.

'Cissy! Thank God!'

'Lucius! Where's Draco?'

'Here I am, Mother!' Draco, bleeding from his nose, came forward, Viktor at his side. The older boy had a black eye, and he was limping. Hermione darted forward and hugged him, but only for a second.

'There's more coming over the walls!'

They had perhaps thirty seconds. The wounded were ferried to the far corner and the children set to guard them. 'Viktor, how do I knock them out?'

Viktor showed the younger two how to swish the movement. 'You stay back! No be brave!' In the desperation of the hour, any chance of grammar had gone out the window. Both of them nodded, tried it once and hunkered down, ready to do their bit.

Closest the door, Bellatrix was ready for them. Beside her, the Dark Lord in Gibbon's body was screaming encouragement to his soldiers. 'Onward, men! Drive them out! No prisoners!'

The cry echoed through the hall. 'Take them! No prisoners!'

Bellatrix was happier than she'd been in forever. 'KILL THEM ALL!'

The door opened and the first wave hit the line of Death Eaters. They went down but more were there to take their place, firing spells. Selwyn dropped, blood pouring from every orifice in his face.

Others were falling, but above it all, Bellatrix's shrieks rang out, howling praise for the Dark Lord and a beautiful death in battle. Hermione only registered it a little; she was concentrated on waiting for them to get close enough to hit.

'Stupify!'

'Petrificus Totalus!'

'Serpensortia!' Draco swished as hard as he could and a snake grew from nothing and attacked a beardless wolf, sending him to his knees. Beside him, Krum was firing with calm efficiency, making no sound other than calling his spell and the heavy rasp of his breath.

Hermione saw one bulling toward them, shoving others aside, trampling the bodies of the fallen. He was headed directed for them, and all she could think about was Cunegarde, and Barty, who were defenceless, and this man wanted to hurt them.

Hermione was angry, angrier than she'd ever been. She raised her arm and did the motion exactly as Viktor had showed her, screaming the spell with the conviction of the desperate.

The wolf dropped like a stone, and Hermione felt something rise in her, something in her blood that screamed for her to go and hurt him, to make him pay. She fought it, wanting to make sure no one she knew died there.

Draco had never been more afraid. His muscles felt tight and hot and his mouth was dry. He'd heard Father's stories and this wasn't anything like them; he didn't feel brave or noble. He felt afraid. He wanted to go home. He wanted Mother.

But he fought on, because he knew men hurt women sometimes, and that these men might try to hurt Mother and Hermione and Aunt. He dashed forward and swished hard at another, who feel, legs trembling, and was downed by Uncle Penko, whose elegant hair was matted with blood.

'DIE! DIE!' Bellatrix's world was hot and red. Her blood was singing and she was the predator now, every human consideration burnt away into the flames of this wild and beautiful madness.

Rodolphus was beside her, and he fought as he lived, with calm deliberation. He'd killed perhaps a dozen men that night, and he felt exactly the same as he had before. He could see Snape protecting the Dark Lord, and that was fine and good. Everything seemed fine and good to Rodolphus at that moment, actually.

The wolves were breaking. One of them stood, roaring defiance, before he turned and shouted the retreat. The survivors fled, taking as many of their wounded as they could. The day was won.

The children didn't realise it until a cheer rose in the room. Hermione dropped to her knees, legs weak as her adrenaline faded, and Barty darted forward and snagged her wand from her hands.

'_Morsmordre_!' The Mark lit the ceiling of the room, and the cheer grew louder, as even the wounded lifted their quavering voices in praise of the Dark Lord. Viktor dropped and lifted his fiancee. 'Herm-on-nee-knee?'

'I'm all right, Viktor. Just...oh, my.' She relaxed in his arms and felt unconsciousness beckoning her gently. No time for that now, she told herself sharply, and struggled back to consciousness by sheer will.

Draco was there and hugging them tightly. 'It's all right, Hermione.' Viktor hugged him, too, and they clung to one another for what seemed like hours, until Narcissa came and they hugged her too.

The toll of the battle was steep. Ajax Selwyn was dead, and Metellus Travers was badly injured, as was Antonin Dolohov. Eight Snatchers and three British werewolves had been killed, and several more were injured to varying degrees.

Bellatrix, looking like a Fury, found her child. Hermione was soaked with sweat and shivering, but she found a smile for her mother when she saw her. 'Mother?'

'Girl, shhh.' Bellatrix opened her arms and Hermione fled into them, not caring about seeming grownup, not now. She burrowed into Mother's shoulder and felt safer at once, even though Mother smelt of blood and other things, and a smell like cold iron.

'Is Father all right?'

'I'm here, my darling.' Rodolphus stepped up, beard singed. Hermione flung her arms about him and held on for dear life. 'We're all safe!'

'Yes, we are.'

Beside them, the Malfoys were having a similar meeting, and Martin Krum was holding his son against him. '*_Papa, where's Mama?*_' In his exhaustion and fright, Viktor had regressed to children's words, and he stepped back looking very young and very scared. Martin turned as well, and caught sight of her blue robes on the floor.

'Zhivka!' The men shoved through the crowd and found her on her side, breathing shallowly, head stoved in one side from a powerful hex. Snape raced over and started first aid, praying the emergency medi-teams would arrive in time.

Hermione followed Viktor, and where she went, so went the rest, lest they be separated. Zhivka's face was blue about the lips, her breathing strained and harsh. Martin was holding her head in his lap, stroking her hair. '*_Zhivka, don't die. Please, don't leave me.*' _Viktor held her hand in his, face white as milk.

A medi-wizard came and shoved them aside. He applied an emergency poultice and started the spells which would keep her breathing until they got her to the Critical ward.

The Snatchers were moving in to finish the wounded. Hermione caught a flash of Scabior and his knife and shivered, pushing it from her mind. She had to take care of Viktor right now, was all, and not worry about anything else.

She leant over and gently took Viktor's hand in hers. '_Viktor, we need to go now_.'

_'Go where_?'

Hermione wasn't sure, but they couldn't stay there. She turned to Aunt Narcissa, whose makeup was running down her cheeks like black tears. 'Aunt Narcissa?'

'We'll go to St. Mungo's, love, until Madam Krum is stabilised. Uncle will tell us what happens after, all right?' They trooped to the Floo and were shown to a private suite, where Zhivka Krum lay fighting for her life.

Hermione couldn't fix Mother Krum, but she could make everyone else's life more pleasant. She sent Rinky, who was in a state of controlled hysteria, to get clean clothes for everyone, and to send Kreacher to the Ministry to help the people there. Narcissa organised her own elves to prepare everything for a long trip should her husband elect to send her and the children from the country.

Viktor was sitting like a stone. He felt encased in ice, as though he'd been swimming in Durmstrang's lake naked in January. He numbly let Hermione scrub the crusted blood from his face and spread some salve on his eye to make the bruising stop.

She said nothing. He noticed distantly that she was still in blood stained peach silk and her jewellery, which gave everything a creepy, festive air, like putting rouge on a corpse.

He bent closer and rested his head against her neck. She smelt good, even under the sweat and blood. He sighed and her arms went around him, holding, speaking softly in English.

The elf returned from the house with clothes for them all, and Draco silently took his and went to shower. He felt confused. Why hadn't he liked it? Was there something wrong with him? Would Father feel disappointed in him? Would he never be a good Death Eater now?

He let the water wash away the blood that had matted in his hair and stuck in the creases of his flesh. It was even in the ridges of his fingernails. An elf came, and not knowing or caring which one it was, he let it bathe him and wash his hair.

Clean and dressed, Draco walked back into the room and sat. His cousin was holding Krum's hand. Draco found it didn't worry him like it had. What they might do, they'd do from affection. What those people had done tonight had been done from something infinitely worse.

Still, he watched. He had a duty, after all. He settled back against the chair and sent an elf for something for everyone to drink. Viktor took the goblet and drank from it without reacting-it might have been wine, or poison, or anything in between.

Hermione rested her head on Viktor's shoulder. 'Do _you want your shower now? It would feel good to be clean_.' Viktor rose and stumbled into the bathroom without a word.

Hermione came and squeezed in beside her cousin. She didn't want to be alone, and neither did Draco. 'That was...'

'Is that how it was during the battle at Hogwarts?'

Hermione shook her head. 'No. It was worse then. We were armed, at least. I wasn't then. And the werewolves were eating people.'

'Really?'

'I think so. I heard noises.' Her face was smooth but that made it creepier. Draco gently patted her arm. 'Hermione, why don't you lie down?'

'Can't. I have to make sure Viktor is all right, and Father Krum, and my parents.'

'Mother will.'

'I have to help too.' Hermione seemed older to Draco now, old enough to do those things. He suddenly realised he felt old too. No matter what happened, he'd never be like he was. He knew what danger was like now, real, immediate, not-fun danger.

'What can I do?'

Hermione sighed and shook her head. 'Don't know. Maybe ask your mother about it?'

When Narcissa came in, Draco was pressing a mug of coffee on a white faced Martin Krum, and Hermione was nowhere to be seen. Draco rose politely and came to embrace her.

'Mother, is there anything I might do?' He looked serious, and like his father, and it broke her heart. Her baby, her little boy, had been blooded that night, and the fire and blood of his baptism had burnt a bit of his childhood away forever.

'No, love. Are you helping Uncle Martin?'

'I am. Hermione and Viktor are in with Aunt Zhivka.' Narcissa had suspected that was the case. She sat down and took the coffee her son handed her. 'I sent the elves to see to things at the house. We'll be here a long time, won't we, Mother?'

'Yes, Draco. Well done.' She smiled and sipped her coffee, which was terribly strong. It wasn't like she'd be sleeping anyway that night, she reflected, and shut her eyes for a moment.

Viktor had asked Hermione to come and see his mother. She'd gone with him, still silent, and held his hand as they approached the bed. Zhivka wasn't blue anymore, but the only colour in the bed was her hair, which was still thick and black and lovely.

Viktor's knees almost buckled when he saw her. He controlled himself with the thought that fainting would upset Hermione and pushed himself forward, knowing his duty to his mother and his future wife.

_'Mother? Mama?_' Her eyelids didn't flutter. Viktor touched her cheek, which was like ice. She didn't respond. A medi-witch looked up from the cart in the corner and shook her head.

'Please, Miss, tell Mr. Krum his mother won't awaken for several days.' If at all, was the unspoken rest of the sentence. Hermione swallowed hard and translated what had been said.

Viktor nodded. 'Thank you, Madam for helping. Mother is not in pain?'

The medi-witch, who was a Halfblood and didn't like the new regime much, felt sympathy for the young man despite herself. Both of them seemed nice, and genuinely torn up about the woman.

'No, she's not in any pain. She's deep in a coma.'

'I don't understand.'

'Your mother is in a very sleep. Her brain is asleep, too.' Viktor's hand found Hermione's and squeezed, and Hermione gently squeezed back. 'What can we do, Madam?'

The medi-witch wished she could give them an answer. 'Nothing, for right now. Talk to her, I'd say. She might hear you. Sir.'

'Ve vill. Thank you again.' Viktor pulled up the chair and sat down. He'd wait here until his father spelled him, and then, perhaps, he would try to sleep. He didn't think it would work. He'd see Mother's blue lipped face staring back.

Hermione bent to murmur. _'Why don't I have the book sent, and you can read it to her?'_

_'Would you?'_

_'Shall I stay, or would you prefer privacy?'_

_'Stay.'_

Hermione spelled another chair next to herself and settled down in it, sending Rinky for her book at home.

Viktor handled it reverently, opening it to the place where he and Hermione had been reading. '..._And then Miraslava, realising there was no choice, called the women for a final assault._..'

Hermione felt very clearheaded. Rinky had brought her a clean clothes, but she'd had no time to change into them. She reeked of blood and perfume, and the tiara was digging into her scalp.

When Martin came to relieve his son's vigil, he found him reading aloud, with the girl beside him, eyes half closed. She looked like a flower which had been stepped on, still pretty but warped out of shape.

'Viktor?'

_'Papa? Father? Mother's in a_...coma.' He didn't know what that word meant, but he tried to translate his conversation all the same. His father nodded tiredly, looking twenty years older.

_'She's badly injured, Viktor. Even if she...if she lives, she won't be able to be moved for some time.' _

_'Yes, Father. What can I do?'_

_'Go back to Bulgaria. Take the girl and whomever else with you and stay. Help Rumen run the castle and look after our affaires_.'

Viktor nodded. _'I will. Snape mentioned wanting to send some security people with us. Whom should I ask for?_''

'_It's your choice, son. You're acting lord as of this moment.'_

Viktor's face went white. _'No._'

'_I must stay here and help coordinate the efforts between our government and theirs, for one. Mother needs to stay, and I am empowered to make these choices, which you are not. And the castle needs a lord.'_

_'Rumen is-'_

_'Your heir, until you've fathered one. But not you. Krum Castle's lord is the eldest son, or his son. You are he.'_

Viktor had never willingly shirked a duty in his life, and he wouldn't now. He rose and bowed to his father, and took the ring which Martin prized from his own hand to give to his son. '_Remember who and what you are, Viktor.'_

_'Yes, Father.'_

_'I'll be taking that back. Don't get too used to it._'

_'No, Father._'

Viktor turned and woke the gently dozing Hermione. She stumbled to her feet, clearly embarrassed, and, curtseying to her father in law to be, led the way into the other room.

'Aunt Narcissa, Father is giving message. Ve go soon to Bulgaria.'

Narcissa nodded. 'Of course.'

'You, too, come. And Draco, and Herm-on-nee-knee. Many come. Ve keep safe there.'

Narcissa's eyes widened. 'Viktor, I don't know what to say.'

'Father talk to Dark Lord. He say you come. Snatchers come, keep safe.'

'I'll have to talk to my husband.'

'Yes, talk. But then come. Is not safe now.' Viktor had no intention of letting this go. If the Ministry could be breached, anything could, including this hospital.

'Maybe Mother Lestrange come too?'

Narcissa thought that as likely as a house elf being appointed Minister. 'I'll ask her as well, all right?'

Viktor nodded. 'Herm-on-nee-knee come. Is lady now. Lady of castle.'

Hermione's eyebrows shot up. 'Sorry?' Narcissa was startled too; but of course, this wasn't Viktor's first language, and there were cultural barriers at work. She nodded politely and looked at her niece; perhaps Hermione could ask in Bulgarian?

_'Viktor, what do you mean_?'

Viktor didn't want to scare or upset Hermione. He showed her his ring, which was iron. _'It's the family ring. It makes me nominal-in name only-lord of the castle. You're my fiancee. Technically, that makes you the chatelaine.' _

Hermione's eyes widened. 'Oh.'

'Darling, can you translate?' Narcissa didn't like this conversation much. She felt disturbed by all this, and her niece's reaction wasn't filling her with optimism. She gently took Hermione's hand in hers.

Hermione told her. It took all of Narcissa's training to keep her face smooth and neutral. She'd been upset when her twelve year old niece had been betrothed. Now the same twelve year old was chatelaine of a castle in a foreign country, and she had to control the enormous upset she felt at all this, how angry and _used_ she felt on behalf of her niece, who still, for God's love, enjoyed a good tickle fight.

'I see. This does complicate matter somewhat.'

Hermione nodded. 'Yes.' She felt like she had when she'd swam too far in the sea and the undertow had nipped her. Her life was changing again, and she didn't like it. She fought the urge to climb in her aunt's lap and snuggle for a while, perfectly safe.

Except she wasn't. She wasn't, and neither was anyone else she loved. Hermione inhaled and gently disentangled herself from the others. 'May I go and shower now?'

Rinky came with her. Hermione stood under the spray and sobbed as the water loosened all the knots in her neck. The elf massaged her shoulder and shirred soothingly, wishing he could make it all better.

She was in a long time. When she came out, the boys were taking a quick walk (with a Snatcher keeping them company). Narcissa smiled and patted her lap. 'Darling?'

Hermione was sitting down almost before she'd done speaking. The girl buried her head in her aunt's neck. 'Aunt Narcissa, thank goodness you're here!'

Narcissa almost smiled, except that her niece was clearly very upset. 'Shall we talk about it?'

'Nothing feels right anymore, and everything is complicated.'

'I know. How can we make you feel better?'

Hermione held on tighter. 'I don't know. Maybe we can't. Mother Krum is very badly injured, and I don't know how to run a castle, and be married, except not really.' Narcissa rocked, wishing she could fix this somehow.

'I know, precious. Hush, I'm here.'

'And I shouldn't want to do this anymore, because I'm not a child, but I am. I don't feel engaged. I feel scared.'

'Of course you do. Nothing's changed, my darling. Really, it hasn't. We'll have a nice holiday to Bulgaria, and won't your Bulgarian improve loads?'

Hermione nestled against her aunt and breathed her sweet floral scent. She loved Mother because she was fierce and funny and honest, but for sheer mum-comfort, Aunt Narcissa had the market cornered.

She wanted her own Mum furiously but she knew Mum was Elsewhere, and that would have to comfort her for now. Like Father said, Mum was safe from hurt. Dad, too, and as much as she missed them, she couldn't have kept them safe any more than she could anyone else. Why did everyone she love leave her?

Narcissa could sense that Hermione was hurting inside. She hummed a lullaby, loathing the helplessness she felt. Her son needed her, and her niece, and probably Viktor, and they were all welcomed to the comfort of her arms and her lap and her voice, but how could she even start to fix this?

'Love, are you all right?'

Hermione raised her head and inhaled deeply. 'I haven't got a choice, Aunt Narcissa. None of us do, now.'

And the worst of it was that she was absolutely right.


	32. Chapter 32

**A/N: Love to reviewers and Countess Black**

**NB: It always annoys me when characters speak a second language perfectly after very little instruction; I've been learning my second language for ten years, and I still struggle sometimes with syntax and slang words.**

** On the other hand, it wouldn't be interesting to read (or write) about that, and the plot would slow to a crawl. So what does one do? I want to try and compromise a bit on this one-whilst the Lestrange/Malfoy family are in Bulgaria, their speech is in italics to indicate they aren't speaking the dominant language.**

** Also, it's one thing to be conversationally fluent. It's another to be able to function completely in the second language every day, so Hermione is going to start struggling more. If anyone can give me some help by answering my questions about Bulgaria and it's people and language, I 'd be very grateful. **

For a trip had started with so much fanfare, it ended, weeks early, with a small group slinking out by night like chicken thieves. At least, that's how it felt to Viktor.

The new (temporary) lord of Krum Castle, dressed in plain clothing, sat beside his fiancée and her mother, and across from Draco and Narcissa, all dressed in dark, simple robes. The carriage, too, was old and plain, and it rocked nauseatingly as it rose from the grounds of Malfoy Manor and started laboriously for Bulgaria.

Hermione sat beside her husband to be and looked out the window. She had left British soil before, of course, but this had the air of an escape, and it turned her stomach. She and Viktor could speak, at least, but the others had been ordered to keep silent.

Eight other carriages left. One of them was an old spare of the Malfoys', and it had house elves charmed to look like humans sitting in it. It rested in the middle. The one with the actual Malfoys, and everyone else, was on the left, in no way distinguished.

They passed over the silent countryside as the sky began to lighten. There was only a small escort, which ideally would attract less attention. The enemy could be anyone, anywhere, and nothing on British soil was safe.

For that matter, Bulgarian soil might not be safe, either. Viktor watched out the window like Hermione, feeling much the same. Was he leading them to safety, or other dangers?

They crossed into international airspace as the sun rose into the sky. All of them breathed a sigh of relief, but only a small one. They were probably safer, but by how much? Hermione caught Draco's eye and winked, and he made himself wink back. He and Krum were protecting the ladies, and it seemed a lot less fun now that he understood what they were protecting them from.

The elves had packed them a hamper, and at noon, Hermione passed out a lunch of pasties and little bottles of pumpkin juice. Mother pushed hers away; she seemed tense, almost cat like in her alertness.

Bellatrix was carrying documents sewn in the hem of her robes. They were weighted with the Dark Lord's seal, and she felt them through her layers of undergarments as though they were hot. She was prepared to die defending them, because she knew how important they were for Britain, for all of them.

Narcissa, too, had a precious cargo, in the form of most of her jewels, sewn into the linings of her clothes. They might need to sell them for money, and aside from a few very sentimental pieces, she'd brought everything she could carry.

Hermione's bracelet was against her skin. That would not be sold. She'd wrapped it in Draco's tenth day gown and charmed it, along with love letters from her husband and her mother's sapphire solitaire, to lay flat.

Hermione herself didn't speak, though she could have. She spoke Bulgarian, and because they were supposed to be part of the Bulgarian support staff being evacuated, they couldn't chance English until they were safely inside.

They arrived in Bulgaria just before midnight. They went directly to the castle. Technically, this was a breach of protocol-they ought to have been formally received and feted in the capital city. They'd save that for tomorrow, or the next day; they would be too tired for it, and it wasn't safe anyhow, not now.

The castle's beacon was burning. Elves had built a massive bonfire to guide the calvacade, most of who would be heading on that night. Three carriages peeled off and landed on the cobbles of the outer keep; the other five kept going, saluting the new nominal lord as they left.

Viktor emerged into a brisk, sweet smelling salt breeze from the sea. The dogs greeted him first; he dropped down and held out his arms for them to come and jump on him.

Remembering protocol, he rose and held out a hand for Hermione to step down with. She did, looking round at her new home with big, circled eyes. Her mother did as well, though her eyes weren't as big or as tired. She seemed invigorated by the events of the previous days, not lessened by them.

The others came out just as the Snatchers spilt from theirs and established a rough perimeter. The door to the inner keep was opening, and Rumen Krum was coming to greet them.

Rumen looked like a younger Martin, broad and bearlike, but without his fine side whiskers or personable demeanour. He marched out and presented himself with the air of a man who was meeting a king and not his nephew, whom he'd held at eight minutes old.

'Nephew, I am at your service.' He bowed, and Viktor felt a moment of panic.

'Uncle, stop it. I am still your little bear, am I not?'

'Yes, and my liege lord besides. How might I help you?'

'By acting as you always have. I need your good council and intelligence more than ever.'

Rumen nodded and turned to Hermione. 'Madam, I welcome you to your new home. My wife is waiting for you in the ladies' chambers. We are yours to command.'

'Uncle Rumen, please, call me Hermione. I would like very much to meet Aunt.' Hermione felt herself getting tenser and not more relaxed. This man made her feel the changes that had happened in the most uncomfortable way.

'_Hermione_' said Narcissa, _'Would you ask Viktor to introduce us_?'

_'Of course I will_. Viktor, would you introduce my family?'

_'Sorry, Aunt Narcissa, Mother, Draco. My uncle, Rumen Krum. _Uncle, my mother in law to be, her sister Madam Lucius Malfoy, and her son, Draco Malfoy.'

Rumen turned and bowed. _'Is honour, ladies. Wife waits for us. Come_?'

They all trooped toward the family quarters. The castle was a fortress first and foremost, and like Lestrange House, it brooded darkly, the stones seeming to ooze history like a virus.

Rumen's wife was younger than he, with a thin face and nervous, perpetually chapped hands. She rose and curtsied, which rather threw Hermione off. She almost hesitated, but feeling Bellatrix prod her in the back, she stepped forward and opened her arms. 'Aunt Lyudmilla, it is so nice to finally meet you.'

'Madam, I am at your service.' She surrendered the heavy ring of keys which were Hermione's new symbol of office. Hermione took them, shocked by their weight, and fastened them to her waist.

'Are the children in bed?'

'Would they be, when their cousin was coming home?' She smiled, seeming younger and prettier, and motioned for an elf with a crest over it's heart to fetch them.

They, at least, had no concerns about propriety. They half ran in, ignoring their elf nanny's admonitions, and flung themselves at Viktor. 'Viktor! You're home!'

'Hello, Ivan. Yana. Were you good whilst I was gone?'

Ivan looked very like Viktor, almost a brother, except for his colouring, because like his mother, he had sandy blond hair. He grinned up and said 'Yes! Is this your wife now?'

'Not yet, Ivan. This is Hermione.'

_'Erm-on-nee-knee?_' Ivan turned and bowed, trying the funny name in his mouth. To his disappointment, these English looked more or less like any other wizards and witches, except tired.

'Hello, Ivan. It's good to meet you.' Her Bulgarian was lightly accented, but she smiled in a friendly way, and Yana, deciding that, awful name or no, she seemed nice, ran up to her and hugged her legs.

'Hello! Viktor says you'll play dolls with me!'

'Yana' said her mother, leaning to disentangle her daughter 'not tonight, angel. She's not slept in a long time.'

Hermione realised her family didn't know what was going on. '_These are the children. Ivan and Yana. Yana says she wants us to play dolls.'_

Bellatrix nodded. _'When will the Minister arrive_?'

_'I vill ask Uncle, Mother._' Rumen had slipped in to join them, and Viktor addressed the question to him.

'As soon as you give the word. Please tell Madam Lestrange it is an honour to have her in our house. If you would.'

Viktor translated. _'Is honour, Mother, having you here_.'

_'Thank you_.' She shifted from foot to foot, anxious to get started. These seemed like nice enough people, but she was not on a social visit.

'Uncle, I'm officially giving you leave to speak for me in these matters, and anything else you see fit. I am only a boy, and untutored. Please, do me the honour of acting in my stead.'

Hermione followed what was being said, more or less. She was hungry and wanted to freshen up before she met the Minister. _'Viktor, could we see where we'll sleep_?'

_'I forget. Apologise, Hermione.'_

_'It makes up for my having fallen asleep on you the other night.'_

He shook his head in playful negation. 'Aunt, may we go and freshen up now, as the Minister gets here?'

'Oh!' She looked abashed. 'Forgive me, Viktor.'

'Please, Aunt Lyudmilla, Nothing has changed. I'm giving this ring back at first opportunity.' He was, too. He hated it. The world was upside down.

The children had no such compunctions, and soon they were leading their strange visitors through the family quarters and toward their rooms at the heart of the tower.

'Do you have to share your room with Erm-Her-this lady now, Viktor?'

'No, Ivan. Not until Hermione and I are married.'

'When's that?' Ivan didn't like dress clothes, and he didn't want to have to dress up. Viktor raised an eyebrow at Hermione, who was smothering a grin of her own.

'When we're older. I'll be nineteen or twenty.'

'Oh. That's ages from now. So we can still sleep in the moon viewing room sometimes?'

'Yes, Ivan. We can still sleep in the moon viewing room sometimes.'

Yana was listening to all this very solemnly. 'Viktor?'

'Yes, Yana?'

'Why does your wife have such a funny name?'

'Yana, that's rude.'

'Well, she does! Did her parents run out of regular names?' Viktor meant to scold her, but one look at Hermione distracted him. Her hand was over her mouth and her shoulders were shaking. Hermione was laughing.

'Yana, my parents name me Hermione because it's from the Illiad. It's the custom in Britain.'

Yana wasn't satisfied by this. 'And why doesn't her family talk?'

'They don't speak Bulgarian.'

'Oh. Why not?' Viktor finally bent down and lifted his cousin onto his shoulders. 'If I let you ride, can we play the quiet game?'

Yana nodded excitedly, and Viktor walked on, with his cousin delightedly waving from his shoulders. The first room was his, which he would share with Draco. It was long and low-ceilinged, with a bed on a platform, covered in sleeping furs and modern blankets in deference the warm weather.

The next room was for the ladies. It was much like the first, with another huge bed. It also had a lovely view of the sea, which made Hermione smile. 'I smell salt air.'

'It's wonderful, isn't it?'

'Yes.' Hermione wanted to explore in the worst way, but this was not the time. Aunt Narcissa looked tired, and she thought it would be better to get everyone settled. 'Is the Minister coming now?'

Viktor nodded. He wished he could kiss her, or take her flying, but this was not the time for either. He turned to his aunt.

'Aunt, would you send some food up, please?'

'What would you like?' She was looking at Hermione, who didn't know anything about Bulgarian food. She'd also missed most of what Viktor had said to his uncle, but she wasn't daunted, because if she could fight those werewolves, she could do this.

'Please, Aunt, you choose. I am not knowing-don't know?- enough.'

Lyudmilla called an elf and ordered a selection brought, with ayran to drink, and some wine for the adults. The blonde woman looked ready to faint. The dark haired one, though, was nearly bouncing with energy. There was something slightly disturbing about her.

Zhivka hung over the room like the ghost of herself. Martin had sent letters, but the adults wanted to speak about her to bring her back to them, even for a moment. Zhivka was the heart of the castle, and this skinny twelve year old girl could hardly fill her shoes.

The twelve year old agreed. She was already realising how it would be for her, being the head woman. She was glad Mother and Aunt Narcissa were there; they'd help her, wouldn't they, to learn things?

The group went down the stairs so they could have a late snack. Viktor carried Yana again, and Ivan peppered him with questions about Britain and these people particularly.

'And you really fought werewolves?'

'Yes, I did, and so did Hermione and Draco.'

'Really?' Ivan's eyes were like plates. His cousin's wife to be and her cousin were pretty interesting, he decided.

'You aren't to pester them with questions, Ivan. I mean it, it's not something they wish to discuss.' Viktor looked stern, and Ivan looked away. A scolding from Viktor, even a threatened one, was nothing to sneeze at. 'I won't.'

'I know you won't.' Ivan slipped a hand into Viktor's. He had a sincere and enduring belief that Viktor had hung the moon, and he wanted to be like him in every way.

They ate kufte, fried balls of meat, with potatoes and sirenka, pastries of Bulgarian cheese and meat, with a yoghurt drink and the promised wine. _'I like this drink very much, Is that mint?' _Hermione nodded and translated the question for Lyudmilla.

'Is it. Would your aunt like the recipe?'

'Please.' Hermione was becoming aware of how limited her Bulgarian was, in that she had plenty of courtesy phrases but not enough day to day words to follow conversations precisely.

The Minister arrived as they were finishing. Viktor rose, wiped a little yoghurt from his moustache (which was more an abstraction than an actual thing) and held out his arm to Hermione.

She had never felt more afraid. Even werewolves weren't as scary as this. But didn't Aunt Narcissa say that a person always represented their families wherever they were? Not only her family, but her country now. And English witches didn't quail or shirk; they kept calm and carried on, like her muggle Nan had during the War.

The Minister rose and bowed as they entered. 'Mr. Krum, Miss Lestrange, how good to finally meet you.' The others were just behind, and there was the usual round of introductions and pleasantries.

'_Hermione, please tell Minister Dinev I bring word from Our Lord._'

'Minister, Mother brings word from the Dark Lord.'

Bellatrix stepped into another room and came back with the letters, heavy with seals, and handed them over with enormous contentment, like a cat with a dead bird. The Minister slit the seals and read quickly, eyes widening.

'We accept with gratitude. Tell us what you need and you will have it_._'

'_Mother, the Minister accepts. What will you need_?'

_'Tell him the best men he has, and a place to train them. It will be brutal, make sure he understands that. But they'll be the best when they're through._'

'Viktor? Can you translate?'

'Minister, Mother Lestrange wants the best aurors you have. It will be hard training, but she says they'll be the best once they're through with it.'

'I believe that. What else?'

_'What else, Mother_?'

_'Let me think about it. Adequate room would be a start_.'

'A large amount of room.'

'Done. Anything else?'

The rest of the meeting was pretty dull. The Minister finished by mentioning how much he valued the support of House Krum. Viktor got the subtext at once. 'Of course, our family values your friendship as much, Minister Dinev.' There, that was nice and neutral. He'd ask Rumen and Penko to brief him about what his next move would be tomorrow.

The Minister had some ideas about that, as it happened. He smiled, a thin oily man in robes trimmed in mink and a tunic of dark brocade. 'I wonder, Mr. Krum, whether House Krum would be willing to help us secure an objective dear to all our interests.'

'You'll have to forgive me, Minister, when I say I would need to consult with my father. He is truly lord of this castle. I am subject to him, as always.'

'Of course. This is something that rather relates to you as well, as it happens. You've heard, I'm sure about Headmaster Karkaroff?'

'The headmaster? What of him, sir?'

'He's been...most regrettably killed. We were hoping to put forth a candidate of our own choosing as the new headmaster. Would House Krum be willing to...suggest a candidate to the governors of Durmstrang?'

Viktor wondered whether the fellow was after money. He likely was, but he could sense something else under there, something he thought might be more challenging than a thousand gold coins or a name on a letter.

'It would depend on the candidate.'

'Naturally. House Krum is rather ideal for suggesting a candidate with a commitment to blood purity, wouldn't you say? Your own dear wife to be is one of the purest women in Europe.'

'Please, let me consult with my uncles and father.'

'Do, and let us know. We are so eager for our new British friends to see how much we value them.'

Viktor wished Father were here with his whole heart, but Father was in London, preparing for a thousand aurors to come and the war which would surely also follow. And Viktor was here, lord of the castle, and here he would stay until told differently.

'Please join us in three days time to review the men chosen to go to Britain. They want so much to see the famous Bellatrix Lestrange and her family.'

'We'd be glad to.'

'And with that, Mr. Krum, I will take my leave.' The man rose, bowed to the ladies, and departed. From his place at the back, Rumen nodded his approval, and even gave a rare smile.

'That was well done, Viktor.'

'Thank you, Uncle. Perhaps we can discuss it tomorrow?'

'Of course. Penko is coming from Sofia before lunch, we'll talk then.'

'That sounds good. By your leave, Uncle, we're tired. May we go to bed?'

Rumen blinked. By right, Viktor deferred to him on account of his age, but equally, he deferred to Viktor as heir to the castle. This was a rather thorny issue, as the last heir to have ruled in her minority had been in 1746, and she'd had no uncles to confuse.

'Let's all go.' They rose and left in a cloud, the English contingent chatting with the girl and the children besides, peppering her with questions about any and everything. Hermione tolerated it with giggling pleasure, sometimes frowning when she heard a word she didn't know.

'Mama, may I sleep with Hermione tonight?'

Lyudmilla stopped and looked at her niece in law and nominal chatelaine. 'Would tomorrow be better?'

'Yes, please. Tomorrow we'll play dolls, Yana.'

Yana nodded, not having exactly expected to get her way with this. The group paused at the crossroads to their various quarters. _'Herm-on-nee-knee, too tired to walk a little?'_

_'Not at all. Mother, you don't mind, do you?'_

Bellatrix eyed her daughter and the boy sternly. '_Take someone with you._'

_'Draco, do you fancy a walk_?'

_'Of course. But can we go a bit slowly?' _Draco was sore from the events of the days previous, but he didn't want to mention it lest he seem as though he were whinging. None of the ladies did, after all, even though they must be very afraid, he worried.

As it turned out, they had more company than they'd counted on, as Ivan took Draco's hand and Yana clung to Hermione until the older girl picked her up and put her on her hip.

'Is all right, Aunt Lyudmilla?'

'Yes, of course. Viktor, you'll tuck them in?'

'I will' said Viktor, who did it a few times a week anyway. He sincerely liked children and these children liked him, too. As well chaperoned as nuns, the little group followed Viktor up a flight of stairs and down some twisting corridors.

_'Is like this to confuse the enemy, when castle vas fortress.'_

_'That's dead useful_.' Draco finally grunted and swung the younger boy up as Hermione had done with Yana. Officially, Ivan was too old for that, but he didn't much mind when it was a visitor. And perhaps in Britain, six year olds weren't very big boys like he was.

The moon viewing room sat high in the heart of the keep. It was bare aside from the huge carved screen which covered the window, making the moonlight into lace, and old skins on the floor as carpets.

Viktor settled down and looked out over the sea. The moon was huge and orange looking, light for young lovers to kiss by. Or werewolves, on a distant isle, to run in, howling for blood. The thought was sobering.

Hermione scooted to be next to him. It was a beautiful place, and she wished they could kiss. Of course, the children were an even better chaperone than Draco, so that was right out. The lapping of the waves was nearly hypnotic.

The children evidentially agreed. They flanked Draco, rested their little heads on him, and were asleep in five minutes. How had this happened? He didn't especially like kids, but here these two were using him as a pillow. Resigned, he sighed and shook his head a bit in disgust.

Viktor's hand met Hermione's in the darkness, and they twined fingers. Though he never knew this, Viktor had been conceived in this room, on a night like that, with the friendly moon watching them from the sky. Hermione, too, had been conceived on a night like this one, but the circumstances had been darker, and the moon, as though ashamed, had hidden herself, not wanting to look at what they'd done beforehand.

Hermione scooted closer. 'Everything here is quiet.'

'Yes. We own everything, as far as the eye can see.'

'You fly it?'

'I do, everyday, to check. Poachers come out here, sometimes. Thieves.' She nodded, comprehending. ' The headmaster is dead?'

'Yes.' He had a number of dark suspicions, and he thought that probably the new candidate would be little better than Karkaroff had been. Could he try and change that outcome? Every choice was barbed, lined with teeth that had, themselves, teeth.

'I'm sorry.'

'Don't be. He was a bad man.'

Viktor looked out over the land his family had owned for generations and felt a terrible weight. His mother was gravely injured, perhaps dying, and his father was far away. But he had Hermione, and she would help him.

Still looking at the sea, she smiled faintly, not looking at him. The minister is...not open?' She groped for a word which would convey her dislike of the man.

'Secretive. I thought so.'

'Lying?'

'Not yet.'

Hermione nodded and cocked a brow at him. 'You'll help him?'

'Maybe. What do you think?'

'What does he want?'

'He wants us to support his candidate-his man-for headmaster of Durmstrang.'

'Oh. Did he say why?'

Viktor studied the scenery a bit more. 'Because we're engaged now. People will listen if they think the Death Eaters might not like something.'

Hermione looked startled. 'Oh. Really?'

'Yes. Their reputations are well know.'

Hermione seemed on the brink of saying something, and a suspicious bloomed in Viktor. She didn't know. They'd never told her, or else they had and she didn't understand what she'd been told.

Another problem to be studied and poked at. He cared deeply for Hermione; which of his vows would he have to break, the one to protect her or the one to treat her as he'd like to be treated? Would he even want to know, if it were him?

The moment passed and she inhaled deeply. 'It feels good here. Old.'

He nodded. The Krums had lived on this land since there was written Bulgarian, and probably well before that. He sometimes fancied he could feel the weight of history on him, the accumulations of the hopes and fears of generations, of births and deaths, of love affaires and betrayals and battles. It was all here, and he was here, too, and now so was she.

'This is our home, yours and mine. Part of us, and we're part of it. Can you be happy here?'

'I am happy where you are.' She was, too. Viktor made Hermione feel safer than almost anyone else. She liked the castle-it felt rooted to her, like it would sustain whatever was thrown at it.

'I feel that, too. But they'll come looking for us soon, so let's walk back.'

Hermione nodded and he helped her stand. Draco, a look on his face like a mildewed curtain, had two sleeping children on him. Viktor knelt and lifted Ivan easily, and Draco took Yana. She was sort of warm and heavy in his arms. It was nice. A bit.

They delivered Hermione to her room and she almost bounced in. Almost. She felt better than she had in a while, but there was still some concern there, and fears she'd never felt before.

Mother and Aunt Narcissa were in the bed. Mother's hands were behind her head, and she was wriggling her feet restlessly. '_Mother_?' Aunt Narcissa was sleeping. Hermione made a mental note to cuddle her the next day to help.

_'Did you have a good walk, girl?'_

_'I did. Are you all right?_'

_'Of course I am. Why do you ask_?'

Hermione shrugged. _'It was scary, what happened_.'

_'In the Ministry_?' Perhaps for the girl it had been. It was not the biggest of the worst battle Bellatrix had ever seen, and so she'd not spared it much thought. She slowly, carefully, opened an arm, and the girl climbed against her and rested her head on Bellatrix's shoulder.

'_It wasn't like the school, though. No Dementors_.'

_'No. No Dementors_.'

_'And the werewolves didn't eat anyone. Did they_?'

Bellatrix stiffened and Hermione looked half afraid, until her mother reached up and smoothed her hair reflexively. _'No, girl. They didn't eat anyone_.'

_'Is Father in loads of danger_?'

Torn between an ugly truth and a palatable lie, Bellatrix hedged. _'I should think your father is quite a match for whatever he meets.'_

_'Is he very dangerous?'_

_'Very.'_

_'More than yourself_?'

Bellatrix snorted. _'Indeed, no. Magic has nothing to do with gender and everything to do with skill. Your father's skills are more suited to quiet moments than battle. Not that he isn't very good at what he does.'_

_'He helps the Dark Lord get information.'_

_'Yes_.'

_'And you make sure no one is breaking the laws the Dark Lord made to protect us.'_

_'Yes_.'

Hermione nodded and snuggled closer. _'Is Uncle Lucius safe too, Mother_?'

Malfoy? As though he'd risk his precious hide in something so common as a fight? Bellatrix forced herself to look somewhat more pleasant than usual when talking about her despised brother in law and said _'I'm sure he is, girl. Is something the matter_?'

Hermione shook her head. _'It just feels funny. I mean, everything.'_

_'You know we'll protect you.'_

_'I know_.' This seemed to make Hermione more rather than less thoughtful, and she nibbled her lip for several long moments, clearly parsing this. _'When I have children, will I be able to protect them?'_

_'Why wouldn't you?'_

_'I could be dead. Or fighting_.' Or Elsewhere. She bit her cheek and made herself be a big, brave girl. She wanted Mother to teach her so this wouldn't make her feel sad anymore. And because she'd seen what Mother could do, and it spoke to her at a level she didn't quite understand.

'_Hermione_...' What could she say to that? Did the girl feel like any of the adults in her life protected her? Was Narcissa right, all those months ago? Did Hermione spend her time waiting for the next terrible thing to befall them?

_'Hush. Go to sleep_.'

Hermione shook her head. _'I see them if I do.'_

_'Well, no one can get in.'_

_'That's what they said about the Ministry, Mother_.' Hermione didn't sound angry, or sad, or even surprised. Just routine, as though she accepted that sometimes armed and dangerous men would come and try to kill her loved ones.

_'I'm a Death Eater, Hermione.'_

_'Yes, Mother. The Dark Lord's best lieutenant_.' That's what they called Mother in the papers, and Hermione saw no reason to doubt it. She'd seen Mother fell more people in five minutes than others had taken in the whole battle.

_'Precisely so. I'll keep you safe_.'

_'Will I be a Death Eater someday_?' Would she feel safer if she was? If she and Viktor were? She thought he'd take the Mark for her if she asked him to, but would that fix things?

'_No_!'

Hermione looked slapped. She went very still, eyes wide, and looked as though she was trying not to cry. Bellatrix hadn't meant to hurt her; she'd reacted out of her memories of what that would mean and her knowledge of her daughter, who was so sweet and gentle and _good_.

_'I...hush, it's nothing you did. No, shhh_.' Hermione lost the fight and rested her head against her mother's shoulder, apologising for whatever she'd done. Bellatrix rolled and put her other arm about her daughter, tugging her against herself.

_'Calm down, girl. All I meant is Our Lord wants you to serve Him by marrying, is all. And I...perhaps I'd sleep better if you weren't fighting all the time_.'

_'Oh. You aren't upset_?'

_'No. You'd be very good at it. But your aunt would never forgive me_.'

Which probably was true, but that wasn't the real reason. She never would tell anyone what the real reason was. She hoarded it like a dragon with a pot of galleons, keeping it in her secret heart, the one no one saw.

Her daughter would never take the mark because when she'd asked, all Bellatrix could see was her little girl, offered like a sacrifice in her nightgown. She was twelve years old, and she'd never be quite as innocent as she had been ever again.


	33. Chapter 33

**A/N: Love to reviewers and Countess Black**

**Is anyone out there a TV Tropes Troper? If someone wanted to make a page, I would write an admiring poem comparing them to some sort of pleasant animal. Or unpleasant, if that's what they wanted. Just a thought...**

** Lucius Cornelius Sulla was a Roman general and statesman in the late Republic period. He was the first man to lead an army on Rome and brutally proscribed his enemies, whilst ruling well and wisely.**

** Also: Bulgaria is a modern country with a democratic government. Wizarding Bulgaria is very, very different. The government of WB is nominally democratic, but castle lords still hold a lot of clout, and tenants still take the lord's wishes very seriously. The lord is expected to take his people's needs**** just as seriously, and observe noblesse oblige and all sorts of customs and traditions.**

In Britain, Severus Snape hadn't slept for more than four hours a night in days. Sallower than usual, he was at Hogwarts, trying to keep awake as the Dark Lord rambled. The Dark Lord did that quite a bit lately. It worried Snape; surely, even granted his mind was seventy odd, his brain was only twelve, and should have another sixty years of perfect function at least.

Snape inhaled deeply. 'My lord, I fear releasing your memoirs would...seem insensitive to small minds. Perhaps wait until this situation at hand has been resolved somewhat?'

The Dark Lord, in Potter's body, sat down and kicked his legs huffily. 'Would it not inspire the common man to join us, Severus?'

'My lord, as inspirational as your memoirs would be to be elevated minds, the common person is more afraid than anything at the moment. Perhaps an increase in radio addresses?'

The Dark Lord waved a little hand, nails bitten to the quick. 'I suppose. Get Mulciber on it, would you?'

'Of course, my lord.'

'And I still don't see why Bellatrix must be absent from us for so long. Are the children not safe now?'

'They are, but the Bulgarians are enamoured with the idea of having Bellatrix teach their aurors. It shan't be long.'

The Dark Lord lounged, and put a thumbnail in his mouth. 'I daresay one cannot teach what Bellatrix has, but if it will pacify them, let her do it.'

'My lord?'

'Absolute devotion to the Cause. That sort of purity of soul cannot be taught. It burns in her like a flame, don't you think?'

Snape nodded. 'I bow to your lordship's judgements in all things, of course.'

'And put all that on the radio. It will rally them to fight. And has Alecto finished with that list of atrocities for us?'

'She has, my lord, though perhaps some of it is a bit gruesome. And we've sent photographers to take pictures.'

'Leave the gruesome in. It will seem more convincing if the salad is well vinegared, I should think.'

'Of course, my lord.' Snape rose and bowed, knowing he'd been dismissed. He had ends to pursue, and he would pursue them with his usual ruthlessly. The Dark Lord's recent behaviour made him uneasy.

He'd long since become accustomed to the weird outbursts, the mood swings and the lack of understanding about certain matters. Some of these were no doubt the result of Potter's growing body, and the onset of puberty.

But some of it was not. And he retained enough savvy to have his own ends. Snape needed a way to control this. He wanted to make sure the Dark Lord could not make a move he couldn't easily check.

But how? Imperius for long stretches degraded the mind, as evidenced by Barty Crouch's mental age of approximately seven. And it might be noticed. With potion, there was the issue of being able to dose consistently. Unless...Snape smiled, bas relief face twisting, and decided to set about his plans.

After alerting Mulciber and lighting a fire under Alecto's arse, Snape went home to the dog. Black was snoozing on the divan (with his boots on!) and Snape sent a brisk stinging hex his way.

'Up, dog! I've need of you.'

'Hmm? Wha? What the hell was that?'

'Morning' said Snape, still smiling dangerously. 'How would you like to strike against the Ministry?'

'I'm not opposed.' Black sat up blinking and stretching, making small noises like, well, a dog. 'What is it this time, Snape?'

Snape outlined his plan. Black went pale. 'No.'

'Black, this could be a matter of life or death.'

'No.'

'Black.'

'Fuck no.'

'I could turn you back in.'

'You'd implicate yourself if you did, and I'm an asset to you.'

'You'd be polyjuiced the whole time.'

'They'll smell me.'

'I can inhibit it.'

'My fear.'

'I can inhibit that, too.'

'What's in it for me?'

'What do you want?'

Black looked ashamed and defiant and infinitely sad. 'I'd like to know what happened to Reg.'

'Regulus, you mean?'

'Who else?'

Snape nodded. He had no living relatives, and the closest he had to a family was the Malfoys, and perhaps, a bit, the girl. And it would cost him nothing. He wondered whether the dog dreamt about it at night.

'I can't promise you, but I will try.'

Black nodded. 'What do I do?'

Snape explained it, and Black listened. 'And that's all?'

'It shan't be for a few days anyhow, Black. I should have to make arrangements.'

'And then? When they're here?'

'That's for me to worry about.'

Black looked pensive. 'And you believe them alive? And sane?'

'The first, yes. The second remains to be seen. You did it, after all.'

'I just hope...'

'Hope what?'

'Nothing' said Black and shook his head. 'Just hope that you're right. Else I could lead them here.'

'As if I had not thought of that.'

'You can't think of everything. You're one man.'

Snape raised a brow. 'So was Sulla, Black. So was Sulla.'

The next day, Salazar watched as a wardsetter from the Ministry came and worked the whole house over. He was a talker-Sirius followed him room to room, and especially the attic. He sat on his haunches and listened to the incantations the man was using. It was, from what he could tell, high level stuff.

Snape would say virtually nothing about it. 'I'll tell you what you need to know.'

Sirius decided against fighting it. It wouldn't help. And he wanted to know what had become of his brother. Perhaps it would put some of the ghosts to rest at last. Perhaps.

In Bulgaria, Hermione was dealing with ghosts of her own. The first was Zhivka's, whose melancholy shade hung over Castle Krum like a pair of shoes by a door, waiting for the rightful owner to come and claim them.

She'd felt it first when she woke early, so early it was dark, and went to the necessary, which had been pointed out to her the night before. It wasn't what she was used to-was in fact more or less a privy-but it was magic, and not rocket science.

On her return, she found the elves of Castle Krum had gathered in the corridors and were bowing as she came back to the room. Hermione stopped and greeted them politely in Bulgarian, which seemed to please them.

An ancient elf, clad in a red tea towel, bowed her into the room. 'Milady is sleeping well?'

The unusual syntax took her a moment. 'Yes, well, thank you. Your name?'

The elf bowed again. 'Snetzka, please milady.'

Hermione would never get used to this. 'Is anyone else awake, Snetzka?'

'Milord is being awake. Milady will see him now?'

'I, ah, yes.' Hermione went to look for her trunks but was stopped. Rinky had come silently into the room and was looking at the other elf. Thank goodness she'd left Kreacher with Father!

'Elf is helping Snetzka.'

_'Miss, what does elf say to Rinky_?'

'Snetzka, Rinky doesn't speak Bulgarian. Shall I have him bring my trunks?'

Snetzka shook her head. 'No, Milady.' She turned and addressed the other elves who had filtered into the room, silent as ghosts.

They responded by bringing forth a hipbath and filling it brimful with steaming water and rose essence. Hermione expected to be directed to a bathroom, or at least an antechamber, but the elves just looked at her expectantly.

'Milady bathes now?'

'Here?'

The elf nodded. 'Is warmest place.'

'But the other ladies are asleep.'

Snetzka looked patient. 'Milady is _entitled_.' It took Hermione a few moments to work this out, and the water was getting no warmer. She skinned her nightdress off, to the disapproval of both elves, and sat in the tub, which squashed her terribly.

It was a very strange bath. The elves, being who and what they were, worked out a system to communicate. Their brains were uniquely keyed to learn on the fly, and Rinky's was already processing this new language, connexions being made. He wasn't sure he approved on principle, but he thought this could work.

Clean and smelling of roses Hermione smiled and waited for the elves to bring out a screen or something for her to stand up behind. None was forthcoming. She finally stood as fast as she could and submitted to being wrapped in a scented towel as the other elves moved forward to rub her skin with more rose oil to make it supple.

Snetzka waved away Rinky's offer to fetch Hermione's things, too. Instead, she dug through the huge trunks at the far end of the room and came up with a beautifully embroidered chemise, a dress in deep blue linen, and a belt of worked copper, with sturdy little shoes to match.

Rinky watched as the strange elf dressed his Miss in these new things, down to the stockings and the way she dressed Miss's hair in two chubby little braids, knotted with string.

Hermione felt distinctly strange, but not a bad sort of strange. She was becoming someone else, she thought with a tingle, and stood straighter as the elf fastened her keys, symbol of her rank, to her waist.

'Milady goes now to greet Milord?'

Hermione nodded and left a note for Mother to explain. She had to get her feet under her as quickly as she could, and, and Aunt Narcissa said, soonest begun. She donned the light cloak the elf handed her and followed her, trailed by Rinky, through the winding maze of the castle and out into a courtyard which faced a small building with a dome on the top.

Hermione arrived just as Viktor was finishing his devotions. He rose, crossed himself and walked into the yard to find Hermione waiting for him. It was growing steadily lighter, and the sea whispered gently from beyond the walls.

_'Good morning, Viktor.'_

_'Good morning. You come here too?'_

Hermione tipped her head. _'To find you. I didn't mean to interrupt you.'_

_'No, didn't interrupt. Vas all done. Come in_?'

Hermione had never been in a place like the one he showed her. It smelt of incense and years of human bodies. She lit a candle and whispered her intention, looking at the beatific face of the Madonna which hung over the altar; that Mother Krum not die.

Viktor's voice was very soft. _'She vas young too. Fourteen_.'

_'It must have taken enormous courage to face all that.'_

'Theokotos.' He sighed, unable to express the transcendence of the thing, and wanting to leave her to reflect in private on whatever she was seeing in the soft and doe-like eyes which looked, ancient and infinitely merciful, from the wall.

Hermione swallowed and put the taper down, relieved when he led her from the chapel and into the lightening yard. 'Did you sleep well?'

'No. You?'

Hermione shook her head. 'Not too.' He shyly offered his hand, and Hermione took it, feeling how warm it was, and how callused. It was oddly comforting, a lord of a castle who had rough hands.

Viktor didn't realise where he was leading her until they were almost across the small drawbridge.

The drop was steep, and Hermione glimpsed a dark pool of something below.

'Water?'

'No. It's..._pitch_?'

'Really?'

'Yes. It gets lit if the enemy breaches the first gate. That hasn't happened in nine hundred years.' He wanted to reassure her. Hermione was very curious about all that, but she sensed now was a good time to keep things light.

Hermione waved at Scabior, who was standing above them on a parapet. He bowed and waved back, grinning. _'Ello, milord, milady. Ow are you?'_

_'Fine, Scabior. You?'_

_'Never better. The boys is well an appy ere.'_

_'That's wonderful, Scabior.'_

_'Send yer daddy my good wishes, yeah?'_

_'I will.'_

Viktor had more or less followed, but he still doesn't like the fellow. He'd seen him with the knife, finishing the wounded with glee. It was one thing to kill when attacked; it was another to kill men begging for their lives, disarmed and helpless.

As soon as they were out of sight, Viktor brought her hand to his lips and brushed it lightly as the kennels came into sight. She smiled up at him, braids bouncing, and then noticed the wall of slow moving fur which was drifting into the courtyard.

Hermione had never seen such massive dogs. Fang had been big, but these dogs seemed bigger simply because a single look at Fang told the watcher he was a huge teddy bear. These dogs, to say the least, were not.

They lined up silently perhaps ten feet away, tails wagging against the cobbles, looking sculpted from stone. They were large of head, heavily built at the chest, eyes big and expressive, teeth like scissors.

Viktor gave her a smile and dropped her hand. 'Here.'

The dogs came slowly and sat before them. There were at least eight. They seemed to be watching Hermione, taking her measure. A lady never shows her discomfort, she reminded herself, and waited for Viktor to introduce her.

'Hold out your hand, Hermione.' She did it, and the first dog came and snuffled at it. He was enormous, almost to Hermione's chest, with a thick coat, white spackled with black. He sniffed again and slowly extended a pink tongue to lick thoughtfully.

A smaller female was sniffing her shoes, and abruptly sat down, tipped her head back and howled once. Viktor went stiff, but only for a second. His wand jumped into his hand, and he saw from the corner of his eye that Hermione had moved to cover the opposite side, very alert.

The dogs sensed their nervousness and reacted, hair wiring with concern, sniffing the air. Only the big male did nothing. Instead, he sniffed Hermione's shoes and howled as well, and this seemed to be a signal. The rest of the pack joined in. It tickled a primal part of Hermione's brain, something that spoke of long nights huddled before smoky fires.

Viktor's face lost it's colour. 'The elves gave you the shoes?'

'Yes, why?'

'They were Mother's. They want to know where she is.' He reached and took Hermione's hand again almost desperately, and Hermione knew she could do nothing but be there for him, and let it all pass.

Viktor knelt down and took the dog's head under his arm gently. The dog relaxed, tail thumping. 'She's sick. Very sick. In England. This is Hermione. Help her as much as you can.'

The dog seemed to understand. He stood at Hermione's waist and waited until she, too, dropped to her haunches so he could sniff her a bit more. The others, too, dispersed a bit and surrounded Hermione to explore her.

Viktor was crying. He'd buried his head in the flank of a very old dog who'd limped down with valedictory dignity to greet his Boy, trying not to let her see him, shaking with sobs. Hermione moved slowly to his side and put her arms round him. Viktor turned and pressed his face into her neck, and the dogs, as though by a pre-arranged signal, circled them, protecting their human pack during their most vulnerable moments. Their own doggy grief was forgot about; there was a job to do.

They stayed that way a long, long time, kneeling in the morning cold dirt of the courtyard, the early morning silence broken only by small canine grunts and the distant sounds of elves in the kitchens and the other yards.

Finally Viktor rose and took Hermione's handkerchief, looking ashamed. 'I'm sorry.'

'Don't be. I cry all the time. I cried the night of the Ministry.'

'Did you?' Viktor was startled. He'd never have guessed, honestly, because Hermione seemed to have limitless reserves of calm and cheerfulness to draw on. She nodded and motioned toward one of the stone benches built into the walls of the castle.

'Yes. I think if we're to do this, we have to be honest about these things.'

'I do, too. I don't like being the lord of the castle. Not at all.'

Hermione turned and nodded, understanding as nearly no one else could have, even as a doggy head insinuated itself on Viktor's lap and looked up with wide, knowing eyes. He could smell the fight to come, and he knew the pack would have to stand together, human and canine.

'I'm afraid I'm a bad lady. What do I do?' She touched her keys and found them strangely comforting. Like the castle, they were rooted to a time and a place and a context, which gave her something to lean on.

Viktor shook his head sternly. 'The fact you worry means you're not.'

'Like a good lord worries about his own...what's the word?'

'Fitness? Ability?' They found the right one together and Hermione nodded, giving him a slight little grin. Viktor nodded, watching two of the dogs wrestling playfully, bodies moving like stately dancers in the dirt.

'Yes. But suppose I can't do this?'

Hermione took his hand. 'Your uncles will help. My uncle will help. Mother and Aunt Narcissa will help. I'll help.'

'I know. But it's scary.'

'Yes, it is.'

Hermione rested her head on his chest, sighing. 'Would you teach me to read Bulgarian? The lady of the castle needs to be able to read.'

Viktor nodded. 'Of course. And everyone can help with that.' He knew there were primers and story books for the children that would be good teaching tools. And it would be a chance for them to have time alone. Well, almost alone, aside from an elf, probably Draco, and whichever cousin couldn't be prised off.

That's where they were when Rumen found them half an hour later, the sky a clear greyish blue, the dogs capering and playing, the lord and lady of Castle Krum holding hands together in a courtyard, covered in dust.

He bowed, and approached them, mindful of his nephew's dictum about not changing things. 'Nephew, niece, how good to see you.'

'Uncle.' They both rose. The elves had attired the girl in proper dress, though, he noted, a child's hairstyle. Commentary? He rather thought so. The children separated, and he noticed they both adjusted their stances. As quickly as that, they were the lord and lady again, and he made himself resist the urge to smile. His little bear was now quite a big bear.

'By your leave, nephew, I would like to discuss the situation in the capital with you.'

'Of course. Uncle, is Rabastan Lestrange coming?'

'He is. He's got his great aunt and a man called Couch with him.'

'Crouch, Barty Crouch.'

Rumen's eyes widened. 'Barty Crouch? Truly?' He'd heard stories about the things the Lestranges and their little protégé had got up to, and whilst it was an honour to host one, he wasn't sure how he felt about having three of the four under his-well, Viktor's, now-roof.

'Barty is being most small inside, Uncle. Like Ivan. Is easy.'

'Simple' clarified Viktor with a smile. 'His mind is not right.'

'Ah' said Ruman, who didn't know whether that was meant to make it better or worse.

'Barty is gentle and kind, just not so good with things.' Rumen's spine felt cold. Barty Crouch Jr., one of the most depraved and vicious wizards in recent memory, was anything but a lovable, harmless mental child. And the girl seemed sincere. It was disturbing, to say the least.

'Aunt will meet with Hermione today, as well?'

'Whenever your fiancée likes. Lyudmilla wants to discuss meal times and things with her.'

Viktor nodded. He didn't expect Hermione would change much, if at all, but it was a courtesy. 'Would it be possible for me to start borrowing the children's primer? Hermione wants to learn to read Bulgarian.'

'That's a very good idea. Will she be taking a new name?'

Viktor shook his head, never breaking stride. 'It would give offence, wouldn't it, if the British thought we made her?'

Rumen looked sidelong at his nephew, nodding approval. 'Perhaps it would, at that.'

Hermione looked at Viktor and shook her head gently. Her name was, and would always be, Hermione. Her Mum had chosen it for her, and it was all she had of the woman now. She'd not give it up without a fight. Viktor gave an imperceptible nod back, and they shared a long look. It seemed to both of them that the castle seemed a bit less imposing, the sun more inviting, when there was someone to share it with.

Lyudmilla was entertaining the foreign women in the hall. All three were drinking coffee, having held breakfast for the lord and lady. Everyone rose when Viktor entered, and he felt a moment of unreality before he smiled and sat down.

Over a meal of hot fresh bread, white cheese and ayran, the group discussed the day's events. The visits would take most of the day, but Viktor invoked his lordly right for the first time by deciding that he and Hermione would have private time together every day. In the morning for personal reflection, between four and five o'clock to study Bulgarian and English, and just before bed, to enjoy the moon viewing room together. Of course, the elf would attend at all times.

None of the adults could find fault in that. If Narcissa didn't love the idea, she had to admit, there was nothing technically wrong with it, and they probably did need some time together to discuss what they were learning.

The children, trailing a rather sleepy Draco, came in just as nearly everyone had finished eating. Apologising profusely, Draco was filled in on the day's plans. He nodded and wondered what his role in all this would be.

Unfortunately, he found out too soon, when Ivan promptly produced a small toy snitch and asked Draco to play with him after they'd eaten. Draco found himself agreeing so as not to appear churlish, and sealed his fate forever after as the person who kept the children out of everyone's hair.

By noon, Hermione was as tired as she'd ever been. She'd got a crash course in Bulgarian food and helped Lyudmilla plan meals for the next week. Then she'd toured the laundry and learnt the names for traditional dress, and watched the elves as they cleaned and starched everything.

Lyudmilla was a good teacher, and Hermione found herself learning. But the women was also picky about grammar, and it made her feel insecure, even knowing it was helping her improve.

'It is more hot now, Aunt' she said in the laundry, in reference to a vat of water and ox gall to get a potions stain out of one of Martin's tunics.

'Hotter, niece. It is hotter now.'

'Yes, Aunt Lyudmilla.'

'It is muchly cold in winter here?'

'Very cold, not muchly, niece.' Lyudmilla found she appreciated the fact the girl was as accomplished as she was, but she'd need to start working on her accent-it was absolutely rural. She couldn't have the future lady of Castle Krum sounding like some backwoods grandmother, could she?

By lunchtime, it was a relief to rest for an hour. Draco was tired too. He'd spent the morning being pounced, tackled and played with, and he felt exhausted. He'd decided to forgo having children in favour of house plants, which can't tickle. On the other hand, he felt like Mother wouldn't like that, so probably he should resign himself.

After lunch, the men finally arrived. Rabastan hugged his niece and sisters in law, patted Draco's shoulder fondly, and called for a group conference about the situation on Sofia.

'*_Cunegarde is well and sends her usual complaints. Barty, don't do that, please.*_' Barty was pacing distractedly, and at Rabastan's directive he plopped down on the closest chair and started to swing his legs, eyes not quite jibing. It made the Krums very uncomfortable, but the children didn't mind too much. They were quite fascinated, and watched as openly as they dared.

'*_Minister Dinev wishes us all to meet in two days time in order to see the first wave of aurors being sent to Britain_*.'

'First wave?'

'He's sending two. The first will go whilst the others train. They second will return whilst the first trains. By the time the second is ready to come back, the elite amongst them will be ready and the elites can train the common aurors.'

Bellatrix nodded English style. 'Sounds fine.'

'_*You do not like this plan?*_' Asked Rumen, raising an eyebrow. Viktor turned to his uncle and said 'The English do it the opposite way we do.'

Hermione, next to Viktor, whispered 'You've been disagreeing with everything I've said?'

'Not at all. I learnt that from the papers the Embassey sent us before we left to go the first time.'

She nodded Bulgarian style, which made him smile, and then they turned back to more serious matters. '*_And the first wave will go by week's end?*'_

'*_They'll land in Wales and join up with the guerrilla fighter Greyback and his Band. The first step is a thorough sweep of the mountains and remote regions. The raw troops will do that_.*'

'*_And the next step?*'_

_'*Moving more into the cities, trying to flush them from their hiding places.*_

_'*And then_?*'

Rabastan took over. '* _We don't know, Trixie. Probably a purge of some sort_.*'

She nodded and nearly bounced in her seat. '*_What are we waiting for, then?*'_

_'*Give us a better idea what you'll need, besides good aurors and adequate space.*'_

Bellatrix considered. '*_Elves to assist, a store of potions to teach with, and a medi-wizard on site at all times.*'_

_'*Done.*'_

_'*Viktor, have you got anything to add?*'_

Viktor frowned, nibbling his lip. '*_I'd like an inventory made of what the castle's got in case of a prolonged attack of some kind. Also, an emergency Portkey between here and wherever my in-laws are in Britain_.*'

_'A siege? Viktor, I should hardly think they're likely to attack us here.*'_

_'*I would agree, Uncle, but we're close to the sea, and those exiles in Romania must be doing something. Why not that, especially when they learn who's staying here? We're not garrisoned, and we might be able to outlast them better than fight them.*_'

Rumen considered that Viktor could be right. '*_I suppose so, at that. Lyudmilla_?*'

'_*I'll set the elves on it right away_.*'

_'Mother Lestrange, Aunt, today I maybe teach two other the starting of defence?_''

Both women exchanged a look. Neither of them liked it much, but the Ministry had proven age was no barrier in this war. They both assented, sighing to themselves.

_'I'll help you.'_

_'Barty, that isn't a good idea.'_

_'Is. I'm a Death Eater, aren't I?'_

_'Of course you are. But we need you to help Cunegarde back in Sofia.'_

_'Cunegarde hates me.'_

_'She hates everyone. She doesn't hate you as much as she does most people.'_

_'I want to stay and help here.'_

Hermione smiled and rose to take Barty's hand. _'Barty, would you consider supervising an inventory in Sofia? I'm sure Uncle Rabastan would be very grateful.'_

Barty shook his head firmly, mind made up. _'I have to protect you and Draco. It's what your father would want.'_

Viktor could sense the storm in the air. 'Vould help us vith children, then? They will vant to vatch lessons. You make sure they stay sitting down?'

Barty's eyes seemed more focused than they had in a very long time. '_All right, then.'_

The meeting moved onto the selection of a new headmaster for Durmstrang. 'No one brutal' said Viktor immediately. 'It ruins the whole school if the headmaster is some sort of mad dog.'

'Quite so.' Martin would, of course, be written. The fact that Zhivka could have thought of a dozen suitable people in minutes was left unsaid. Finally Viktor rose and helped Hermione to her feet.

'*_Won't you all join us for lunch_*?'

It was a very pleasant meal. The fish was firm and delicious, the conversation light, and the overall consensus amongst the adults was that the children were handling things well.

After lunch, Viktor decided he wanted to fly and invited Draco to come. The two took off from the courtyard. Hermione watched them fly into the blue, blue sky and was deeply, unaccountably afraid.


	34. Chapter 34

**A/N: Love to reviewers and Countess Black**

**Homage to V for Vendetta in here. We're in the new house, so hopefully everything will get back on an even keel. **

The plan had two parts. The first part was finding Pavel, and that didn't take half the time he'd budgeted for. If someone had held a wand to his head and demanded he find something nice to say about the dog, he'd have died spitting defiance at them, but as no one had, he'd admit to himself that Black was a fairly good spy, in terms of getting things done.

And get them done he had. Snape had planned on searching for Pavel at least a week before a solid lead could be had, and three days later, Black had Portkeyed in to Spinner's End, dragging the limp form of the Romanian behind him.

'How the HELL did you...'

'I've my ways' said Black smugly before he laid the man out on the floor and sat on the divan, smirking. He was still Polyjuiced. Snape handed him the antidote, and in a blink the pillock was restored to his usual pillocky looking self.

'Did anyone see you?'

'Take him, you mean? Of course not.' The whole notion seemed to offend Black's professional pride, and Snape rolled his eyes before he bent and briskly thumped the supine man on the head a few times to wake him.

'What did you give him?'

'My fist.'

'You punched a werewolf out?'

'Something like that.' The man's left eye was purpling, and Snape suspected that he'd been stunned after the punch. As he watched, the Romanian's eyelids fluttered and he sat up.

'Snape!' He spat as soon as his vision cleared enough. He had a light but very distinctive accent. Snape smirked down at him, and Black simply watched, every line of his body speaking of his readiness to attack.

'You are Nicolae Pavel, a werewolf and guerilla fighter. Your life is in my hands, and you will listen to me, because if you do not, they will never find your corpse, is that clear?'

The werewolf eyes narrowed. 'Why do you not kill me, Snape?'

'You're of more use to me alive. And how do you know who I am?'

Pavel moved slowly and brought out a pack of cigarettes. 'Do you mind?'

'I do. Filthy habit.'

The man put them away. 'Word gets out. We've heard quite a lot.'

'Oh?'

'They say you struck the killing blow on Dumbledore yourself.'

'If that is so, how much would it behove you not to antagonise me, Pavel?'

'That depends.'

Snape found himself liking this fellow a good deal. 'On what, pray tell?'

'I am but a man, Snape. A beast, if your friend Malfoy is to be believed. My death proves nothing except your willingness to attack an un-armed wizard. But the idea? Ideas are spell proof.'

'A pretty speech, but what have you done, except the same? There were children in that house you blew up, not to mention a simpleton and an old woman.'

Pavel looked defiant. 'What, you mean Barty Crouch? And Malfoy Jr, and Hermione Lestrange?'

'No, I meant a boggart and some garden gnomes. Who else?'

Pavel looked to the side. 'Does his instability excuse his prior crimes? And the children...unfortunately, collateral damage happens. You yourself are aware.'

'I'm aware I've never deliberately hit a civilian target. I'm aware I've never told anyone under my command to attack women and children. I'm aware you're a hypocrite and liar, and that you belong to me now.'

The wolf looked ready to stand and fight when a black streak arced towards him and knocked him down again, snarling. Pavel snarled right back and tried to spin and pin the dog under him. The dog bayed a challenge and lunged again, teeth on the Romanian's throat, a low, spine rattling growl coming from his chest.

The Romanian went limp. 'Call him off.'

'No. Salazar, watch him.'

'What did you want me to do?'

'I want you to break the Order of the Phoenix out of Azkaban prison.'

'What?'

'Well?'

'Ah, fine, I suppose. But why?'

'That's for me to worry about. You'll bring them here.'

The man raised an eyebrow sardonically. 'You want, what's the word, thugs and toughs here?'

'No. Azkaban is purely political now. Common criminals get sent for re-education.'

'That makes sense.' The man seemed more willing now that he understood a bit better. 'And this animgus of yours will help?'

'Ask him about it.'

The dog turned back and immediately put his hands where his mouth had been. 'Sirius Black, mate, at your service.'

'Black? But you're dead.'

Black raised a brow and uttered a short, dog-like yelping laugh. 'We're all dead, mate. Some of us are just livelier than others, is all.'

The morning of the review dawned cool and clear, the sky a brilliant blue. The children watched it lighten together in the kennel yard, with the dogs around them. One of the bitches had whelped not long in the past, and the pups, with their absurdly huge feet, were stumbling round, yelping and nipping and trying to get Hermione and Viktor to chase them.

'And your new tunic is laid out as well. Aunt is teaching me to fix frog. How is being torn like that? You went flying in it?' Her eyebrows were up, and Viktor fought the urge to kiss her cheek to distract her.

'Perhaps a bit.'

'A bit?'

_'You look pretty today, Hermione_.'

'Draco is teaching you that?'

'Mmm hmm.' Hermione rolled her eyes and moved a bit closer, pretending to mind. A bold puppy danced closer and play bowed, tail wagging. Viktor bent and threw one of the rag balls the dogs played with. The puppy chased after it, barking joyfully, tail wagging.

'Snape is sending letter?'

'He did. You?'

'Yes. He say-says?-we should be careful. And watch.'

'Mine, too. And your father?' Viktor had heard from his, and he slightly worried that Hermione wasn't dealing with this as well as she might pretend to be.

'He is well. He is sad were are not there. Aunt Cunegarde is saying she wishes she come home now. Uncle is ready put her in shed.'

Viktor snorted. 'She can't be all that bad.'

'Mother says like Medusa.' Hermione giggled and motioned snakes for hair. Viktor threw the ball again for the puppy, who tussled with a sibling and won, yapping.

'She is a fighter.'

'Yes. Would you like to name her?'

Hermione considered. 'Yes. I can think about it?'

'Of course. Not Cunegarde.'

'No. Doesn't bite as hard. Cunegarde is like snake.' Hermione described some of the conversations she'd had with her great great aunt and Viktor listened incredulously.

'She threatened to cane you?'

'Would break upper leg.' Hermione pointed to her hip solemnly, and Viktor laughed, startled. 'Hermione, what a thing to joke about!'

'It's true.' He shook his finger mock-sternly, and she laughed too, and leant even closer. 'We will see when you meet her. Is like...cat. Grumpy first, then not.'

'Do you like cats?'

'I do. Muggle family had a cat called..._Buttons_...?'

'Buttons?' He snorted and raised a brow, and she poked his arm, pretending to pout.

'I was five! He died the year before I came to school.'

'That's young for a cat.'

'He was hit by a..._car_. ' Hermione described it and Viktor nodded, having seen those things once or twice.

'Do you miss it? That part of things?'

Hermione considered. 'Sometimes. I miss my Muggle parents. And I miss some books and music.'

'It must have been hard to adjust.'

Hermione looked at the dogs. 'A little, but it was harder...when I came to school, they were waiting for me. When they...died...it was worse.'

Viktor knew he was on shaky, treacherous ground. 'Is this bothering you?'

'No. Talking means I don't forget.' Her voice was utterly level and calm, and he found himself feeling worried more than reassured.

'Are you certain?'

'Yes.' She wasn't, but she'd learnt not to let on. Viktor's eyes were piercing, and Hermione wanted to squirm and let herself talk about something else, but she'd agreed to be open with him, and so she would.

'Hermione.'

'Viktor.'

'It's all right to admit it if it does, you know.'

'Sometimes it...sads me. But what good? It never makes better for other people.'

'What about you?'

Hermione shrugged both shoulders. Viktor took her hand and waited, not pushing, letting her process it and gather her Bulgarian. 'We all have to be...good for...use. I am.'

'That's not an answer.'

'No.' She bent and picked up the puppy, who was nibbling her shoe with good natured excitement-isn't this fun? her tail said, waving in slow happy swoops. She started licking Hermione's chin with equal enthusiasm. This was fun too!

'It's not good to pretend that everything is all right when it isn't.'

Hermione nodded and scratched the puppy's ears. She grunted happily and wagged even harder. 'My parents would not like. It sad them.'

'Why would it make them sad?'

'Angry. Mother angry when talking about...things.'

'At you?'

'No. But angry. No good, Viktor.' Hermione made herself look at him, and he cupped a cheek with his huge, rough hand. 'Angry with you?'

'No. Angry at...things.'

He used his thumb to trace her cheekbone. 'Things?'

Hermione nodded slowly. 'Yes. Before things.'

'Ah.' Viktor decided not to push anymore. Hermione was still cuddling the puppy for support, and he dropped his hand and scratched the pup's ear. The sky was very blue, clear cornflower like a quilt speckled with fluffy white.

'We need to go back soon? For going to Sofia?'

'Soon' agreed Viktor, and wished there was more to say 'then we'll come home again.'

'Home' agreed Hermione sadly, setting the puppy down. Viktor rose and helped her up, and then, giving into a mischievous impulse, swung her up and round, spinning her.

Hermione gasped with shock and then started to giggle. How long had it been since she'd played? Hermione wobbled a bit as she found her feet after he set her down and drew as quickly as she could. 'Rictusempra!'

Viktor gasped, laughing helplessly, and retaliated. It was a brief, pitched battle that ended with the lord and lady of Castle Krum wrestling playfully, tickling and laughing as the dogs circled, yapping with glee as they joined in.

Finally Viktor sat up, straightening his tunic, which was covered in dust and puppy fur. His fiancee looked little better, and they spent a few moments carefully helping the other clean up. Looking barely acceptable, they wandered back hand in hand.

The elves were less impressed. Rinky and Snetzka, who'd found a sort of common language, both frowned ponderously as they helped Hermione out of her clothes and into the tub.

Bellatrix half rolled and eyed her daughter. _'Girl, is everything all right_?' Her hair was crazy with sleep and she had her typical early morning grumpy look about her.

'_Yes, Mother. Viktor and I were having a good time.'_

_'Doing what?_'

_'Lady's puppies are old enough to play in the yard now, and we were playing with them. I get to name one of them_.'

_'That's good_.' Bellatrix grumbled and sat up, giving her sister a none too gentle poke to wake her up. Narcissa even woke gracefully. She sat, smiling, and gave Hermione a wink.

_'Darling, your hair is a fright! Were you playing roughly_?'

_'A bit, Aunt Narcissa, but there were puppies! It was hard to say no_.'

Narcissa could hardly refute puppies, and so she smiled and shook her head, stretching and murmuring. _'Puppies? How exciting, love_.'

_'I thought so. I get to name one_.'

_'What will you call it_?'

_'Don't know. Something brave_.' Hermione had been quite firm with the elves over her modesty, and over the sighs and protests of both, she'd convinced them to bring a dressing screen for her. She stood up and let them wrap her in a towel and stepped out, young enough to be not _that_ particular.

'_What will you wear today, darling_?'

Hermione considered. _'Snetzka, the white, did you say_?'

_'Milady is wearing the white, yes, red shoes and gold belt._'

Hermione translated this and Narcissa nodded, satisfied. _'And your moonstones_?'

'That would look nice' agreed Hermione, and winced a bit as Rinky started to comb her hair. Aunt Narcissa rose and came closer to the screen (Hermione could see them but they couldn't see her; most useful, she thought) and smiled at her niece.

'_Your uncle wrote last night. He's awfully proud of how well you're doing_.'

Hermione blushed with pleasure at the praise. _'Did you tell him how Draco's been helping with the children? Aunt Lyudmilla says she wouldn't be able to do it without him.'_

Narcissa nodded. There was no stigma in Wizarding culture that a boy should like children; everyone, men and women, was expected to like children and to nurture them, or at least give lipservice to the idea.

_'Draco's thrilled that he and Viktor are getting friendlier. And he says his flying has improved by bounds_.'

Hermione squirmed, ticklish, as the elves finished rubbing her down with rose oil. _'I don't see how. He was very good before_.'

_'One can always get better, I suppose_.'

Hermione thought Draco was being modest but decided against saying it. She lifted her arms as the chemise dropped down over her head. It was richly embroidered, and she assessed with a professional eye how small and even the stitches were.

Then came the dress, which was white, and the stockings and shoes. Snetzka had been teaching Rinky, and they worked together to fix her hair in two neat and shining braids.

_'Did the nanny come for those robes, Aunt Narcissa?'_

_'It did. Won't Yana look adorable_?'

Hermione stepped out, feeling very grown-up, and agreed with her aunt. _'She's awfully sweet, isn't she?'_

_'She is. And her crush on Draco is too much.'_

Hermione grinned and nodded. _'I'm not sure he's as charmed as the rest of us.'_

_'It's not everyone who gets to be hero-worshipped that way. I think Ivan believes he hung the moon.'_

Bellatrix stood up and came over to her daughter and sister. Hermione hugged her tightly, wanting Mother to feel as good as she did. Mother hugged back, squinting in a pleased way. Aunt Narcissa discreetly excused herself, stepping behind the screen for her own bath and casting a Silencing spell so the other two ladies could speak. It pleased her very much to see them wanting to spend time together.

_'That suits you. That outfit._'

_'Thank you, Mother. I wish Father and Uncle were here, though_.'

_'Father would want to see you. But he's awfully happy, serving the Dark Lord in Britain_.'

Hermione nodded. _'Someday he can visit, though, Mother. And play with the puppies, and look for whelks and mussels with us_.'

_'Of course he can. And anyway, with luck it will be safe soon._'

Hermione gently gnawed her lip. '_If it isn't, do you have to go?_'

Bellatrix thought of her great happiness in combat, the erotic thrill of it, her delight in the presence of the Dark Lord. _'It shan't take that long, girl. I'm serving the Dark Lord by training aurors._'

_'Starting tomorrow?_'

_'Ideally. I'll come home nights_.'

Hermione was still gnawing. _'Should I send Rinky with you? Or even Kreacher_?'

Bellatrix fought her amusement at the idea that a elf could possibly protect her during the training she planned to give. But might the girl be hurt if she laughed? Or sad or something? She didn't like it when Hermione was sad.

_'I want the elf here to protect you. I'll take a handful of Snatchers, probably.'_

_'Oh. Scabior? He's good.'_

_'Yes, he is._' Bellatrix detected a hint of something in her daughter's voice, and a flick of the eyes which told her that Hermione was traversing some inner road that might not be comfortable.

_'Something wrong_?'

Hermione looked to make sure they were alone. _'I think...does he...Mother, does Scabior like hurting people_?'

Bellatrix tried to look casual. _'What makes you ask_?'

_'He likes to use that knife_.' Hermione looked aside and then at her mother's forehead. She felt funny about this. Was it wrong to ask that? Would the answer change anything?

'_Knife_?'

_'He stabbed an auror at Hogwarts. And then at the Ministry, too. Why does he want to hurt people like that_?'

Bellatrix could see that Hermione was fighting with this. She frowned, trying to think of an answer. _'They were injured, weren't they?'_

_'The auror wasn't. Scabior stabbed him in the neck and he fell down_.' Hermione was tugging the end of her braid nervously. Bellatrix leant over and lightly swatted Hermione's wrist.

_'Don't. Why didn't you say anything before_?'

Hermione shrugged. _'It...it scared me._'

_'Why are you thinking about it now_?'

_'Because he's good at what he does, Mother. If you're going to take someone, take someone good. So no one else will get hurt_.'

Bellatrix reached out and awkwardly touched the girl's shoulder. _'How do you figure?'_

_'Because there won't be mistakes._'

_'Hush. Why do you worry so much? Haven't I promised you nothing will happen?'_

_'You have. I just worry, is all_.'

Bellatrix shocked herself by brushing her lips over the girl's forehead lightly. _'Trust me, would you?'_

_'I do, Mother.'_

_'Do it harder_.' Her voice was totally flat, and Hermione laughed a little and pressed her head against her mother's neck. _'Is Aunt Narcissa all right? She's very quiet_.'

Cissy had been mooning over her husband, but Bellatrix could hardly tell Hermione that. _'She's a little...nervous. She'll be fine_.'

'_Is there something we can do to help her, do you think_?'

_'Probably not. Maybe find her something to do_.' Bellatrix thought the best cure would be for Malfoy to be mauled by pixies or something else terribly humiliating. It probably wouldn't help poor Cissy much, but it would cheer Bellatrix up tremendously.

_'I'll look round for something_.' Hermione straightened up and smoothed her skirts. _'And Minister Dinev is oily. I don't like him_.'

_'Politicians, remember_?'

_'He could be a bit subtle about it_.'

Bellatrix laughed. _'No disagreement there_.' She gave the girl a deep squint. _'You're growing up, you know that?'_

Hermione sighed. _'I still don't have any... you know_.'

_'You will. It's not as much fun as you think_.'

'_Really_?'

_'Quite. Tiresome, after a while_.'

_'That hardly seems right_.' Hermione frowned and sat on the end of the bed as Aunt Narcissa came back, dressed to a tee and smiling brightly.

_'So, has Snape sent you any letters lately, Hermione_?'

_'Yes, Aunt Narcissa, but not many. He's very busy_.'

_'He protects the Dark Lord. He'd best be_.' Bellatrix looked fierce and both other women decided silence would be wise.

Snape was, indeed busy. Late the night before, Black had sealed an Unbreakable Vow between the spymaster and the werewolf, and shortly before dawn, when the Dementors subsided a bit, elements of a force of rogue Romanian werewolves, flying on ultra light brooms stolen from a sporting goods shop in Diagon Alley, blasted out a wall of Azkaban prison and seized the forty five prisoners inside. Abandoning the brooms, they Apparated them as quickly as they could. Most of them went directly to a Portkey that took them to Bucharest and then to the exiles; eleven others went to Spinner's End.

Pavel stood over the huddled mass. 'As you requested.'

'Excellent. Your vow is fulfilled. I release you from it now and for all time.' Snape raise his wand and swished, and the room glowed green.

'And just in case, Obliviate.' Snape didn't Obliviate the whole thing, which would have been hard to do on the fly; he simply removed his presence from the man's mind, and immediately shoved a Portkey into his hand. He vanished, and Snape turned to the others.

'Good evening, all.' Snape motioned for Black to bring in the tea and thin porridge he'd made, and they fell on it ravenously, not caring from whom it came. Snape watched with detachment, like a large black bug. When they'd eaten, he directed them to the shower (ladies first, of course) and then, clean and full of food, they sat down and faced one another.

'Snape.'

'In the flesh, much though I'm sure you'd prefer in hell with my back broken.'

'What is this?'

Snape looked levelly at the aurors. 'This regime is doomed. It will not survive the Dark Lord, because he is mad, and because he will take us all with him when he self destructs.'

'I seem to have left my handkerchief in my other robes, Snape' sneered Emmeline, whose spirit burnt brightly despite her terrible experience. Snape nodded to acknowledge it was a good retort and paused.

'On the other hand, the group in Romania will not succeed, either. There's not enough of them, and even if there were, no power in Europe will move against the Dark Lord. He's got the Bulgarians, most of the Western bloc, and possible parts of South America, not to mention Egypt and elements of Africa.' If Malfoy's latest deals went through, of course, but they didn't need to know that.

'What has this got to do with us?'

'I propose to head off the inevitable, and I want you to help me.'

'What's in it for us?' Everyone's head turned in surprise as Moody stretched, wasted muscles a shadow of themselves, and his eyes were the same faded, steady blue they'd always been, cool and calm and not afraid.

'You'll get yours, Moody.' He explained the plan, and left them to the inevitable soul searching. All of them agreed in just under an hour. Black swore him and Moody, who helped swear the others, and then phase two began.

This was where the rat came in. Over the next three days, he found himself crawling a good many places and harvesting a good many vile things, but his labour was amply rewarded; by Monday, Rodolphus had eight new Snatchers to make up for those killed. It was not Polyjuice; it was something rarer and harder to make, which effected a permanent change in the drinker. Along with false papers and deep cover stories, Snape made sure no one could look at them and make the connection. It would have to serve.

For the last three, Snape had something special in mind. For Emmeline Vance, he decided to keep her a while, fattening her as he had Black, and carefully fabricating a whole new identity, one which identified her as a Pureblood raised abroad and coming home to Wizarding Britain.

It would be hard. And expensive. Snape starting by getting a bottle of permanent hair dye and colouring Emmeline's hair, once a pale blonde, now silver, a dark and lustrous brown, and her eyes a darker blue. He'd see about changing her face once she was ready.

Snape's mother had been a Prince, and he had a knowledge of the old Pureblood lines which would have surprised anyone that wasn't the scion of a Pureblood family themselves. That night she ceased to be Emmeline Vance, the mudblood, and became Eugenia Feathering, one of Maidstone Featherings that were.

The sole remaining (real) Feathering was 124 and eaten alive with senility; he welcomed her with a touching and confused courtesy, and it was understood that Eugenia would care for him until his death, after which she would be one of the wealthiest women in Britain.

Moody, too, he put in the attic. He'd have to find him another eye somewhere. The man himself said nearly nothing. Snape suspected he was dealing with the aftermath of his experiences. But Moody was of the generation that didn't talk about ugly things, and he never said a word about it, not once.

Shacklebolt he debriefed extensively about the personal habits of a number of important persons. The man learnt it all without hesitating and proved even cleverer and more accomplished an actor than Snape could have dared hope for.

Then he had a hard choice to make. He finally made it, and sent the rat off with a phial and the threat of a dose of his own if he should make an error.

Archibald Mulciber went that night, having drank his customary chamomile tea. He slipped into an irreversible coma shortly before dawn, and his heart slowed, finally stopping at five am. The rat alerted Snape, and before Mulciber was even cool, he was vanished completely, as though he'd never existed as all.

Ten minutes later, a second Mulciber slipped into the bed, which was still warm. He turned on his side, wriggled to get comfortable, and tried to sleep. Failed. The brave new world the Death Eaters had fashioned troubled him. It was better than Azkaban, he supposed, but just.

Wasn't it?


	35. Chapter 35

**A/N: Love to reviewers and Countess Black.**

**Spoiler A/N at the bottom.**

**CB isn't feeling well lately, so please join me in wishing her a speedy and complete recovery. Also, Queen Smokey is well, and Newt the Great (my evil little cat) is fine as paint, though, of course, evil.**

Rodolphus was there to meet the new aurors, all of them slicked up in sharp tunics and high leather boots. He stood next to the Dark Lord, who'd borrowed Crabbe Sr. today, and watched as they marched by, feet thumping in unison on the hard stone.

Penko Krum, likewise got up in a dark tunic, hair neatly held back in a matching ribbon, approached them holding a packet. Bowing to the Dark Lord, he handed it to Rodolphus.

'*_My nephew sends his compliments, sir, and these photos_.*'

'*_How thoughtful_*' said Rodolphus, who was surprised by the wave of nostalgia that hit him. He was very fond of his family, of course, but he didn't think of himself as an overly sentimental man; he loved his daughter and had great esteem for his wife, but not in an especially reflective way.

But he had to admit, the house seemed too quiet these days. It was more or less rebuilt, structurally speaking, but it looked bare and mean on the inside. Selwyn, before his gory death, had even gone through the trouble of matching the stones and getting the new ones from a ruined tower in Hampstead.

He'd always loved Lestrange House, but now, to his own shock, he felt it could be improved by the presence of his wife and daughter. The air, too, seemed bare and mean without Hermione's endless questions and observations and Bellatrix's shrieks and laughter.

The Dark Lord raised one of Crabbe's vaguely brown eyebrows. 'Do open it, Rodolphus. I should like to know how it went.' The men exchanged a look. Opening that sort of thing would necessitate that Rodolphus read it to the whole company, including ninety Bulgarian aurors he literally didn't know from Mordred, and given they were from his wife...

His hands obeyed before he could formulate an intelligent response, and he slit the seals with a penknife Yaxley discreetly palmed him. The first thing was a picture of the children, got up in Bulgarian dress.

There were letters, too, some of which were for Lucius. Those Rodolphus handed over. Knowing how much his brother in law loved his wife, it would likely be better not to know what they wrote each other.

Bellatrix's letter was as terse as always, with a few lines about how much she liked Bulgaria, the girl's health, and a long peon to the Dark Lord and His wisdom. She signed it simply 'B B L', as was her wont.

Hermione was a bit more forthcoming, but she wasn't especially verbose, either. He gathered most of her time was spent managing the affaires of the castle. He didn't know how he felt about that-his daughter was a Lestrange, after all, and not fit to drudge like a common hausfrau. But the letters from Krum helped to allay that a bit.

The boy was painfully sincere, but his letters, though poorly spelt and un-grammatical, revealed the life he was trying to fashion for them in Martin and Zhivka's absence. Mostly the boy talked about the day to day details of their lives, but interspersing it was small asides about his enormous affection and respect for Hermione, his nascent friendship with Draco and the two women, who were apparently getting to know his aunt.

Penko was nodding with real relief. '*_I'll tell Martin at once_.*'

'*_Tell Martin_?*'

The younger man nodded. '*_We worry about putting so much on Viktor so young, but he's more than borne up_.*'

'*_Surely Rumen helps him_?*' Malfoy raised a platinum brow, and Penko nodded impatiently. He and Rumen were at odds over nearly everything, for all they loved one another dearly, but he didn't want this rather too glib Englishman knowing that.

*_'Of course, but Rumen is not lord. Viktor is. That matters_.*'

'*_May I enquire why? Surely your man Dinev wouldn't recognise_-*'

'*_Our people would. Our people do. And where they go, goes Minister Dinev. The Krums are a powerful people, Malfoy. A word from my nephew could easily sway things in whichever direction we choose_.*' Lucius felt cautious, brushing against Penko's statements like the whiskers of a cat. He'd need to step carefully with this one.

'*_Never meant to imply they weren't. But if I died tomorrow, the Ministry wouldn't give Draco my place until he was seventeen at least_.*'

Penko shrugged. '* _We keep the old ways. The lord is the lord. His wife is the chatelaine. Our people look to us for protection from giants and the odd dragon and we look to them for support_.*'

Lucius nodded, annoyed. Petty little boyar, indeed, he thought spitefully, though he liked Viktor and his parents very much and thought Hermione had done well. And this marriage would seal the Dark Lord's power over Europe in every way that mattered.

'*_How interesting. My Lord, at your word, we'll go inside and meet with McNair and Jugson about the next phase of this operation.*_'

'*_Lead on, Lucius_.*'

They discussed the possible implications of what was to be done. Fenrir Greyback, flanked by three of his boys, came and stood silently by the table, hulking, stinking of blood and sweat.

'What would you have us do, milord?'

The Dark Lord faced the werewolf. 'I want those Romanians alive. Bring them here to us. Spare no one who hides or help them.'

The wolves nodded and dispersed like smoke. The others, having finalised the plans, looked at one another a bit awkwardly. 'What else is there, gentlemen?'

'*_With your permission, my Lord, might Lucius and I go to see Martin?'_

_'*Do.*_' The Dark Lord waved them away and the men slipped out, leaving Penko with the others.

'It's a terrible thing' said Lucius as they walked out the door and down the street to St. Mungo's. Rodolphus stopped and raised a brow at his brother in law.

'Sorry?'

'About poor Zhivka. I can't imagine what Martin is going through.'

Rodolphus nodded. The men had skipped lunch, and their stomachs were grumbling. After a brief discussion, they decided on the Leaky Cauldron. Sending a Snatcher to alert the Ministry to their whereabouts, the men took a booth, a second Snatcher a discreet distance away.

'He's dealing with it rather well, I'd say.'

'Mmm, that we see. But to watch one's wife dying that way, in a strange country...'

'Surely he knew there were risks involved in our way of life, Lucius.'

'To himself. But his wife and son?'

'I suppose so.' Rodolphus looked thoughtful and ordered the lamb chops. 'But this is rather a one off.'

'Do you think so?'

'Are you afraid, Lucius?'

'No.' Malfoy looked resolute. He sipped his pumpkin juice and then said, without his usual confidence 'May I ask you a favour, Rodolphus?'

'Of course you may. Nothing's the matter, I hope?'

'No. But should anything happen to me, you'll protect my wife and son, won't you?'

Was that all? Rodolphus had worried for a second that Lucius was losing his nerve.

'I'd be honoured. And the same for me?'

Lucius smiled a bit. 'Hermione, of course. Bellatrix...I think she'd kill us both for implying she needed protection.'

'She would.' said Rodolphus as though it were an axiom. 'But I don't worry much about her, honestly. If I should die, she'll go on as she always has. But perhaps it would be good to have a force to...counterbalance her zeal, shall we shall, where Hermione is concerned?'

Lucius nodded. 'I understand completely. Have you...would you want Hermione to join, when she's old enough?'

Rodolphus inhaled and sipped his own drink. 'If she wants to, I'd not oppose it. But I don't think she'll want to. She's too gentle.'

'I think so, too. And Narcissa would never forgive us.'

'Your wife, sir, is fearsome in her anger.' They both laughed a bit. Narcissa's temper wasn't a fraction as violent as Bellatrix's, but she could make a person regret their actions with no trouble at all, and both men knew it.

'I've always regretted I could not give Narcissa a daughter, you know. We tried, but...stillborn. These things happen. I am glad Hermione could fill that void a bit.'

Rodolphus tasted his lamb chop. 'I'm sorry to hear that, about...well, the ancestors are not always generous with us.'

'They've blessed us with so much else, I suppose it would be greedy to ask another child.'

'I still believe Hermione was a miracle of sorts.'

Lucius didn't believe that, he knew it in his heart. As much Dark magic as both parents had used, the girl ought to be have been born hardly looking human, let alone after seven or eight months in Azkaban and everything else. And not just normal and magical, but powerful.

'It is one of life's injustices, what happened there, Rodolphus.'

'About the baby?'

'No. That wound has healed long since. I mean, that my wife and I were cheated of your daughter's first years.'

'I agree. But what can we do? Our sacrifice was well worth it. And she was cared for better than I might have dreamt, in light of...events.'

Lucius ate a bit of his roast beef. 'You were right to do what you did, I'd say.'

Rodolphus smiled at his brother in law and shook his head. 'And yet you would not come?' From anyone else, it would have been a rebuke answered with a demand for a duel. From Rodolphus, it was a playful cuffing and Lucius took it as such.

'I wanted to be with my wife that night. We rather hoped...'

'Of course. But magically, it does help.'

Lucius had done enough Dark magic in his day to know precisely what Rodolphus meant. 'That would involved getting Cissy in one of those places. Everyone knows what squalid hell holes those people live in.'

'This one wasn't too bad. But yes, and I don't suppose Narcissa's the sort for all that.'

'No. And we're content with our one, anyway.'

'I suspect that's what happened to Bellatrix and I. Perhaps that night in Leicester. Do you remember?'

'The night Galvin almost set himself on fire?'

'That's the one.' Rodolphus's eyes were distant, and Lucius supposed he was recalling that night, and the two of them fucking under the Mark scarred sky.

'It would make sense.' Rodolphus shook his head and set to eating.

Lucius was inclined to agree. He felt absolutely no reticence about the subject. Everyone knew that Dark magic could be aided or increased by the sexual energies of those present, and that a loop effect was created. Had he not felt it himself?

And the Lestranges were famous for their willingness to give into the urge. Even Bellatrix's barren womb might, with the powerful currents of Darkness, have opened for long enough that a seed could enter it and make it bloom.

'Will you and Bellatrix try for a boy?'

'No. As you say, one is enough.'

Lucius tried to be tactful. 'Your line?'

'Rabastan may yet take a wife.'

'Rabastan doesn't care for the company of women, I thought.'

'He'd hardly be the first to take a wife in spite of it. He'd only have to...well, it mightn't take much.'

'I'd imagine after Evan...'

'Quite, but it's been almost twelve years. Perhaps now that the wound has healed a bit, he'd be more amenable to reason.'

Lucius didn't especially like the idea of forcing a wife on Rabastan, but he understood the idea of family as well as any other Pureblood, did he not? And perhaps a women with similar tastes could be found, and they could have a friendly, open sort of arrangement. It wouldn't be the first time, just as Rodolphus said.

'Have you seen the pictures Rumen sent?'

'It's generous of him to think of us, definitely.' Rodolphus passed over the photos and Lucius looked at them. His wife and son looked well, he thought. Draco was slightly wind-burnt, and Narcissa had a rather tired look about her eyes, but overall they seemed fine.

Hermione and Viktor looked well, too. Krum would never be handsome in the conventional sense, but Lucius suspected he'd be quite striking when he grew into his looks and achieved full height.

'Hermione looks grown up, don't you think?'

No, Lucius wanted to say. She looks like a twelve year old girl got up in grown woman's clothing, but of course, he could hardly say that to his brother in law. 'She looks very like Trixie.'

'I think so, too. And Mother, a bit. Mother was tall, though, and I doubt Hermione shall be.'

'Narcissa is. Children often surprise us.'

'Don't they?' Smiling proudly, Rodolphus related Hermione's conversation with him the night he'd explained the situation with the werewolves in his study, all the way back near Christmas. Lucius listened to it with a sort of vague discomfort. This behaviour was not normal in a child. She ought to have cried and complained and pleaded to be let out of her obligations, rather than going along as docilely as one could wish.

'Rodolphus, do you ever wonder whether her time with those people might have disturbed her at all?'

Rodolphus was chewing, and he finished his bite before he answered. 'It's crossed my mind. But is it such a surprise my daughter's ideology is so naturally pure?'

'Of course not. Only that I worry she might have pernicious ideas that haven't come out yet. These things sneak up sometimes.'

Rodolphus nodded slowly. 'Something to consider, I should think. What about Draco? The Ministry didn't scar him, I hope?'

Lucius swallowed his mouthful of pumpkin juice. 'He was younger than I would have liked. When he gets back, I'll have the mind-healers assess him. Shall I make Hermione an appointment as well?'

'Why not? Just to make sure, as you've said.'

Lucius rose and went for his pocket to pay. 'Shall we?'

'I'll pay.'

'Rodolphus.'

'Lucius, really. My word.'

'We lived on your charity in that house, and my wife and son are at your daughter's as we speak.'

'Fine, but I insist you come tonight and try that new Beaujolais.'

'You couldn't keep me away.' It was awfully pleasant, both men thought, to have a brother in law who was also a friend, and so they went to check on Martin and his wife.

Zhivka was the same. Her beautiful hair spread on the pillow, still clean and brushed daily by her maid, her chest worked slowly up and down. Most of one side of her head was covered by a bandage; the salves and potions were slowly reconstructing tissue and nerves, and the sight could be disconcerting, to say the least.

Martin was beside her, holding her head. He had an open book in his lap and read from it intermittently in Bulgarian, sometimes pausing to inhale deeply. The woman might have been a statue or a doll. She made no move or sound which separated her from the bedding.

The men came in quietly. Lucius had had his elves bring Martin food several times a day, and the man had been sleeping in the room adjacent. He seemed ill used and exhausted.

'*_Martin?*'_

_'*Rodolphus, Lucius, how good to see you again. Please, sit down. We're reading Pliny again.*_'

Both men sat in the chairs that elves brought them and they sat down in them. The room seemed shrouded with death, smelt of it, tasted of it, looked like a death room.

'*_We've letters from the children. And pictures.*'_

_'*Have you? That's good_.*' Martin seemed outside himself, as though he was playacting himself in some terrible drama. Rodolphus handed over the letters and pictures.

'*_They look so adult, don't they_?*'

'*_That's what I said_.*' As they watched, Martin slit the seals and quickly went through the letters.

_'*My brother and his wife have written, no doubt details from our steward elf about the lands. One from your daughter, Rodolphus, and one from my son. May I?*'_

_'*Please do.*'_

The men nodded and waited, hardly breathing. This had to be seen out to the end, they felt in their bones. Martin finally found Viktor's tightly written parchment and open it with calm economy.

Martin carefully opened the letter. A flutter of rose petals, jammy sweet and rich as gold, fluttered gently out and settled everywhere, a shower of petals as dark and dense as the velvet it was named for, deep violet, black and blood red by turns.

'*_Dear Mama,_

_Today is Ivan's birthday. His wish is that you get better. That's our wish, too. Everyone is keeping things here the way you like them, so all will be ready for you on your return. The elves have put up the herbs, and bunches of flowers and spices are hanging everywhere. The roses are in your rooms like they always are. Please find enclosed the petals of one of the Tyrian purples, so you might enjoy them._

_Every morning, Hermione and I go to the chapel and light candles for you. She says it took the Theokotos enormous courage to do what had to be done. I think so, too. _

_And so that's what we're doing, Mama. You and Papa would be so proud to see how everyone is working together. The tenants are bringing the lambs soon so we can see them, just like always. We've started on making cheese for the winter. When you come home, it will be like it always was, I promise._

_Everything is all right, Mama. We miss you, but we're all right. Just concentrate on feeling better, and don't worry. No matter what happens, we'll be waiting for you. Everything is fine._

_Love, Viktor.*' _

The words hung in the air like the scent of the roses. Lucius, who'd loved his own mother very much, felt his eyes sting. Rodolphus's mother had been a challenging person to love, but he, too, felt it in the room, the love and loss and too adult bravery of the letter.

'*_Your son is a remarkable boy.*_'

'*_He is that.*' _Martin folded the letter and gently put it in his wife's hand. Her hand was limp, fingers splayed a bit, still soft and fine even now. She wasn't a conventionally beautiful women, but he'd loved her since they were just a bit older than Viktor and his fiancée were now.

'*_And my wife. She deserves better that what happened_.*'

'*_If there is anything we might do, Martin...*_' Rodolphus wished there was to be said.

*_'It is not in our hands. All we can do is hope.*'_

_'*Quite so.* _And the three men sat in silence, quietly contemplating the intersection of love and helplessness which caused them to join this near stranger in his vigil.

In Bulgaria, a vigil of a different sort was taking place. Hermione set down her quill and shook a cramp from her hand. Viktor cocked his head and she said 'Hurts.'

'A cramp?'

She nodded, and he took her hand in his and rubbed, letting her little gasps of relief guide him. He was good at it; as an athlete, he knew how to message away overuse injuries.

Hermione frowned. 'Something wrong? You look sad.'

'No. Training starts next week.'

'Oh. All right. What you need for packing?'

He shook his head. 'I can't.'

'Can't?'

'Go. I'm needed here.'

'Yes, but need there too. You should go.'

'Hermione' said Viktor patiently 'I am lord of the castle.'

'You can be lord riding on broom.'

'But what if something happens?'

'Firecall' said Hermione very promptly. He shook his head again and kept rubbing her hand.

'You train many years for this, Viktor.'

'I can't just go off and leave everyone.'

'Uncle here. Aunt here. Mother, Aunt Narcissa. I am here. Nothing bad will happen.'

'It's not right.'

Hermione gently took her hand and cupped his face as he had hers. 'Why?'

'Because...it feels...'

'Wrong?'

'Yes.'

Hermione gently patted his cheek again. '_Compromise_?' She explained what she meant and Viktor nodded carefully.

'You go and come back on weekends.'

Viktor saw ample room to negotiate on this one. 'I'll come home every night.'

'You get sick from not enough sleep. I write you letters to keep you knowing about the castle.'

'Every day?'

'Yes.'

'In Bulgarian.'

Hermione frowned. 'English?'

'I'll write back in English. You write me in Bulgarian.'

Hermione felt as though she'd be snowed, somehow. 'I write only a little Bulgarian. You want lists of names for things?'

'Aunt will help you.' He smirked at her, feeling secure enough to tease gently. Hermione scrunched her nose and tried to find a way out of this corner. She nibbled her lip, thinking this over.

'Those are very short letters, then.' She held up her thumb and forefinger a few centimetres apart to make her point. Viktor laughed and took her hand again, lightly tapping the back of her hand.

'You're making excuses.'

'Excuses?'

He explained and she blushed pink. 'No. Just looking for your ...interesting?'

'Interests.' He tapped her wrist again, mock frowning. 'I should tell your aunt you're making up stories.'

Hermione laughed. 'I tell Draco you kiss me, then.'

'He's sworn to hex me if I do?'

'Mmm hmm. You don't tell my aunt and I don't tell Draco.'

'And write in Bulgarian?'

'All right!' She threw up her hands in mock surrender and Viktor chuckled and stole another kiss. Hermione wasn't exactly complaining. Viktor had no intention of taking it any farther until they were married-but that didn't mean they couldn't savour the dusty warm of the library, kissing in a puddle of late afternoon sun. Finally they leant back, both red to the roots of their hair, and Hermione said 'We can call the dog Bess?'

'Bess?'

'Was brave queen.'

'All right.' And so they did.

At Spinner's End, another dog was having a problem. He set down Snape's ill cooked ham and potatoes and said 'Would you please speak to Moody?'

'Moody?'

'Would you tell him about Peter?'

'I could, I suppose.'

'What'll it cost me?'

Snape shook his head. 'That remains to be seen. And did you cook these potatoes at all? They're like stones.'

'A Pureblood gentleman, cooking like a house elf'? For shame, Snape. What would Walburga think?' He pulled himself upright and did a very passable Lucius Malfoy.

Snape shook his head. 'Have I told you lately what an insufferable ponce you are, Black?'

'Have I spat in your food lately, Snape?'

'Bastard.' Snape rose and silently made his way upstairs, stopping to retrieve the rat from the drawer he'd warded him into. The rat, who'd been longing on a pile of cotton wool batting, grunted sleepily and belched.

The two in the attic both rose warily as Snape entered. He didn't knock on principle, though, to protect Emmeline/Eugenia's modesty, her part was protected by a sheet charmed to reflect light. Snape might be a spymaster, but he wasn't un-gentlemanly or desperate enough to stoop to staring at an unwilling woman.

'Moody, Madam Feathering. I'd like you to meet a friend of mine.' He set the rat on the floor and watched as the thing staggered about for a second, getting his bearings. Snape trained his wand on his rodent-spy.

'Change back.'

Moody sat up, eyes wide, as the rat-form rippled and flowed into a squat little man. _'Peter Pettigrew_?'

'In the flesh' said Snape, and kept his wand on the man. 'Now, tell them what you did.'

'I didn't mean for him to kill them! He said he only wanted the boy!'

Both of the former aurors looked at him with a terrible, dawning horror. Betrayal, mused Snape clinically, and something else. Hope dying has distinctive look, and he thought he saw it in them.

'Then Black was-is-innocent, is that right?'

'Yes, but he swore he'd not take them! Only the boy!'

The ex-aurors looked at one another in shared sorrow which Rodolphus or Lucius would have recognised very clearly, the knowledge they could do nothing now about what had happened.

'Would you...Snape...send up Sirius? I've an apology to make.'

Emmeline/Eugenia was nodding. She was in a state of flux. Snape always called her by her name, and had told her, very sharply, she was not Emmeline anymore. She could believe it. Emmeline had died a slow, miserable death in Azkaban, shrieking, Dementor ravaged.

And she'd been blonde. Eugenia had lustrous dark brown hair and big blue eyes. She'd grown up in Aruba, and she had no memories which caused her to wake, sweating and shaking, in the night.

She could be this person, she thought. Perhaps she even wanted to be. Everyone else was gone. Who else could she be, now? She rose as Eugenia. 'I do, as well.' She might not be Emmeline anymore, but that didn't mean she couldn't right that woman's wrongs.

Snape nodded once. 'Back, rat.' The cringing, crawling thing did as he-it-was bid, and Snape tucked him into the waistcoat pocket. 'I'll send the dog up directly.'

'Thank you, Severus.'

'Certainly, Miss Feathering. Mr. Moody.' He left without a word. Five minutes later, Sirius Black's shaggy head poked through the open door.

'Oi, Ems. Moody.' He smiled his old charming smile, and she was Emmeline again, and seventeen, and the world seemed to cramp painfully to a point when he did that. He came and sat down in their sole chair. 'That colour suits you.'

'Thanks. I, ah...I'm sorry, Sirius. For what it's worth to you.'

'Thank you, Emmeline.' He smiled again and she wished they might have done this somewhere that wasn't Snape's attic, preparing for the insanity of this desperate plan. Whom were they betraying, she wondered? The Order? The Ministry? Themselves?

Emmeline (that's who she was now, though she thought she'd be Eugenia before long) rose to give the men some privacy. Moody was of that generation who would not wish to do this in front of a woman.

'What happened that night? To James and Lily?'

Sirius settled back to spin the tale, starting with the choice to make Peter Secret-Keeper. Moody said nothing, seemed not to move. He just listened, interjecting every so often with some tit-bit he'd learnt from who knows where.

'And then Snape came for me.'

'He got you out?'

'No. I did. He left me a letter but I found my own way.' He explained that, too. Moody was apparently deep in thought. 'How was that?'

Sirius rose and transformed, then changed back. 'He's called Salazar here.'

'Quite handsome, for a dog.'

'But of course. He's Black, isn't it?' Both men smiled a bit at the play on words, and then sank into a silence.

'Moody? Do you know what happened to my brother?'

'We suspected he'd taken the Mark-sometime in Seventy-eight or nine, is that correct?'

'Yes. As far as I know. I was persona non grata by then.'

'He vanished from our surveillance sometime around the middle of Seventy-nine. That's all I know. We presumed he'd been executed by You Know Who.'

'I don't know. I was hoping...'

Moody shook his head. 'Wish I could help more than this. And as Emmeline-Eugenia-said, I'm sorry this happened. Reckon that's no damned use to you at all, but...' He shrugged, and Sirius laughed his strange yelping laugh.

'We're all fucked, you know that? But at least we're fucked together.'

Both men laughed a bit, and saw the truth in the observation, ugly though it was.

**A/N: I'm going to do my level best at being as sensitive and honest with the Rabastan plotline as possible, but any help or insight would be appreciated greatly.**


	36. Chapter 36

**A/N: Love to reviewers and Countess Black.**

**'It is a fearful thing to love what Death can touch.' Anonymous.**

Scabior was having a very good day. Mostly his days were good, but this one was special, he thought as he lunged and brought his opponent to the ground with a single brutal stroke.

The man lay there, stunned, and then stood, offering Scabior a hand. Scabior shook it and looked to where Bellatrix was resting against a wall, arms crossed.

'_Not bad, Scabior.'_

_'Thank you, Madam. I do tries m'best_.'

_'As must we all in our struggle to purify the world_.' Her response was so automatic it seemed scarcely human, and Scabior felt a strange jolt in his spine. Was this what made the nobs seem so controlled?

He pushed the thoughts from his mind and came at her motion. She pointed to the wall. _'Watch them with me_.'

The aurors were good, he had to admit. They duelled differently than he was used to, and whilst Scabior had never heard the phrase "cultural relativism", he understood the basics as he watched.

The Bulgarians fought with a controlled passion, moving and spinning, different from the English style, which stressed calm and deliberation. And they played rough, Scabior thought admiringly; they were using hexes the Ministry at home considered semi-Dark.

They'd spent most of the morning like that, watching their hundred aurors fighting. Belltrix planned to organise them into groups of ten, and teach them in smaller units, and then pit the units against one another. Scabior thought that was a sound plan, and he liked watching fights nearly as much as he liked starting them.

From above them, the elves discreetly rang a small silver chime, and Bellatrix gestured to the fighters to cease firing. '*_Enough for today. Six AM tomorrow, and don't be late or you'll duel me_.*' The idea brought respectful nods all round, and the group dispersed.

The woman didn't move much. Scabior waited for her to release him but she didn't, deep in thought.

_'Sumthing wrong, Madam Lestrange?'_

_'No. I simply hope we are not too late.'_

_'Fer supper? No, that's not til seven.'_

_'I mean to the fighting. My husband might well have mopped up all the scum before we arrive.'_

_'I don't doubts it, but there's always more scum, ma'am. If it aint these ones, it'll be others.'_

_'I suppose so. You know, I was younger than you when I took the Mark. Right after I married, that would have been.'_

_'Oh?'_

_'I was eighteen. It was quite a night.'_

Scabior didn't doubt that for a second. _'And the Boss took it the same night_?'

_'Rodolphus? No. He'd done it earlier. He sponsored me, and I sponsored Malfoy when his time came.'_

Scabior nodded again, wondering what this was about. Bellatrix abruptly shook her head and pushed away from the wall. _'Shall we go back_?'

_'Definitely. I dont trusts that Monroe any ferther n I can throws him.'_

_'Any reason?'_

_'E's a sly son of a bitch, if you'll pardon my sayin. Makes me wants t watch my back.'_

_'And yet you made him your second, since Limpkin had to stay?'_

Scabior made an eloquent gesture with a hand. '_I kin watch im better like this. And the Dark Lord sez the stong ave t makes sure the weak dont get above themselves.'_

Bellatrix nodded approvingly. 'Letters to Achilles Lestrange, letter six, paragraph four_.'_

_'So I'm makin sure e deserves it, is all.'_

_'If he does not, do your duty.'_

Scabior smiled brightly, good teeth (even after his year in prison, they were still better than they should have been) flashing. _'Oh, I shall, ma'am, never worry about ol Lem_.' That cunt Monroe had best watch his back, thought Scabior cheerfully, and followed his temporary boss to the Floo that would take them home.

They arrived to find the courtyard in organised chaos. Hermione and Viktor were overseeing the what seemed to be a great herd of milling men and women, each of whom seemed to have an animal or a wheel of cheese with them. Hermione started toward them and was immediately distracted by a man in a sheepskin vest, who held out a black lamb for her to pet.

She said something to him and slipped toward her mother and the strange little man who was not quite a friend. _'Hello, Mother. Scabior_.'

_'Hello, Hermione. What's all this_?'

_'The shepherds have come to bring us spring lambs, and wool from the shearing. Supper might be a bit late tonight. I'm awfully sorry-there's banitsa and ayran in the hall for you.' _Hermione pecked her mother's cheek and went to her intended, head high. Bellatrix thought that perhaps she wasn't the only one who'd been fighting battles that day.

In the hall, over yoghurt thinned for drinking and leek and cheese pies, Bellatrix smelt her sister before she saw her, the subtle waft of her perfume announcing her, whisper soft. She turned as Cissy came and sat beside them with a smile. Scabior got the hint and took his leave.

_'How did it go today?'_

_'Well enough. These people are good fighters, I'll give them that_.'

Narcissa nodded. _'I've letters from home_.' She handed Bellatrix a fat packet of parchments, which she rifled through with a disinterested look on her face.

_'Aren't you going to open them, Trixie?'_

_'None of them is from the Dark Lord_.'

_'Trixie...Rodolphus is your husband. Don't you care what he has to say_?'

_'I suppose he might have information I can use_.' She slit the seals with a sharp, varnished nail and scanned it. _'The house is rebuilt. He's living in it, apparently. The Ministry will pay for new furnishings. He misses Hermione and I. Hmm, that's different_.'

She sat it aside and went to the others. Yaxley's was full of sensitive information that she couldn't share, so she said simply that it was work things.

_'And here's for Hermione, as well. Rodolphus wrote, and Lucius, too. I wonder why_.'

Narcissa tried to be patient. _'Darling, Lucius is Hermione's uncle. He loves her and wants a relationship with her_.'

_'Oh. I suppose so_.' She was chewing the inside of her cheek. Why had the Dark Lord not written? Had she displeased Him? Not served as well as she ought? Had she neglected some duty?

_'Trixie?'_

_'Hmm?'_

_'What's the matter?'_

_'Nothing. Just lost in thought, Cissy. How's Malfoy?'_

_'Lucius is fine. He misses us all very much and hopes your health is good. And_...' Narcissa's cheeks coloured scarlet and she quickly tucked the letter into her pocket. Bellatrix, scenting blood, raised a brow.

_'Narcissa, baby sister, did that man write something naughty?'_

_'No. Just personal_.'

_'It was, then_.' Bellatrix mainly wanted to give Narcissa a hard time because she loved her and showed it with her teasing, but at some level, she wasn't. She really didn't approve of the idea of Malfoy debauching sweet, innocent little Cissy, who was six inches taller than she.

_'I do have a son, Trixie. Where did you think he came from?_'

_'Gnomes brought him, like all babies_.' Bellatrix was referring to the Wizarding version of the stork, and Narcissa laughed a bit and playfully swatted her sister's shoulder. _'Really, Bellatrix! And that time I walked in on Rodolphus and yourself?'_

Bellatrix actually paused a moment. '_He_ _was...what did I tell you...helping with that backache I had.'_

_'I didn't believe it then and I don't now.'_

_'Well, you ought to have knocked.'_

_'It was the garden shed.'_

_'We thought you were with Mother_!'

_'I was, but I wanted to find my broom. I almost fainted.'_

_'It's not so bad.'_

_'No. But it was...startling, to say the least.'_

_'You didn't see __**anything**__ that time_.' Bellatrix raised a brow again and Narcissa went pink, sensing there was more to the story.

The door flew open, and a confusion of children and dogs tumbled in, bringing a huge cloud of noise and dust in with them. Both women jumped up and started toward the apparent epicentre, a very harried looking Draco.

Narcissa smiled at her only son, her darling, and stood to open her arms to her little niece in law.

Yana loved Narcissa almost as much as Draco, and the girl nestled happily into her neck, sighing with pleasure. She held out her much beloved rag doll to Bellatrix, who took it from her, not really wanting to touch the grimy thing. Yana wriggled down and came to sit with Bellatrix, looking at her with big, curious eyes. '*_Aunt Bellatrix?*'_

_'*Hmm?*'_

_*Are you going to live here forever?*'_

_'*No. We're going home.*'_

_'*Soon?*'_

_'*I don't know, Yana.*'_

'* _I don't want you to go_.*' The girl looked both scared and determined to see this didn't happen. She missed Aunt Zhivka terribly, but she liked these other aunts too, and she wanted all three there forever, so they could play and read stories and sing songs.

'*_It won't be for a while_.*'

The child nodded and relaxed against Bellatrix. She had bad dreams sometimes that the bad men who'd hurt Aunt Zhivka might come to the castle. She knew her Papa would protect them, but it still made her feel sad when she thought about it too hard.

Draco was sitting with his mother, Ivan next to him. If Ivan worshipped Viktor, he was nearly as enthused about Draco, who flew like Viktor and was a big boy. He'd started combing his hair regularly, like Draco, and wanted to learn English so they could speak together.

_'Father's written, darling. He sent you a letter_.' Narcissa handed it over and watched as he tucked it into his pocket. Draco was slightly wind-burnt, but he'd grown a bit, and he was starting to put on weight that looked like muscle.

_'Is he well, Mother?'_

_'He is, and sends his affections_.'

Draco nodded. He wanted desperately to read the letter, but good manners prevented it. _'Mother, could I ask you to entertain the children a moment whilst I step out?'_

_'Of course, love. Take your time_.'

'_Draco_? _Bring Hermione and Viktor theirs, won't you?_'

Draco nodded and took the letters from Bellatrix, slipping them into the front of the tunic he'd borrowed from Viktor. He left Ivan chattering delightedly at Mother about the puppies and found his cousin and her fiancé in the yard, hand in hand, the gate clanging behind the last of the farmers.

He frowned sternly. _'Hermione Lestrange! Mother'd have your hide_!'

She giggled. '_Draco, you said it was fine for us to touch hands_.'

_'Well, just see that's all you do_.' He tried to look as forbidding as Father but sensed it wasn't working, somehow, as they both grinned and Krum said something in Bulgarian which made Hermione giggle again.

Draco handed out the letters and the three opened them, using Draco's little pen knife. Father said the usual things about guarding the women and practicing his flying and magic, and how proud he was of him. It made Draco's eyes burn a little, but only until he looked at Krum.

The other boy's rough hewn face was utterly impassive, like a stone. The very air changed about them, seeming to stop, somehow, as though the wind didn't dare to come there. He set the letter down on his lap with shaking hands and stared straight ahead.

Hermione gave Draco a look and then said something very softly in Bulgarian. He wasn't offended. Perhaps he'd rather not hear whatever this was. Part of him wanted to pelt back inside and go to Mother, because Mother could fix anything. But he couldn't. He was bound by friendship and honour and his own sense of himself to stay and take up his role in whatever was about to play out.

'Viktor?'

'She's worse.'

'How bad?'

Viktor picked up the letter and read. ''No one, Viktor, was more supportive of your career than Mother. She would never forgive me if I did not insist you go and train. Nothing would have made her prouder than to know you did your duty to yourself as well as to the family. You're talented, Viktor-you mustn't waste it.'

Hermione got it. She inhaled deeply and tried to find something to say. There was nothing. What could she say that would help this? It was past tense. That said it all.

'There's-there's more. "Nothing is of greater comfort to me-to both, of us, I do not doubt-that Hermione has proved herself so able and affectionate, and that you likewise return those feelings. You must cling now to one another. The medi-wizards and witches can do nothing more. When you return to our castle, so will Mother and I. It is only proper that she come home at last, for whatever time is left her, to the place she loved and was loved the most."'

Draco didn't understand the words, but he could see the blood draining from his cousin's face. He thought for a sick second she'd faint, but she steadied herself and answered Krum, still speaking softly.

_'Draco? Mother Krum is coming home.'_

_'Is she better?'_

_'No. She's coming home to die.'_

Draco nodded. _'Should I get Mother_?'

_'Not right now. Tell them to eat without us, would you? Rumen and Lyudmilla are in charge now. Rinky is with us_.' Draco rose and walked into the hall. Narcissa's smile faded as she saw the look on his face, as white as marble.

_'Hermione says to eat._'

_'Draco? What's happened, love_?' Draco bent down and rested his head on Narcissa's shoulder, breathing her sweet floral scent, reassured by her mere presence. Viktor would never get that again, not ever. Had Draco been a few years younger, he would've burst into tears then and there, but he was almost thirteen and he held it in for the nonce.

_'Mother, would you send the children from the room_?'

Narcissa did, feeling something in her bones that made her shudder. Beside her, Bellatrix had perked up her ears, so to speak, and was watching them with a cat-like alertness.

_'Aunt Zhivka's coming home. She's dying_.'

_'Martin said that?_'

_'Hermione was translating. She seemed sure._'

The women looked at one another, faces strange with solemnity. '_Should_ _we go to them, Narcissa?_'

Draco shook his head. _'Rinky's with them. I think they need some time_.'

He sat between them and put his head in his hands. _'Mother?'_

_'Yes, precious?'_

He was so busy working though what had just happened that he didn't mind the babyish form of address. _'This isn't fair.'_

_'No, it isn't.'_

Draco's jaw tightened. _'I hate those men who did this_.'

Bellatrix put a hand on the back of his neck and squeezed gently, shocking all three of them. _'Good boy, Draco. That's just how you should feel right now_.'

Narcissa wanted to slap Bellatrix, but only for a second. Then she wanted to hug her, tightly, and the rest of them as well, and make it all better. But she couldn't. All she do was help them weather the storm that was coming, and hope for the best.

Viktor was numb. He sat in silence, unable to formulate words to express how he felt. There weren't even any tears now. They were stuck inside him, like quartz in the heart of stone. Beside him, Hermione was also quiet.

The sun was slowly sinking into the horizon, lighting the skies with orange and gold. It would be dark soon. And hot. After training, he would come home and the flowers would have bloomed. The new lambs would be walking on sturdy little legs, and the fish would have come back to the rivers and streams.

What did that mean now? Mother _was_ Castle Krum. She was the embodiment of it, the heart and soul and mind, the mother of every person in it. How would it be without her, forever? Worse, how would it be if she lingered for years, betwixt and between, a mockery of herself?

He turned and looked at his little wife to be, with her child's braids and her grave, too old eyes. Viktor felt as though the youth had been burnt from him like a cauterised wound. Did she feel it too?

'It doesn't seem real.'

'No' she said sadly. 'All those lambs. Then this.'

'She would've hated this. Missing the lambs. Mother liked the lambs.' His voice was distant and sad. 'She loved everything about this castle. And the lands, and-and us. Father and I. I never doubted how much she loved us.'

'Viktor...'

'And she was so happy that we liked one another. I'm glad you could both be the ladies of the castle together. Even like this.'

'She could get better.'

'They wouldn't let Father risk it if she wasn't...if it mattered.'

Hermione thought that was probably correct, but she wouldn't say it aloud. She just sat quietly and let him talk this out. Alise had done the same for her, and she wished her friend was there, because Alise, too, had lost a mother.

The three of them could navigate the lands of grief and loss together, explorers of the shores of that undiscovered country from which none return.

Viktor finally rose and held out a hand to Hermione. 'We should go in.'

She shook her head. 'They eat without us.'

'We're the lord and lady. We have to see to them.'

'You're...good for it?'

'No' he said, and pulled her against him. Her arms went round his chest and they held each other there in the courtyard until the moon had risen above them, a sickle that smiled down on young lovers and, near Varna, two grieving, frightened children who had each other to succour against the horrors of the world at large.

Draco came and looked for them after everyone else had eaten. They were still clinging to one another. Draco didn't say a word; he understood why they needed to touch one another, at least a little.

_'Hermione?'_

_'Hello, Draco.'_

_'We saved you both some food.' _It sounded incredibly lame to his ears, but he couldn't imagine what else to say. He stood awkwardly a bit away from them, hoping that some miraculous figure would appear to whisper in his ear what he should do. He suspected that wouldn't happen, and decided to just wait and let one of them talk first.

'Do you want to eat?'

Viktor shook his head. 'No. Would you go check on Aunt Lyudmilla? She's always been very fond of Mother.'

Hermione sensed there was more to it than that, but she decided to give the boys space. She pecked Viktor's cheek and Draco's, as well, and walked toward the hall, meaning to get a drink, at least, before she went to Aunt Lyudmilla.

Draco sat down and waited. He didn't like this. He wasn't ready. He didn't know what he wasn't ready for, but he wasn't. He wanted to go home and sit in Father's lap and not have to worry.

Viktor liked to practice, but he always understood his English wasn't up to this. ''_*Mother doesn't have much longer.*'_

_'*For what it's worth, I'm sorry.*'_

_'*It's nothing any of us did. Wrong place, wrong time.*'_

_'*You're a better man than I am.*'_

Viktor looked at his cousin in-law and bit back a quirk of the mouth. '*_Neither of us are men, Drago. Thank God for that. Otherwise we'd have to fight.*' _Viktor had taken to Bulgarianising Draco's name more often out here. Draco didn't mind.

_'*Is something the matter?*'_

Viktor was looking at the sky. '*_Not if we're fortunate. But I don't think we are. Fortunate, I mean.*'_

_'*No?*'_

_'*No. I would very surprised if this ends it. The fighting this summer.*'_

Draco nodded, feeling elderly. His eye was starting to throb, and he felt a whopper of a migraine coming. He'd medicate himself and call it an evening. But not yet. Now he'd listen to Viktor.

'*_You know there's a Portkey between the castle and Grimmauld Place don't you?*_'

'*_Yes, I remember_.*'

'*_If anything should ever happen, Drago, swear to me you'll get Hermione and yourself to it and come here. Or if it's here, take her and the children and go to England.*_'

Draco looked at the stars as Viktor was doing. '*_What do you mean?*'_

Viktor looked grim, exhausted. Draco realised how much was at stake for all of them, and how removed he'd always been from what laid inside almost everyone, the core of danger that could spring forth at any time.

'*_If they should come here, Castle Krum will fight. Hermione will refuse to go. Swear you'll make her. I won't lose her to them like I lost Mother. I won't._*'

Draco knew what he'd been asked to do. '*_She'd never forgive me.*'_

_'*I know.*'_

_'*What about yourself?*'_

_'* I am the heir to this place. I die with her. But Hermione and the children will not, not as long as I live and breath.*'_

_'*And the other women?*'_

_'Lyudmilla might get safe passage to her people. They aren't political. The enemy might even let her take Yana. They might let your mother go, too, but...I wouldn't count on it. If they take the castle, they'll kill us all. At least the adults can fight.*' _He didn't mention the other things that would happen should they be captured alive-there would be no mercy for them, and he knew it.

Draco nodded. He'd aged a dozen years since this conversation started. '*_And they'll hurt them. The women.*'_

_'*No. If it comes down to it, we'll make sure they don't.*' _Draco felt a chill down his spine but did not flinch. As horrific as the whole idea was, it was better by far that the vaguely understood horrors of letting the women be taken alive.

'*_I'm glad you're marrying my cousin.*_' Draco felt a bit embarrassed to have blurted it out, but he meant it. The more time he spent around Krum, the more he liked the older boy, and the more he wanted to emulate him.

'*_So am I_.*' Viktor smiled a little and fingered the corner of his shirt, which Hermione had made him. It was English style, but he wore it under his tunic, and loved it because she had made it for him.

*_'It's not fair, is it? That we have to do this.*_'

Viktor studied his cousin in law. '*_According to the rules of warfare, they're supposed to give us a chance to send the non-combatants out. The old people, the children, pregnant women, whoever won't or can't fight. And to yield the castle, if we wanted to.*'_

_'*Would you?*' _Draco didn't know what he'd do. He'd been raised to believe that surrender was shameful, but he'd also never had to consider a castle full of women and children, either.

'*_I don't know. If I thought they'd honour the rules and treat us well, and there was no other way...I'm not Leonidas, Drago. I don't want to die if it there's another way. But what are the odds?*_'

Draco had always thought he'd feel brave and manly when he finally got trusted with something like this, something important and serious and special. He didn't. His stomach felt like a stone and his head was tuning up for the migraine from hell, but he didn't falter. He couldn't, now. None of them could.

'*_They won't let us surrender_.*'

'*_No. And so this is the only way. And that's assuming they don't cut manage to compromise the Portkey somehow, or else find out the endpoint to it.*' _Viktor knew Grimmauld Place was safe, but he couldn't assume it would be forever, or that they'd have time to Portkey the non-combatants before the walls were breeched.

Viktor swallowed hard. He felt better for having done something useful, but now he'd come up against the terrible, unthinkable thing again. That Mother would die. That Castle Krum might fall. That, to protect their women from rape and terrible deaths at the hand of werewolves and whomever else, they might need to kill them.

'* _I hate them so much. I can't even tell you. I'd like to kill them all. Bastards. Whore's sons. Women and children, my God_.*' Viktor was shaking, jaw clenched with his rage. He wanted to hit something, to duel hard and hurt the person he was fighting, to slice out the beating heart of the son of a bitch who'd hurt his mother.

He could do none of those things. Instead, he turned and started to walk to where his broom was. '*_I'm going to fly a while. Would you keep your eye on things?*_'

'*_Of course. If you want to...talk, or...something...?*_' Draco was, after all, twelve, and he wasn't sure how to make his wish to help his friend talk this through clear. Viktor was still nearly vibrating with rage. But he made himself nod and thank Draco nicely all the same.

Hermione had gone to Lyudmilla, as asked. She felt a little intimidated by Lyudmilla, who always treated her with such formality. She entered when bidden and found the woman sitting on a bench, face white as milk, hands clenched about a rosary.

'Aunt? Can I help?'

'No.' Said Lyudmilla, and sat silently, feeling as though she was under water. Hermione came closer slowly, not sure. She wanted to go and get Aunt Narcissa, who could fix this. But she couldn't, any more than Draco could climb into Lucius's lap and have the terrible things he'd seen go away.

I am the chatelaine of Castle Krum, she told herself sternly, and this is my responsibility. She sat down and slowly extended a hand to her aunt in law.

'I am sorry.'

'Don't be. You didn't do this.' Lyudmilla put down her rosary and made herself take the little hand. It was starting to callus, she noticed, with everything the child had been doing. She and Viktor were awake before the others, and often went to sleep as late, if not later.

Zhivka would approve, she decided, and a tiny blossom opened in her heart. She couldn't fix her sister in law, any more than she could make the sun rise in the west, but she could make the child into a chatelaine that would honour her memory.

'Tomorrow we'll need to sort that wool and start the elves combing it. I wonder whether you'd help me?'

Hermione nodded immediately. 'Yes. Viktor need new tunics.'

'Did he tell you that?' Viktor would wear a burlap sack if it was in his wardrobe.

'No. But the...arm back...is worn. Here' she pointed to her elbow and Lyudmilla nodded.

'Yes. And we'll work on your Bulgarian some more.'

'I like that.'

'Is my nephew in his room?'

'No. He stay with Draco. To talk, I think?'

Lyudmilla nodded. No one could tell the lord when he ought to sleep, but his aunt, rather than his subject, could suggest it strongly, reminding that same lord she'd known him before he had his first adult broom.

'I go and see them?'

'Why don't you encourage Viktor to have some supper?'

Hermione nodded enthusiastically. 'Yes! Doesn't eat. Doesn't sleep. Going to get sick. I tell him yesterday. I tell him today now.'

Lyudmilla didn't doubt it. 'Please do.'

Hermione rose, curtsied and made her way back to the yard. Draco was leaning against the wall, hand over his eyes. '_Draco?'_

_'Hermione?'_

He looked wretched; Hermione's heart squeezed sharply. She wouldn't let anyone else get hurt, not when it was something fixable. She sat down and put her palm to his forehead. Coolish, which meant a migraine.

_'Draco, you need to take your potion and go to bed.'_

_'No. He's not well, Hermione. Viktor.'_

_'Nor are you.' _Draco was more like her brother than a cousin, and she would absolutely make him take care of himself, even if she had to write her uncle to get him to tick Draco off. She didn't want to do that, but she would if he was being stubborn like this.

'_Hermione_...'

_'Please, Draco? I'll take care of Viktor. Don't make me take care of you, too, all right?_'

_'It's just a headache_.'

_'We love you, Draco. We can't stand to see you in pain_.'

That did it. Draco could hardly protect the ladies if he couldn't see, so he stood shakily.

_'Let me have Rinky take you_.'

Draco shook his head. The pain was blinding. _'I'll make it_.'

_'Draco, please_?'

He sank back down, defeated, and the elf came a second later and took him, shirring to calm him down. Having been raised with elves, Draco relaxed unconsciously, and found himself being tucked into the big, soft bed with real relief.

_'Get Mother, elf_.' Draco's mouth tasted like bile. He'd vomited when they landed, but he felt a bit better, and the potions the elf had given him were doing their work. But deep down, what he needed was Mother's cool hands and soft voice and quality of being, well, Mother.

Narcissa came at once and sat so he could put his head in her lap. _'Hush, shhh. Shhh. It's all right.'_

Draco swallowed hard, eyes burning. _'I love you, Mother.'_

_'And I love you, darling. Right to sleep_.' He was drifting as she said that, drifting on the currents of his love for her and the sudden encroachment of manhood, and all the problems and cares thereof.

Viktor flew until his hands were spasming from his grip on the broom handle. He thought of nothing. It was simply his muscles and his skill and the wind, blowing tears from his eyes.

He finally set, aching all over, to find his fiancée waiting for him. It was a warm night, and in the moonlight her dark eyelashes were a crescent against her pale skin. Pressed against the hard stone, her arms were wrapped about the puppy. It was a snoring puddle of fur in her lap, but the little thing sprung up, ruff bristling, and started to growl before she realised it was Viktor and decided to wag instead, sitting on her little haunches and trying a squeaky bark.

_'Herm-on-nee-knee?_'

She opened her eyes, blinking. _'Oh! Goodness_!'

He helped her to her feet as the dog danced about them, making little yaps. She whined with delight to see them together and ready to play. Hermione sleepily rested against Viktor for a moment.

_'You need to eat._' She brought her head up and looked at him, eyes soft and drowsy.

_'I know._'

'Elves put out lamb and bread.'

'Have you eaten?'

She shook her head. 'Had ayran. I feel fine.'

'Let's go and have something.'

They sat in the hall, the fire burnt to embers, and ate a very late supper. Neither of them said anything. The puppy had come in with them, and Viktor, a bit guiltily, let her stay.

Hermione felt rubbery and confused, like sleep had settled into her bones. Viktor finished his lamb and lifted his fiancée. He'd carry her to her bed. Hermione mumbled a negative and nestled back against him, too tired to protest very hard.

The puppy, Bess, followed, seemingly content to stay with them. Viktor was half tempted to send her to the kennel, but he wanted to see to Hermione first. And one night wouldn't hurt, surely.

Viktor couldn't exactly carry her into the bedroom where the two ladies were sleeping. He might outrage their modesty. He gently shook her awake and set her on her feet. Hermione hugged him tightly, head bobbing with tiredness.

_'Herm-on-nee-knee, I don't let someone hurt you.' _His voice was hard with determination, and his hands, on her back, held her so hard it nearly hurt.

_'I know. Nor you, Viktor_.' Hermione would find a way to help fix this, no matter what it took. She wanted to talk to Snape; Snape could fix anything. She sleepily pulled away and wandered into the bedroom, where Mother was sleeping but Aunt Narcissa, unusually, was wakeful.

_'Aunt Cissy? What's wrong_?'

_'Nothing, sweetheart. How are you?'_

Hermione let Rinky undress her and help her into her nightgown. She crawled carefully into the bed and laid back. She didn't know where to begin with that.

_'How's Draco_?'

_'He'll be all right. Is Viktor...?_'

_'I don't know. This is hard_.'

Narcissa nodded and opened her arms to the girl, who snuggled against her and closed her eyes, breathing deeply. Narcissa didn't press. Hermione would open up when she was ready, that was all.

'_Mother Krum is going to die_.'

_'It looks that way, darling_.'

_'Viktor will need us, Aunt Narcissa.'_

_'Of course he will._'

'_Would you talk to him? You made me feel better when my muggle parents died_.' Narcissa felt deeply touched that Hermione had that sort of faith in her. She wished she could take the boy's pain, but no one could do that.

_'I'll try, love_.'

Bellatrix's eyelids flickered and she rolled over. _'Both of you go to sleep this second._' Her mouth was in a line of disapproval, and her eyes were stern, implying she knew precisely who would be obeyed in _this _bed, thank you.

_'Sorry, Mother.' _Hermione looked downcast, and Bellatrix softened her tone and smoothed the girl's cheek.

_'Yes, well. Is the boy all right?'_

_'No.' _Hermione looked sad, and Bellatrix moved toward the other two and wriggled onto the pillow with them.

'_You did what you could, girl. He'll grieve in his own time_.'

Hermione nodded gravely. She understood that as well as anyone her age could. _'Yes, Mother.'_

She closed her eyes and drifted to sleep between her mother and aunt, feeling better, knowing that Viktor had all three to them to take care of him. That meant everything would be fine.

_'Narcissa?'_

_'Trixie?'_

_'She really thinks we can do anything, doesn't she?'_

_'It's a great honour, I think.'_

_'Maybe she's right about you.'_

Narcissa rolled her eyes. There was something about this that made them both think of the nights they'd spent three in a bed with Andromeda. It hurt but, strangely, also helped. They could think of her like this and not the last time they'd seen her, the hideous scene that had occurred.

_'You're a good mother, Bellatrix.'_

_'You are too. I am...glad you're here for my daughter, Cissy. Perhaps I don't say it enough.' _They fell silent after. What else was there to be said?

Down the corridor, Draco tossed in bed. Viktor slid in beside him and realised Bess was still following him. She whined, not wanting to sleep alone on the rug as she'd been bidden.

Dogs, he could hear Snetzka saying, do not sleep in beds with humans. She ought to be outside, or at least on the floor. But she'd never spent the night alone, and Viktor empathised with her longing for her mother and her home.

Feeling a sharp flare of guilt, he lifted Bess into the bed and let her snuggle against his stomach. She nuzzled, wanting to nurse, and started to suck on his finger, sleep overtaking her.

Viktor closed his eyes and waited, hoping the dog wouldn't wee in the bed. He finally relaxed enough to sleep, but his dreams were troubled, and even there, he felt an aching loss he could not name.


	37. Chapter 37

Snape slammed down the fork and gave Vance a withering glare. 'Really, Miss Feathering , do try not to clutch your flatware as though you're a troll with a club, hmm?' The woman shot him a look of pure hatred but obediently stopped choking up quite so hard on her knife.

Beside her, Moody was eating with the stolid slowness of a bull. He swallowed great gulps of water and generally ignored what had to be the strangest etiquette class ever devised.

Emmeline/Eugenia was ready to scream. Her parents had taught her well, but they had, after all, been muggles. She had perfectly respectable table manners in most circumstances, but if she was to infiltrate Pureblood society, she had to be flawless. More than flawless, she had to be alluring.

Snape regretted he couldn't benefit from Narcissa Malfoy's enormous stock of knowledge and experience to help with this. There was no woman he could trust that had the abilities he needed.

Or could he? Snape's mind was working this problem like a dog with a marrow bone. Speaking of which, the damned dog was sitting next to him, cutting his meat with fluid, easy gestures.

'It might be easier, Snape, if you weren't always barking orders at me.'

'So sorry. Now, again, and do-not-slouch that like, are you a lady or a yeoman?'

Emmeline/Eugenia sat up straighter and glared fearsomely, clutching the fork the proper way. She'd show him, the fucking prick.

Snape nodded once and cut his potatoes. What Eileen had neglected to teach him, Lucius Malfoy had, so he did it exactly as he ought to, with a carefully effortless effect.

Black smiled at the woman. 'How do you find the weather lately?'

'The weather?'

'Yes, of course. It's awfully cool, I thought.' Snape understood what he was doing right before the light came on in Emmeline/Eugenia's eyes. She swallowed the little bite of ham in her mouth and said 'Isn't it? Beastly, just beastly. And it's not as though one can trust the elves to damp the fires correctly.'

'Mmm, quite so. Have you considered replacing your current help? Sometimes a bit of new blood can do wonders.' Black was really getting into this, and Snape was impressed despite himself.

'Oh, I couldn't. These elves have been in the family for years.'

'No, no, no. You don't care about the elves. Your maid, perhaps. Your old nanny. But the scullery help? You don't even know their names.' Snape used his best student scaring look, and Emmeline/Eugenia, suitably chastened if not happy about it, nodded.

Moody rose without another word and, taking his plate, went to the kitchen. The woman went to follow suit and Snape waved at her. 'Leave it. That is for the elves to get.'

'You've not got an elf.'

'Irrelevant. Go and sit down in the parlour. Black, keep drilling her. Take your plate first. You're not a Pureblood lady.'

Black rolled his eyes but took everything with him, including Snape's dinner things. Snape rose and went for his cloak. 'I've some things to do. Don't do anything stupid whilst I'm gone. And Black? If those neighbour children come back into my garden, you might maul them savagely. Nasty little brats. Someone ought to take a strap to all of them.'

Sirius nodded agreement about the second part. 'Why don't you just have the Ministry ward it?'

'Muggle area. I daresay the parents would object if I mutilated their offspring too badly.' Scaring them, on the other hand, was fair game. If his (purely hypothetic, thank God) child ever dared behave that way...Snape, entertaining these pleasantly outraged feelings, went to advance his players a bit more on the chessboard.

The first thing was a letter to Krum Jr. Snape sent it via elf, a Hogwarts elf he'd never met before, with orders to be quick. To his surprise, the answer was in English, a bit shaky in terms of grammar, but it was all he needed. He resolved to reward the boy well for this.

Step two was relatively easy. He called Kreacher and gave him a number of detailed instuctions, including total discretion. He also gave him a large sum of money, which the elf then took to various places to get what was needed.

Snape rose and donned his cloak, steeling himself for the next part, which would've delighted anyone else but made him want to gnaw off his own arm. The atrium of Mother Goforth's reeked of perfume and pastilles of incense. He stepped through the door and nodded to Scabior's replacement. 'Hello, Biksdale.'

'Sir. You want to talk to Mother, is it?'

'I wonder if there's a girl free? Hetty, might be the name?'

Biksdales's eyes widened. 'A message from Scabs?'

'Rather, but I'd appreciate if you kept that to yourself.'

'I'll check.' Biksdale looked at the small board beside the chair and nodded. 'She is. Shall I send you to Mother?'

Snape nodded. Within minutes, he was facing Mother Goforth's velvet swathed bulk, bright red hair piled very high and surmounted by a ridiculous cap of lace. Her rooms smelt of champagne, violet creams and strong incense. Snape bowed, and the woman extended a hand crusted with rings, like barnacles on hull of a ship.

'Mother Goforth.'

'Professor Snape. It is such a pleasure to see you here in my humble home.'

'I apologise for calling so early, Madam. But I've something of a proposition for Hetty. Would you be amenable if she was?'

'Perhaps if I had some details, I would be more certain.'

Snape nodded. 'A friend of mine has just learnt a great grand niece, raised in Aruba, is returning home. As she is his only living relative, he wishes her to be taught every grace. Her upbringing was not as strict as it might have been. I thought perhaps a lady with such a rich store of knowledge might be the most useful and discreet teacher.'

'Of course. Frankly, I would recommend another girl. Perhaps Eunice? Or Helena?'

'I am quite set on Hetty. If she were interested, naturally.'

Mother Goforth's eyes, caked in mascara, looked like pools of ink dropped in a pile of rice powder. She nodded slowly, wondering what this had to do with Scabior. Something, clearly.

Well, she didn't much care either way. Hetty was a nasty, wilful little baggage, and Mother Goforth wouldn't weep many tears to see her back. The only reason she'd kept her on was that men were, unaccountably, mad for the goldmine between her legs.

'I'll summon her at once. Please, sit down. Wine?'

'Please.'

Hetty came down in a virginal nightdress, white, and a dressing gown. The plump breast and coral nipple protruding did little to dampen the effect, until she saw Snape. She went white and shoved it back into the gown, tugging the dressing gown (also coral) about herself more tightly.

'Professor? Is Lemuel all right?'

'He is well and sends you his affections. Madam, might we have a moment?'

'Of course.' The madam heaved herself to her feet, and ponderously left her sanctum for the parlour, not even daring to stay by the door and listen.

'I've a job for you, if you'd take it.'

The woman blinked before her professional instincts kicked in. 'Oh. Oh, yes. I could. I've been a very bad girl. Perhaps you'd see fit to chastise me?' She licked her lips and gave him her eyes, which were a lovely soft amber.

Snape gave her his coldest look. 'Thank you, Miss Gill. It is not for me that I ask.' He'd had her as a Hufflepuff, and as he outlined her duties, she found she'd stopped feeling like Hetty and started to feel like Henrietta Gill again.

'It will be an involved process, you understand.'

'How long, do you think?'

'Months at least. She needs quite a bit of help. And of course, your instruction would include the arts of love, as well.'

'What about Lem? He'll be home sometime.'

'Of course. I'm sure we can negotiate something about your visits to him.'

The woman nodded. 'Will you want my Gringotts account number?'

'Please.'

'When shall I be ready?'

'Now.' She nodded, rose to get her things, and then made her way to the stairs. 'Professor?'

'Miss Gill?'

'I meant no offence.'

'Of course not.'

Twenty minutes later, clutching her possessions in her hands (shrunk down, of course) and attired in a respectable hat and cloak, Snape Apparated Hetty out of Diagon Alley. In that twenty minute window, Snape had negotiated a rather steep sum with Mother Goforth, in return for a binding vow that she'd never reveal what went on. 'So as not to embarrass my friend, you understand.'

He Apparated Hetty directly to the parlour of Grimmauld Place. He didn't want her to see the outside, for one, or for anyone to know she was there. She looked round the dingy little rooms with dismay.

'Please' he said, wand raised, 'do sit down.' And then he Imperio'd her without another word, before she could even open her mouth to protest.

He raised her chin, looking into those splendid eyes, and gathered his thoughts. This would be a tricky, slow, touchy business. He could do it. Would her mind hold? He thought it would.

'Legilimens' he said, and started. He went into her mind, into the very streams of her thoughts, and started to move things. He carefully adjusted a few things, created a very few from whole cloth and left gaps for her mind to fill on several others. He thought it would serve to begin with. If she needed fine tuning, he'd simply do it. It wasn't as though they lacked for time, after all.

Whilst he was in Hetty's cerebrum, he planted his objectives as well, and then put her to sleep with a feather light jab to her brain stem. She'd sleep naturally and deeply for four hours at least. Finally, he ended the Imperius-too much risk of discovery, he thought, not without regret.

Leaving Kreacher to guard the sleeping whore, he went to Otway's. Otway's was an inferior purveyor of house elves. The _ton_, like Lucius and Narcissa, preferred to patronise Christabel's or Newley's, where the elves were the best that money could buy; young, trained in the latest fashions, specialised in what they did.

Otway's was several rungs down. The elves tended to be older, elves of all work, elves that lacked some quality which made them unacceptable to anyone who could afford better.

Snape disillusioned himself rapidly and walked in the door. Janus Otway was lounging behind his desk, smoking a cigar with an air of despondency. Disillusioned, Snape looked relatively like his usual self. The spell simply blurred the edges, and as he meant this to be a strictly under the table thing, it would do.

'Ah, sir, come in, come in! How may I help you today?'

'I need two elves. One as an elf of all work, gender irrelevant, age not a consideration. All I require is sufficiently docile temperament and an ability to perform the usual tasks.'

'And the other, sir?'

'A lady's maid. Female, skilled in dressing of hair and such things, likewise docile and discreet.'

The man nodded, stubbing out his cigar. 'I've just the thing, I think, Mr...'

'Smythe' said Snape. 'Tobias Smythe.'

'Mr. Smythe. We've quite a lot at the moment, but there's two in particular I'd like to show you.'

Otway rose, rather grimy tail coat flapping, and led Snape into a warren of tiny wooden honeycombs. Otway was muttering to himself as he went, until he came to one marked in yellow chalk. He wrapped sharply with his knuckle, and an elf popped out, bowing low.

'Well?'

'Which is this one?'

'The all work. Mippy, it's called. A bit long in the tooth, but works hard. Came from an estate in Conwy.'

Snape nodded. 'How many owners have you have, elf?'

'Three, Master.'

'And you can clean my house and cook meals?'

The elf nodded, big ears bobbing. 'Yes, Master.'

'I require quiet. Are you loud?'

'No, Master.'

Snape turned to the hovering Otway. 'This one will do. And the lady's maid?'

Otway led him deeper into the warren. This chalk mark was bright pink. He wrapped again and an elf popped out.

'Gemmy. Not young, either, but quite talented, I'm given to understand. Same lot as the other one.'

'You, elf, you're a lady's maid?'

'Yes, Master.'

Snape repeated the questioning and then allowed himself to be led back to the office. He'd brought a good deal of cash, lightened, of course, in a small pouch. He sat in the chair, the new elves hovering behind Otway, and waited for the inevitable cant.

Otway didn't disappoint. 'I suppose you know, sir, elves like these don't come cheap.'

'How much?'

'Five hundred for the pair.' Otway seemed put out by the lack of finesse on Snape's part. Snape didn't care. He could afford to pay practically anything, but he couldn't let on to Otway, of course.

'Three. They're old.'

'That just means they're experienced! Can't put a price on that, sir.'

'They'll be hard to re-train, is what that means. How do I know their previous owner didn't teach them bad habits?'

'Four.'

'Three and a half, and I'll send more business your way.'

'Four.'

They debated a bit more, and Snape, decided this was not worth his time, paid it without much grumbling. The paperwork took only five minutes, and then he walked out with his two new elves.

Snape Apparated all three of them back. Kreacher drew his warped body to it's full height when he saw the other elves. Snape had no time for stupid house elf politics. He glared at the ancient, wily elf and said 'None of that. You'll all get along, that's a command.'

The elves nodded and subsided a bit, at least in his presence. Snape inspected the lightly snoring Hetty and then drew the elves into the other room to explain their new roles.

Back at Spinner's End, he brought Mippy into the house. 'Black?' Sirius, as Salazar, appeared, sniffing curiously at the new elf. 'Turn back. This is my new elf.'

Sirius transformed and studied the new elf with frank curiosity. 'Never figured you for the sort, Snape.'

'Normally I'm not. Get Miss Feathering for me and then come back down.' Sirius did it, and Snape turned to direct the new elf. 'I want the woman packed and ready in ten minutes time.' The elf bowed and vanished.

Emmeline/Eugenia was startled from a nap by the sound of Sirius's soft knock. 'Em? Emmeline? Snape wants you.'

She rose, straightened herself, and went downstairs, dreading what was to come, though she didn't know what it was yet.

When Hetty woke, a strange elf was staring at her. 'Hello?'

'Miss is being awake. Good. Miss comes with Gemmy now.' Hetty rose, blinking, and made her into the next room. She half suspected this was some sort of ruse, and Snape simply couldn't admit he had unusual tastes.

She wondered idly what he would do. Would he want to bend her over something and birch her? Perhaps bend over something himself? Or something with whipped cream? Feathers? Silk scarves?

She was slightly surprised, then, when she came in and found Snape, dressed quite normally, and another woman who would have been pretty had she not looked so nervous. Hetty sat down and waited politely.

'Henrietta Gill, Eugenia Feathering. Miss Feathering, this is your teacher.'

The women studied one another frankly. Henrietta, thought Emmeline/Eugenia, was pretty in an opulent way that she'd never managed. Eugenia, thought Hetty, could have been a good deal better looking if she tried a bit harder, and knew how to take advantage of her assets.

'Well, ladies, I hope you find one another's company instructive. You've both your instructions.' Snape rose, bowed sardonically, and was gone, leaving the two women to their own devices.

The two of them stared at one another. They certainly did have their instructions. Neither of them knew quite what to do, and finally the new elf came in and handed them both a glass of wine.

'Gemmy is getting ladies a snack?'

'Please' said Emmeline/Eugenia. The other woman looked at her and said nothing. She felt on the threshold of a sea-change. She'd not been Emmeline, precisely, since this thing started, but she'd not been Eugenia, exactly, either. She could feel this nebulous other person creeping on her like a fog.

'Henrietta's a pretty name.'

'Everyone calls me Hetty. I'm a whore. Do you mind terribly?'

The other woman blinked. 'Not at all.' That didn't shed much light on things. Emmeline wouldn't mind terribly-would probably approve the woman's straightforwardness, actually-but what would Eugenia do?

'I always thought women like you hate women like me. We fuck your husbands.'

'I don't have one. A husband.'

'You will when I'm done. The Dark Lord himself would fall at your feet. Are you very political? I didn't offend you, did I?'

She shook her head. Probably Eugenia would be offended, but Eugenia was supposed to smile and be gracious and not disagree. 'No. Speak freely.'

'Good. I don't know any other way, I suppose.'

'Nor I.'

'Do you want one? A husband?'

Now she _was_ Eugenia. 'It's my duty to marry.'

'This relative of yours? Does he want you to?'

'I should think.' '

He doesn't want you to marry some mouldy old duffer, does he?'

'I don't think so.'

'Excellent. I couldn't help you with that.'

'What can you help me with, Hetty?'

Hetty smiled. 'First thing? Sit up straight. Men want to see your tits. Like that.' She sat up and smiled brightly. Emmeline mimicked her, and as she did, she felt the first tendrils of Eugenia unfolding in her heart. It was bitter to her, bitter as drinking quinine, but she would let it happen, because there was no other way to make this work.

Hetty nodded approval. 'Get up and walk across the room, would you?' She watched the woman walk across the floor and shook her head. 'No. First thing, tell that relative you need some decent clothes. These are like sacks.'

'All right.'

'So you grew up in Aruba?'

No, she'd grown up in Hampstead. Well, Emmeline had. Emmeline had grown up in a house with a telly and a car and a music player. Not Eugenia. Eugenia'd grown up in Aruba.

'Yes. That's rather a painful topic.'

'Sorry. So let's make a list of what you need.' And so they did.

'Do you like it, Hetty?'

'Being a whore?'

'I don't mean to offend.'

'No, of course not. I like it very much. Have you ever had a man?'

Eugenia (?) nodded shyly. 'Yes. When I was younger.'

'What happened?'

'I had a fiancee. He...died. An accident.' She'd had her share of lovers, being, after all, thirty one, but she could hardly let on to Hetty, who was almost certainly Wizarding raised.

'And you and he fucked?'

'Yes.' Her eyes filled, thinking of what she was giving up by becoming this new person. Her heart was aching but she pushed on, ignoring the agony of it.

Hetty nodded, not wanting to push too hard with this. It clearly caused the woman pain.

'I only ask because I need to know what to teach you. Snape said you needed some help.'

'It's been a while.' It had been over a year. She missed the warm beat of a man's heart under her ear, and the feeling of another's person warmth along his back.

'Nothing wrong with that. I've a man.'

'Do you?'

'Lem. He's away right now.'

'Oh. Does he mind...'

'That I'm a whore? No. That's how we met. He's our spoony-man.'

'Will you get married?'

'Lem and I?' Hetty considered. 'I don't know. He's a good bloke, but I do like my freedom.'

The other woman, somewhere between Emmeline and Eugenia, nodded. 'I understand.'

'Is that why you aren't married?'

'I suppose. After my fiancé died, there was never anyone I cared about as I had him.'

'What was his name?' Hetty listens for a living (something she planned to teach Eugenia) and she could tell the woman needed to talk.

'John. John D-Davis.' She'd almost used poor Dawlish's real name. She missed him, despite having few memories of him that had not been stolen from her. That was part of the reason she'd been willing to go along with Snape's plan; her grief for John numbed her to the disgust and horror of being married off to some stranger would have evoked normally. What did it matter? The man she loved was dead.

'What happened? Will it hurt too much to say?'

'He was killed in a fight. He tried to save a child and got stabbed.' Her hands were clutching each others with painful tightness. Hetty cooed, feeling genuinely sorry for the woman, and for the fellow, too. He'd only been trying to do right, after all. What sort of vile bastard stabs someone trying to help a child?

Hetty moved closer and gave the woman a hug. 'I'm sorry, Eugenia.'

Emmeline, she was Emmeline now. She inhaled, dropped her head and let the tears come. When she came up, she'd be Eugenia again, but now she was Emmeline, and John was dead.

In Spinner's End, Snape and Moody were sipping tea. 'Cold out?'

'A bit.' Snape liked his tea strong, and it was hot and black as pitch. Moody nodded once and looked into the fire.

'Durmstrang needs a headmaster.'

'Oh.' Moody seemed disinterested. His own tea was much like Snape's. He felt empty, as though Azkaban had stripped out everything and left him only his bones.

'I want it to be you.'

'Me? I don't know anything about children.'

'You need not.'

'I'm a bit conspicuous.'

'That's fixable.' Snape finished his tea. 'I'm going to start setting up an identity for you. But you're not opposed?'

'No.' Nearly everyone he'd ever been close to had died on that day at Hogwarts, and the ones who didn't were in Romania. Moody was not young any more, but he liked the idea of a fresh start. Somewhere with no memories.

'Moody?'

'Hm?'

'Why didn't you turn the Lestrange girl over to Malfoy and his wife?'

Moody looked at his hands. 'Because Albus thought they'd turn her into a symbol. It seemed a good idea at the time. Why?'

'Curiosity. '

'Did the muggles escape the country, then?'

'No. Bellatrix and Rodolphus killed them.'

Moody's craggy face flexed with sadness. 'Should've guessed.'

'No one could have known.'

'It was all for nothing.' The man's voice was flat, dry with sorrow.

'Was it? They raised her well. She was loved, Moody.' Snape hoped that would give the man solace.

'And now?'

'The same. The Lestranges love her dearly, and so do the Malfoys.'

'Bellatrix?'

'Is her mother. No one was as surprised as I.'

Moody nodded tiredly. 'Is she still his most faithful?'

Snape raised an eyebrow. 'Excellent question.' He recounted the story of the engagement, answering the questions put to him by the old auror.

'And now I go to take Karkaroff's place?'

'If I can arrange it, you will.'

'Is this what you meant to happen, Snape?'

Snape blinked. 'With Karkaroff, you mean?'

'No. This. All of it.'

Snape set down his empty cup. 'I'd have thought you above this, Moody.'

Moody shrugged. 'It's honestly asked.'

'I never thought...no. No.'

'And the Lestranges?'

Snape inhaled, feeling an unaccountable sorrow. 'Six months ago I would have yes. They're happy as they could be with all this. But now?'

'What changed for them?'

Snape's eyes had a bitter gleam. 'I sold their daughter for a thousand aurors.'

'And this will do it?'

'I don't know, Moody.' He settled back and called for the elf to bring more tea, and started to brief his newest spy.

In Bulgaria, two other spies were moon viewing. The moon was fatter tonight, and they were lying on their backs, looking at it. Bess was between them, eyes closed, dozing gently.

'Viktor?'

'Hmm?'

'It was a good duel today.' They'd spent part of the day in training, and she was gaining on him in terms of ability. She had a ways to go, but Viktor was proud and impressed by her skill.

'Yes. Your cousin needs to learn to mind his sides, though. I felled him twice.'

'Tomorrow you leave.'

'Yes.'

'I write every day.'

'I know. Are you afraid?'

Hermione swallowed dryly. She was struggling not to be. 'Maybe a little.'

'Why?'

'You come back. You promise you would. That means you come back.'

Viktor rolled and gently wriggled Bess out of the way so they could lie in one another's arms.

'It's all right, Hermione.' He almost wanted to disobey and stay to help, but he understood it was for the best that he go. She'd always be afraid, he suspected deep down, but having him go and come back would help assuage her fear.

'I know. You be careful. And no to fly in good tunics.'

He laughed. 'I won't. Promise you won't try to do too much.'

'Promise. Bess wait for you, too.' The puppy whined and climbed against them, wanting to be cuddled between them.

'She don't wet, you think?'

'Won't. I hope not.'

'Babies do that.'

'Mmm hmm.' He nuzzled her neck gently and Hermione closed her eyes and hugged the puppy one armed. She wanted them to stay like this, tucked away from everyone and everything.

Behind them, Draco stirred. He didn't understand what they'd said in Bulgarian, but he could tell they were talking about something that made Hermione sad. He half wanted to intervene, but Mother said married people (or people who'd be married someday) had to deal with things together.

Bess sensed his movement and squirmed away from the pile. Draco should come too! She couldn't imagine why he didn't want to pile, or else a good wrestling match, or maybe both.

Draco didn't feel quite comfortable with these huge and not very friendly dogs, but Bess didn't seem to mind much. She hopped over, wagging, and decided to wash his face whilst she was there.

Defeated, Draco let her. He meant to get up and gently shake Viktor and Hermione so they could rise and go to bed. He meant to, but Bess, defeated in her attempts to get Draco to wrestle, settled down on his chest, nuzzling hopefully for a nipple. Finding none, she sighed, closed her eyes and started to drowse.

When the children hadn't returned by eleven, Bellatrix shook Narcissa awake and insisted she come and help her find them. Suppose something had happened? The Dark Lord would be very upset if the children had done something they shouldn't, after all.

Narcissa bit her lip to keep from smiling and joined the search. She didn't want to wake Rumen and Lyudmilla if they didn't have to, but Hermione was almost thirteen, and they needed to be conscious of the potential for...issues.

They searched as quietly as possible until Bellatrix grabbed her sister's arm. 'Cissy!'

They'd reached the moon viewing room, and both women stood and watched a moment, amazed by what they saw.

Viktor and Hermione laid sleeping on the skins, covered in a fur an elf had draped over them. An arm's length away, Draco was on his back, puppy draped on him like a scarf. He, too, had a fur over him.

Narcissa smiled at her sister. 'I wish I had a camera.' Technically, she ought to scold all of them very sharply, but in practice, this was obviously innocent and deeply sweet to behold. She bent over Draco and shook his shoulder lightly. _'Precious, wake up_.'

Draco jerked up so quickly their heads nearly collided. 'Mother_! I'm so sorry! Hermione's not ruined, is she_?' He sounded genuinely panicked, and Narcissa put her arms round him.

_'No, sweetheart. It was an accident. And Rinky was here, hmm_?'

He relaxed a bit and she let him go. Bellatrix bent over the other two and found her hand in her daughter's hair, stroking. '_Hermione_?'

_'M-mother_?' Her voice was a slurred, sleepy drawl, and she snuggled into her mother's hand, feeling warm and content.

_'Hush, girl. You fell asleep, is all_.' Hermione nodded but made no effort to move. The puppy came and noised at them, wanting to join in this and encourage some piling. Beside Hermione, Viktor was moving. He sat, gently disentangling himself from Hermione, blushing red.

'_Sorry, Mother. Aunt Narcissa. My fault._'

_'Of course not. All of you, to bed.' _Bellatrix shot them her best look and the children (and Bess) climbed to their feet and walked toward the stairs. Viktor and Hermione walked behind, with Bellatrix.

_'Mother, I go tomorrow to train_.'

_'I know.'_

_'Everything vill be good whilst I am gone.'_

Bellatrix nodded. _'I'm sure it will._'

'_You say to Draco "Watch sides in fighting"? I hit him two times in_...ribs?'

'_Ribs_.' Said Hermione, blinking. She felt muzzy and light-headed. It would be good to sleep.

_'Ribs. Two times.'_

_'I'll remind him_.'

They parted at the ladies' door. Bellatrix watched the boys go, and saw her daughter's eyes as she watched Krum.

_'Trust, girl, remember?'_

_'Yes, Mother.'_

_'Hard as you can?'_

_'Hard as I can.'_

_'That's my girl.'_


	38. Chapter 38

**A/N: Love to reviewers and Countess Black**

**Today (May 16) was my birthday, and I wanted to celebrate by posting a new chapter. There was a reference in there to something or the other, but I forget what it was. If someone catches it, please let me know so I can note it.**

Rabastan Lestrange swallowed his final mouthful of tea and vowed to strangle Cunegarde. Possibly Crouch, too, but mainly his damned great aunt, who was giving him a look of baleful pleasure across the teak dining room table.

_'Because I need to work today, Aunt_.'

_'You're a Lestrange. Surely these people could wait long enough for you to take me to see my great great niece_.' On the one hand, Rabastan thought it very sweet Cunegarde missed the girl so much, and that Hermione made such an effort with the old cow.

On the other, he had to meet with Dinev in ten minutes, and he wasn't about to reschedule to deal with the old woman's desire to torment the Krums for a while. She'd be fine napping in the parlour as she did every day.

_'I'll escort her.'_

_'Thank you, Barty, but I need you to guard the house, remember? My papers and such?_'

The madman, who'd been one of Rabastan's closest friends (and whom he'd sponsored for membership, he remembered with a pang) was absently playing with his porridge.

_'Hermione might be afraid. She is, sometimes. And not well.'_

_'I'm sure Bellatrix will protect her, if she is.'_

_'Daresay she would. She's a very good witch, Bella.'_

_The old woman made a rude noise. 'Pah! Unsexed, she is.'_

_'Now, Aunt Cunegarde, that's not true.'_

_'The rest of us didn't go gadding about with men, did we, nephew? Klytemnestra wouldn't have done such a thing.'_

_'It's a different era, Aunt Cunegarde.'_

_'You might firecall and ask if they'd send someone_.' The old woman looked peevish, and Rabastan, wondering whether it would be totally unfilial of him to lock the old bat in the cellar, nodded assent.

_'Fine, fine, I shall. Good day, all_.' He rose, donned his hat, and started for the Floo. Barty waved cheerfully, like a child, and then went back to digging about in his porridge like he was looking for something that wasn't a bit of fruit.

In Varna, Lyudmilla was drilling Hermione on her grammar as they carded the wool. Next to them, Yana and Narcissa were likewise carding, but somewhat less fluently than the other two.

'I am, you are, he is, she is, they are.'

'Excellent. To do?'

'I do, you do, he does, she does, they do.'

Lyudmilla set aside the cards and let the elf take the wool and replace it with a fresh handful. Yana was showing Narcissa how to do it with more excitement than skill, and Hermione winked at her aunt as they worked.

'Mama' said Yana, setting down her cards 'will Hermione be able to talk better now?'

'She's learning, Yana. You weren't perfect at first, either.'

The girl nodded. '_*Aunt Narcissa, do you make clothes at home for your family?'*'_

_'*No, Yana. We usually buy cloth and then the elves make things.*'_

_'*Why don't you have lambs?*'_

Hermione bit her lip to keep from giggling. Narcissa smiled and kept carding, despite the ache in her wrists and the way her fingers felt too tight. '*_It's not the custom in England.*'_

_'*Why?*'_

Hermione finished with her wool and the elves came and brought fresh. The sheepy smell seemed to be in everything, but she didn't mind it much. Rather liked it, really, because she'd get to see this pile of dirty wool transformed in winter garments for them all.

'We've some fur to add to things. You get first choice for Viktor and yourself.'

'You will help me? I am not-do not-know about it.'

'Of course.' Lyudmilla nodded approvingly. She thought the silver fox would look pretty with Hermione's dark hair, and Viktor had a preference for functional, heavy furs, so she'd guide the girl toward the wolf pelts that gleamed, row on row, in the storehouse.

Narcissa hated this. It smelt bad. It felt thick and greasy, and any notions she'd had of bucolic fluffy lambs gambolling cutely were forever dispelled. She kept her happy face on and answered Yana's questions about England and her house.

The women kept carding until, just before lunch, an elf popped in, bowing. 'Letter from Master Rabastan Lestrange, for milady.' The elf was unfamiliar to the group, because it was an Embassy elf.

Hermione took the letter and scanned it. 'Uncle wants us to bring Barty and Aunt Cunegarde here to visit. It is not a problem?'

Lyudmilla looked at her, face unmoving. 'You are the chatelaine. If you want us to do it, we'll do it.'

'Chatelaine means ask everyone too. Fair is fair.'

Lyudmilla nodded slowly. 'Thank you. Yes, today is fine.'

'Please, elf, tell my uncle yes. Do we need to send the carriage?'

'Would be most generous, my lady.' The elf bowed himself out and the group studied one another.

'Aunt Lyudmilla? Aunt Cunegarde is being very old. She is sometimes...grumpy? Mother is saying Aunt Cunegarde is like...snake hair lady?' Hermione mimed snakes for hair and Lyudmilla stifled a laugh at great difficulty to herself.

_'Hermione Bellatrix, did you just tell Lyudmilla your great great aunt is like Medusa?'_

_'Yes, Aunt Narcissa._'

She looked so absolutely like her mother at that moment, eyes gleaming with naughtiness and amusement, that Narcissa, who ought to have scolded her very sternly, couldn't help but giggle into a hand in front of her mouth. How in the world had this happened?

On the other hand, Narcissa thought it wise to prevent problems before they started. '*_Yana, would you like Hermione to take you and show you my jewels?_'

'Yes! Hermione, let's go see! Please?' Yana thought Narcissa looked like a queen every day, and she wanted to have a chance to play in all the gorgeous, sparkly things she had. Hermione raised an eyebrow at both women but nodded, sensing there was something going on here.

She rose and helped Yana to her feet. 'Is it all right, Aunt?'

'Of course it is. Yana, be careful, please.' Yana nodded excitedly and turned to Hermione. She lifted her little hem just as Hermione did and they walked as sedately as they could from the room.

'*_I want to warn you about Cunegarde_.*'

_'*I appreciate it. Is she confused? With age, I mean?*_''

'*_In some ways it would be easier if she were. Cunegarde loved unwisely when she was young. Her husband picked up the pox, and it...well, you know what it does.*_'

Lyudmilla did. She nodded and got a fresh lump of wool for them both. '*_Did they have children?*'_

_'*They did. A boy and girl.*'_

She stiffened. _'*Ah.*'_

_'*She is...quite bitter about it, as you might imagine.*'_

_'*It usually only effects males.*'_

_"*It did. But the daughter was...well, she, too was unwise. She married a rake-Worthington McNair, was the name-and died under some very mysterious circumstances.*'_

'*_It's been quite a while since the children visited my father. Perhaps I'll see if he'd like a bit of company_.*'

'*_That might be a very good idea . I can't believe that Cunegarde would be deliberately cruel to a child, but there was an incident last year_.*' She briefly sketched what had happened between Hermione and the old woman, carefully leaving out precisely what had been said about the muggles.

'*_Of course. Older people often become rather uninhibited, I find.*'_

_'*Precisely. And she really does love Hermione very much.*'_

Lyudmilla was torn between her gratitude toward the woman for her honesty and the questions her family had about the Lestranges. Who had raised the girl? She felt certain Lucius and Narcissa hadn't. There was a story here.

'*_Thank you for letting me know. Normally I'd say we should try, but perhaps given the events of the last few weeks, it might be best not to._*'

Narcissa nodded and tugged her wool. She half dreaded Hermione's marriage-she didn't want the girl condemned to a life of menial labour. But the girl seemed to like it, and she certainly cared about Viktor, so perhaps it was all for the best.

'*_Quite so. And Barty can be a handful.*_'

'_*Is he related to your sister's husband?*'_

_'*Not precisely. He has no one else, and he's rather got attached to Hermione.*_'

The mystery of the thing was bothering Lyudmilla more and more. '*_May I ask you something, Narcissa?*'_

_'*Please.*'_

_'*Who did the girl stay with whilst her parents were imprisoned?*'_

Narcissa inhaled deeply. '*_That's a very complicated question, so why don't we wait for Bellatrix?*'_

_'*I hope I have not caused offence, Narcissa.*'_

_'*Not at all. It's not my story to tell, is all.*' _And the women carded very peaceably thereafter.

After a little time exploring the jewellery, Hermione convinced the awestruck Yana they should find the boys. Draco was in the library, immersed in a book his father had sent him from home. Ivan was next to him, working on something.

'Draco?'

'*_Hello, Hermione. And Yana, too. Dodged the sheep combing, did you?*_'

Hermione switched into English. _'No. Your mother wanted a word with their mother.'_

_'What about_?'

Hermione shook her head. _'Don't know. Cunegarde is coming this afternoon, and Barty.'_

Draco frowned. _'Is it too late for me to escape this_?'

Hermione sat down, Yana perching on her. _'Oh, yes_.'

He set the book down. 'You _could seem a bit less happy about it.'_

_'This is more fun._'

'_Hmmph_.' Draco smiled, not really minding, and nodded approvingly when Ivan showed him what he'd been doing. '*_Very good, Ivan_.*'

Hermione looked over. Draco had printed Ivan's name in block lettering on a sheet of parchment, and the boy had copied it over ten times, shaky little letters which went every which way.

_'That's nice of you, Draco_.'

Draco shrugged, abashed a bit. 'Well_, you know, he might start learning as soon as possible_.'

Hermione thought that a very good idea, as it happened. She wanted to ask Draco if she could read what he was reading (English language reading materials being thin on the ground, and she didn't want to bother Uncle Rabastan for something so minor), when an elf popped in.

'Milady is wanting to stop the combing for today?'

'Oh! Yes, very sorry I forgot. I should want to change before guests is here, and Yana.' She translated for Draco, who, after all, hadn't been carding sheep and smelt better than she.

She'd elected to hold lunch for the visitors, and so they had a snack of banitsa and tea, with fruit and yoghurt. The table seemed emptier without Viktor there, silently presiding, sometimes voicing a small opinion or giving one of the children a stern look. He would, Hermione reckoned, be in Pernik now, and hard at work on Seeking. She missed him tremendously.

It had been painful, wishing him goodbye. The others had conveniently found things to occupy themselves as the lord and lady of Castle Krum spent a final few moments together. Hermione had had Rinky cut a single curl of her hair, and she'd knotted it into her handkerchief and presented it to him.

In return, Viktor gave her a gauntlet of his, caked with dirt and worn nearly through. 'These have always brought me luck.' He felt ashamed he couldn't give her something nicer, but she smiled brightly and tucked it into a pocket of the apron she'd taken to wearing.

'Write me.'

'Of course.' He kissed her cheek and then stepped into the carriage the Ministry had sent for him to use, like all the trainees. She waved until the carriage vanished from sight, and, fingering the glove, went back into the keep, reminding herself that the chatelaine of a castle can't cry when the lord is returning in just a few weeks, and from Quidditch camp, not a war. But it didn't help much.

After they had finished, Lyudmilla mentioned offhandedly that her father got lonely these days since her mother had died. Hermione, sensing this was an opening, mentioned that, since Aunt Cunegarde got grouchy so easily, perhaps the children might enjoy playing at their grandfather's castle today?

Lyudmilla's father was delighted by the offer and came personally to collect his squealing, giggling grandchildren. He took them back with him via Floo, and after Draco convinced them he couldn't go, they left very happily to spend time with Grandpapa.

After they'd left, the two older children were quite alone. '_Well_' said Draco, _'if this is what having children is like, I fully intend to get a very active job.'_

_'Draco! I thought you liked it.'_

_'I do, but it's tiring. Ivan thinks I can do anything.'_

_'Didn't you feel that way about Uncle when you were young?'_

Draco still very much did, actually, and didn't feel at all strange about it. Father was the most wonderful man he knew, and he absolutely intended to be like him in every way.

_'Don't you feel that way about your father_?'

Hermione looked down. _'Well...my father is always very kind to me.'_

Draco felt like he'd stepped in a nest of snakes. _'It's all right, Hermione_.'

_'I know. You have to understand, I don't know him all that well, Draco. I spend most of the year at school. And he's usually at work when I'm home. I think he cares about me, but...' _She saw more of Snape, and Snape told her things, and showed her how to behave, and made jokes that were funny.

It wasn't that she didn't _love_ Rodolphus, because she did. But she didn't precisely equate him with her muggle Dad, either. He was just Father. He tried hard and she appreciated it, but it still didn't feel quite right, somehow, like a shoe that was half a size too small.

Draco nodded slowly. He wanted Hermione to love her father as much as he loved his, but he understood why she didn't quite feel that way. Her earliest memories had been tainted by those terrible muggles, and so it probably made her feel funny when her father acted, well, like a father. Poor thing.

He'd talk to Mother about it. If Father was the most wonderful man, Mother was the most wonderful woman, and she'd know precisely how to make it all better.

_'Are you all right, Hermione? You aren't sad?'_

Hermione shook her head. _'Sometimes, I suppose, but...oh, well.'_

_'That's not healthy. Can't you talk to Mother or Aunt Bellatrix about it?'_

_'I could. But they've a lot to deal with right now.'_

He shook his head immediately. _'No, they'd want to know if you were unhappy.'_

_'I wouldn't say unhappy, Draco. Just trying to make this whole thing work.'_

_'You scolded me for lying to you.'_

_'Err, yes.'_

Draco gave her his best stern look, like Father's. _'We care about you, and you'll be sick if you keep this up_.'

Hermione squirmed uncomfortably, knowing he was only turning about what she'd done to him. _'It's not the same_.'

'_No_?'

_'No. You know I can't talk about this with my mother, Draco._'

_'You can talk about it with mine, then.'_

_'It hurts.' _Hermione's jaw was set with stubbornness, and she looked very like her mother then, all resolve and bravery and anger, even if hers was hidden deep down, so far even she only vaguely knew it was there.

_'It will until you deal with it.'_

_'Stop it, Draco.'_

_'You stop it! I mean it, I'll tell my father if you don't. And Viktor. And your father.' _

Hermione found herself giggling despite the situation. 'Why _don't you take out an add in the Prophet?'_

_'Because then that vile Skeeter woman will want a story, and I've done my bit for all that_.'

_'I can't right now. I have to run the castle_.'

Draco had no intention of letting this go, even if she got angry with him. _'Excuses.'_

_'Are not.'_

_'Are. You have us to help you, and the elves, and the Krums.'_

_'Yes, I know that. But it's...' _Hermione sat down on a bench. She was playing with the end of her braid. Draco wished Mother would come out. She'd be able to smooth all this over with kisses and pats and kind words.

_'It's what_?'

_'No one else had this happen to them_.' Hermione was playing harder with her hair, and had Draco been raised with her, he would have taken her hand to help her calm down. But he thought she might not like that. He wished Viktor was here, too, for that. He seemed to relax Hermione down when she got nervous like this.

_'No.'_

_'And sometimes I...I almost feel sort of...jealous of A-a friend of mine, because she knows her parents are dead. My muggles parents just vanished. I'll never know what happened to them. Or why. They were just gone.'_

Draco swallowed. _'I didn't think about it like that. Does Viktor know?'_

_'Yes. I told him in bed that night.'_

_'Oh.' _Draco didn't know who to be angry with; Viktor, who had somehow inveigled his cousin into talking about this, or himself, for not being awake to stop it.

_'It's all right, Draco_. _I wanted to tell him.'_

_'Why?'_

_'He's going to be my husband. He deserves to know.'_

So do you, he wanted to say, except that he'd seen the werewolves at the Ministry, and perhaps it was better that she not. How could she sleep, if she did, knowing what might have happened?

_'And you know, it's not so bad. Because this way they could always be in another room. Or on holiday, or at a conference. A business meeting' _she clarified, and folded her hands in her lap. She wondered if she'd made a misstep by confiding in her cousin. Snape might say so. But Snape wasn't here, and he wasn't going to go insane if he didn't get it off his chest, and also because he didn't have Draco giving him such a sharp, Lucius like glare.

'_I'm sorry. Really, awfully sorry. That's horrible_.'

_'It's nothing either of us did. Any of us, really. We just have to get up every morning and do what needs to be done.'_

Draco was reminded about his conversation the other night with Viktor. _'That's true_.' He had a sudden, horrible mental image of swishing his wand and seeing her fall limp at his feet, eyes glazing, werewolves pounding the door, howling for blood.

Well, he comforted himself, probably Viktor would do it. She was his fiancée, after all. That didn't really help very much. He felt a strong flare of anger, almost rage, that he had to think about this.

'_Hermione, do you ever feel like it's not fair_?'

_'Yes._'

_'If anything ever happens, Viktor and I will protect you._'

_'I know_.' Hermione knew better than to say it back, but she was thinking much the same thing. Narcissa had taught her so well that she never doubted that she could do it, either. Men used wands, women used words and their own wiles to protect the ones they loved.

She rose and bent to peck his forehead. _'Come and find Bess with me_?'

_'That dog is wretched.'_

_'She adores you.'_

_'Hmmph. I suppose_.' And the children, being children, let the serious topic drift to much more pleasant ones and thought of others things.

The carriage touched down in the courtyard at quarter til four. The small group was there to meet it, with Hermione standing in front, smiling. Barty popped out like a rabbit from a hat and bounded down, reaching out to hug Bess.

_'A puppy!'_

_'Her name is Bess, Barty. How have you been_?'

_'All right. I need to go get Cunegarde, though. Be right back_.' He jumped to his feet and ran to tug Cunegarde into his arms.

The woman looked, to the Bulgarians, like some sort of ancient doll. She'd gone whole hippogriff this visit, and so she wore robes of poison green, and a high white wig, and two big spots of rouge on her cheeks, like a stylised rash.

The children would have been terrified, but fortunately, they were not there. Hermione came forward, curtsied and pressed her lips to her aunt's cheek, smiling with real pleasure.

_'Aunt Cunegarde, welcome to Castle Krum_.'

'_Gone native, have you? Hmmph, that's a fine pass. And where's that mother of yours, and her sister_?'

_'Here I am, Cunegarde. You're looking well_.'

Cunegarde glowered sourly at the women. '_Have you forgot all your manners? Introduce me to these...people.'_

Lyudmilla and Rumen couldn't understand the words, except for one or two in the mix, but the tone needed no clarification. They came forward and kissed the woman's cheeks, quietly appalled. Lyudmilla raised a brow at the chatelaine and was rewarded with a bright smile that gave absolutely nothing away.

_'Shall we go inside_?'

Ensconced in the hall, the group studied one another a bit uneasily. Barty was dancing and squirming with energy. _'Why don't we duel_?'

Hermione took Barty's hand in hers. _'I've a headache today, Barty. I'm sorry_.'

_'Why do you have a headache?'_

_'I don't know.'_

_'Where's Viktor? Is he here_?'

_'He's at training in Pernik, Barty. For Quidditch, remember_?'

_'Oh, yes. Quidditch. I played Quidditch, you know. He never came. My father. Never. To see._'

_'I'm sorry_.'

Barty shrugged. _'Do you have more puppies? Rabastan said you mentioned some in your letter.'_

_'I did. Shall we go and see them?'_

Barty half jumped up, but enough of his neurons still fired simultaneously to offer Hermione his hand to help her. Hermione waited until Cunegarde had come up for air to beg everyone's pardon and say 'Would be all right for Draco and I-and me?- to take Barty to see dog kennel?

The adults thought that was a splendid idea. A look passed between Rumen and Lyudmilla; this woman was not merely unpleasant. She seemed actively toxic, like an old, corrosive potion left to lie on a rug.

Rabastan would likely have agreed with that assertion. He was currently bent over quite a large stack of papers, reviewing the costs associated with creating the Portkeys which took those nine hundred aurors to Britain earlier in the week.

'..._And be sure and tell them to round up, we don't want to see mean about a quarter hour or something._'

The elf finished the letter and handed it to Rabastan to sign. He did, and, sealing it, sent it to Rodolphus. He quite missed his brother, and decided, spontaneously, to take himself to visit his only niece.

Emerging from the Floo, he found himself standing in a grand stone hall, with tapestries on the walls and thick furs under foot. An elf, attired in Continental fashion, appeared and announced Milady would receive him now, in the kennel yard.

Rabastan was startled when he saw two children, dressed in the Bulgarian mode, sitting sedately on a stone bench, chatting softly as the tall, bony form of Barty Crouch danced about, a pack of small, shaggy puppies in hot pursuit.

Rabastan stopped and bowed. _'Madam, thank you for receiving me on such short notice. Please accept my condolences on your misfortunes. I regret I did not come in time to meet your fiancé.'_

Hermione stepped forward and smiled. '_Uncle, welcome to Castle Krum. And thank you, on behalf of Viktor and myself. Please, join us for lunch.' _

Then she stepped forward and into Rabastan's hug. _'We can dispense with the formalities now, can't we, Uncle? The elves've made loads of really good food.'_

_'That sounds brilliant, sweetheart. Tell me, how are you?'_

_'We're well. We spent most of today carding wool to weave into winter clothes, and now Barty is playing with Lady's puppies.' _Four or five study little pups had indeed come to sniff his shoes, and were cautiously watching him, waiting for Hermione to indicate he was all right.

_'Haven't you got elves for that?'_

_'Of course, but Bulgarians are a very self reliant people, Uncle. And it's fun. I even get to pick out fur to put on Viktor's new things_.' She sounded excited about it, and he smiled a bit, pleased she still had a bit of childishness in her.

Draco also hugged him, and gravely invited him to sit down. _'Any news from home?'_

_'Your fathers are both well and send their affections. The situation is good and they feel optimistic_.' Draco was squinting at him, and he looked so like Lucius that Rabastan had to bite his lip to keep from laughing. Hermione seemed prepared to say something when an elf, crest over it's heart, bowed and spoke to the girl in Bulgarian.

Hermione rose, sighing. '_Pardon_ _me, gentlemen. There's an issue I must address._' She followed the elf, asking questions of it, and nodding at the answers.

'_Galleons to grapes it's Cunegarde_.'

_'No bet, lad. How is it here? Really_?'

Draco sighed and watched as Barty chased a delighted puppy round the yard, laughing. _'It's eerie. Like we're waiting for the next bad thing.'_

Rabastan nodded. _'I feel that way myself, sometimes.'_

_'How is it at home, Uncle? You can tell me. I'm thirteen tomorrow, you know.'_

_'Would that I knew. Those werewolves are damned sly, Draco.'_

Draco nodded. _'So's Father, though. And the others.'_

_'Of course.'_

_'Uncle? If they come here, will they let us yield the castle, do you think?_' Draco tried to sound casual, but Rabastan could sense the underlying tension, like a tightly drawn violin string.

_'What makes you ask, Draco_?'

Draco summarised his conversation with Viktor. He tried to keep his voice as neutral as possible, but it started to shake ever so slightly when he got to the part about the castle being overrun before they could Portkey the non-combatants.

Rabastan was impressed the boys had thought of all that. Disgusted it was necessary, appalled to know that they knew not to let the women be captured, but impressed by how level headed the whole thing was, relatively speaking.

_'And what are your thoughts, nephew_?'

_'We need more than one Portkey, Uncle. Not just between here and that house. Someplace they won't know to look.'_

_'Why?'_

_'If one is cut we could use the secret one.' _Draco had thought about this quite a lot, and was determined to find a way to save everyone. Let the damned castle burn-the Krums could come and live in England, or a Malfoy property in France, or wherever, but he knew the ladies wouldn't leave without a fight, and there wouldn't be time. He bent his neck to the side and felt the vertebrae pop.

Rabastan nodded. _'That's a good idea. How is Krum Jr holding up, do you think_?'

Draco watched the puppies as they packed together and dashed after Barty, who obediently ran, giggling. The pups yipped and gave pursuit, determined to pounce this new playmate into submission.

_'He's angry. And afraid.'_

_'I hardly blame him.'_

_'Nor I. It doesn't seem right. How random is all is, I mean.'_

Rabastan nodded, understanding. _'You'll find, as you get older, Draco, that life is often that way. I wonder, sometimes, whether there are places our lives might have diverged according to some small change we would hardly be conscious of, had we chosen differently.'_

Draco didn't quite follow. He nodded slowly and Rabastan clapped his shoulder lightly. _'Don't worry about it, lad. I'm maundering. Privilege of age.'_

_'You aren't old, not any more than Father is.'_

_'I remember your father when he was your age._' Rabastan smiled as Barty came and plopped down next to them, panting. Draco was rather curious to hear some stories he could gently tease his father with when Hermione reappeared.

_'Lunch is nearly ready._' She looked tired, and annoyed, and, thought her uncle, like his mother. _'The elves wanted to ask me about changing the menu a bit.' _She smoothed her face and breathed deeply, knowing the elves asked her because they respected her and wanted to please her.

_'How tiresome. But nothing is wrong?'_

'_No, not a bit_. _I'm just feeling a little grumpy, I suppose_.' Barty rose briskly and took her arm. _'Don't worry, little girl, I'll help you.' _Every so often, he'd have fits of himself, and it made his friend ache to see it, the old clever, determined Barty breaking through the facade of what he was now.

_'It's all right, Barty. I just need to work on a my attitude a bit.'_

_'I'd hardly be a good friend to your father if I didn't help, would I? And your mother._'

Draco and Rabastan rose too, and followed Hermione and the madman into the castle. '_Oh_' said Hermione, almost to herself, _'I wish Viktor was here so much_!'


	39. Chapter 39

**A/N: Love to reviewers and Countess Black**

**'A dagger in the dark...' is a reference to George RR Martin.**

**WARNING: This chapter contains graphic violence, vulgar language, and some adult themes.**

**NB: According to my research, Sirius was born circa 1959, making him nine years younger than Bellatrix.**

So did Viktor. He'd had a good time at the training camp's first day, right up until the fight broke out in the mess tent. It was not in Viktor's nature to fight without cause-it disgusted him, often-but he somehow ended up in the epicentre of this one.

He was peaceably munching his pork and rice when a few fellows approached him. 'Krum, is it?'

'That's right. Please, gentlemen, sit down.' Viktor offered the other man his hand. 'Have I had the pleasure, Mr...?'

'Zograf. I thought what you did out there was quite good, with that Wronski feint at an angle. How did you ever think of that?' The men smelt like slivova. Viktor hadn't indulged, himself, but many of the men had, and it was quite merry in the tent.

Viktor smiled, thanked Zograf and started to talk shop. The conversation continued for some minutes, until a man Viktor thought might be Hristov stood up, spat on the floor, and said 'Honestly, Rayko, why don't you just offer to suck his dick, whilst you're at it?'

The tent was very, very quiet. 'That was uncalled for.'

'What, can't stand to hear the truth? We could all be as good as you if we had what you have.' Hristov gestured at Viktor's right hand, where the lord's ring still sat, gleamless, on his hand.

'I am no more to blame for my birth than you are. Good evening, gentlemen.' Viktor stood and walked toward the flap of the tent, not interested in continuing this. Probably the man had had a bit too much plum brandy and his mouth was running.

'Come back here and finish this. Or can't you fight your own battles? Not so brave without a castle to protect you, are you?' Hristov moved to block the tent flap.

Wands had been taken when everyone arrived, for exactly this reason, and Viktor found air when he groped for his. 'Move please, Mr. Hristov.'

'Get fucked.'

'Stop it, Blagun. He's fourteen.' Viktor was fifteen, but this was no time to split hairs. Every muscle in his body was tense, and he could smell hostility on the other man like the musk of a fox.

'Once more, sir, I'll ask you to move.'

'And if I won't?'

Viktor turned to man's companions. 'Your friend has had too much slivova. One gentleman to another, I am asking you to remove him before this turns to violence.'

The other man nodded and moved forward to grab Hristov. He shoved Zograf to the ground, and lurched sideways. 'Let's settle this man to man, shall we?'

Viktor turned silently and moved toward the other exit. Everyone in the tent was transfixed by what they were seeing. Hristov's hand lashed out and grabbed Viktor's tunic, tugging him back and almost off his feet.

'I'm talking to you.'

'Let go of me.'

'I hear you've got Bellatrix Lestrange's girl at your house. Is it true she's a whore? Like mother, like daughter?' The Bulgarian Wizarding press had reported on things just as the British one had, and with much the same effect. Viktor stopped moving. His hands, at his sides, clenched into fists.

He jerked hard, tearing the neck of his tunic. 'What did you say about my fiancée?'

'I said she's like her whore mother. And yours, for that matter.' He brought up a fist and swung the first punch.

Viktor could have moved to avoid the punch, but he was too angry. Zhivka, a whore? His mother, who was coming home to die? Hermione, who woke every morning to take care of the castle? And Bellatrix, who was so kind to him?

The punch hit him in the stomach. He gasped, but let his hand shoot out and grab Hristov's wrist. He pulled the other man forward and followed him down, pounding with his fists, smashing his head into the floor over and over.

Hristov went limp. Viktor stood, shaking with rage. 'Get him out, Zograf. I might hurt him else.'

Hristov lunged from the floor. He knocked Viktor on his back and dove down, pummelling, fighting. Viktor's nose broke under the onslaught, but he kept trying to punch back, choking on his own blood and his terrible, terrible anger at this.

The tent was a melee by this point, most of the men gathered round to watch, horrified and fascinated by the explosion of violence in their midst. Someone kicked a slivov bottle towards the fighters, and Hristov closed his fingers round it. He brought it up, and Viktor, knowing this could end in a death if something wasn't done, desperately lunged forward and bit the man's arm, hard.

Hristov howled, and Viktor seized his chance. He grabbed the heavy bottle by the handled and brought it up and into the other's man face as hard as he could, feeling something pulp and shatter under the blow. Hristov screamed again, spitting a great mouthful of blood and a few teeth, and went limp.

Viktor raised the bottle again and smashed it down on a chair. It took him three tries, but it finally broke. He approached the supine, moaning Hristov and bent over him, seizing him by the collar. Viktor pressed the broken end of the bottle against his Adam's apple, not hard enough to break skin.

'If you ever mention any of those ladies again-if you ever even think their names-I will kill you. Do you hear me? I. Will. Kill. You.'

Hristov's face was a mask of blood, his and Viktor's mingled together. He nodded and let his eyes roll back into his head. Viktor stood, dropped the bottle, and left the tent without another word.

Later, having been patched up by the medi-wizard on site, he sat down to write.

_'Dear Hermione,_

_I miss you much. It is nice in Pernik, but not as good as home. Is the dogs behaving themself? _

_Please let me know how it is there. Thank you for handkerchief, it is most comforting to me._

_Love, _

_Viktor_.'

Viktor's was not the only battle fought that day, for all his was bloodiest by far. Snape was fighting a far subtler battle, and his was for higher stakes. He was at Hogwarts, and he was waiting for his new Mulciber to deliver the first dose.

'And so they burnt it, but who can say?'

'Quite so, Severus. I do hope Alecto's got the photographs ready.'

'For Friday's rally, my Lord. She wants to surprise you.'

'How darling. Tell me, shall I like them?'

Snape nodded and sipped his pumpkin juice. 'I think you shall, my lord. Alecto has a such a way with these things.'

'I think so, too. And how is my best lieutenant? Still in Bulgaria?'

'She is, my lord. Those new aurors will be ready to train the others in a matter of weeks.'

'Excellent.' The Dark Lord looked like a sleek rat, well pleased with itself, and looked up as the new Mulciber came through the door, a tray in hand. 'My lord, how good to see you once more.'

'Do come in, Archie. Tell me, how did you find Paris?'

'All right, my lord. Those French women...' Shacklebolt managed a very credible wriggle of Mulciber's giant, owlish brows, and the Dark Lord chuckled appreciatively.

'I daresay. Are you ready for the address?'

'Any time, my lord.'

'Good, good. We'll need to reassure the people that the threat level has diminished. I do wish we had the little Lestrange girl and her Bulgarian, the crowd simply loves them. Oh, well.'

'Will you be attending the rally on Friday, my lord?'

'I shall. I will need your skills for the speech, and I'll borrow dear Nomascus again. Severus, have you made extra Polyjuice? I'll need to review the troops, so to speak.'

'Of course, my lord.'

'Good, good.' Mulciber reached into his pocket and came up with a small bottle of something. 'I've brought something for after supper, if it please my lord.'

'Surely it will. What is it?'

'A cordial, my lord, to improve digestion.'

'How whimsical. I suppose it would be terribly gauche of us to indulge now?'

'I shouldn't think so, my lord.'

'Elf, three glasses.' The elf poured some of the sundew cordial into each glass and then men saluted one another and drank. The stuff went down easily, and had a leathery, sweet-hay taste that would disguise nearly anything.

Which was good, thought Snape, as the elves brought in the first course of food, an aspic of fresh tomatoes and asparagus, as it would keep the Dark Lord from noticing the slightly metallic taste in the last wine to be served that evening. The two men, spymaster and spy, studied one another and waited.

Hours later, Snape bent over the Dark Lord and gently checked a pulse. Strong as a young boomslang, he thought to himself, and, as he had the whore, slowly entered the Dark Lord's mind. It was a strange place-ragged bits of Potter's memories and desires were scattered about, but mainly it Voldemort, his many plans and counter- plans laid bare.

Snape forced himself to keep his focus, much as he was tempted to wander about. He shifted the layers as delicately as he could, and, peeling them back a molecule at a time, gently implanted a number of suggestions into the mix, even more subtly than he had Hetty's.

He withdrew with equal care and administered a phial of sludgy black fluid before he left. It would cause the Dark Lord to begin vomiting in an hour or so, but Snape's suggestions would leave him resistant to treatment until the next morning, at least; the boy had had a hatred of healers that could be played on. The evidence would be gone by the time Gibbon could arrive and start testing.

He returned to Spinner's End and checked on the dog and Moody, who were listening to the radio, smiling as the Canons got trounced again, this time by the Harpies.

'Well, looks as though I owe you ten galleons, Black.'

'There's no debts amongst gentlemen, Moody.'

Snape let the elf take the cloak from his shoulder and came in, pleased as the elf unobtrusively appeared with a mug of hot tea.

Black rose and motioned Snape to the window. 'That little monster from next door came and tried to climb the fence. I drove him off, but you need something better to keep them out.'

Snape nodded, annoyed. 'I suppose you didn't gnaw off his leg or something?'

'I tried, but he was too quick.'

Moody rose too, and looked at the marks the boy had left. 'Horrible, the way people let children act these days.'

'I agree.' Snape decided he'd have a word with the boy's father, or else simply get some sort of very small dragon to eat the little bastard. The men contemplated the damage a bit longer, all of them immersed in their own thoughts.

'Thank you for letting me know, Black. Was there mail?'

Black nodded. 'The elf has it. I think it's from the Krums. It's postmarked Bulgaria.'

'Oh?'

'That was about it. And something from Otway's.'

'Have the elf burn those, they're rubbish.'

Black nodded and rose to go to his room. 'Excuse me, gentlemen. I'm going to lie down a bit.'

Snape slit the wax seal. He scanned the badly spelt but neatly spaced lines, the handwriting bold and unpretentious, and felt his heart drop a little.

'They were talking about that boy on the Quidditch report.'

'Oh?'

'Is he as good as they say?'

'From what I've heard. You'll be able to see for yourself, ideally.' Snape set the letter down and looked as Moody's seamed and tired looking face. Moody studied him with his single faded blue eye, deep in his own thoughts.

'If you're headmaster of Durmstrang, you'll select the prefects and the head boy. I would like you to select Krum, and whomever else under him, but Krum for head. The girl's school is separately run.'

'All right. What's he like?'

Snape considered. 'Quiet. Bright. Very, very good at what he does.'

'Seeking.'

'That goes without saying. But I think he'll be of great use to you.'

'Is he one of yours?'

Snape gave one of his weird, grimacing smiles. 'That remains to be seen.'

Moody was slightly intrigued. 'Is there any way I could get dossiers?'

'On whom?'

'Anyone who counts.'

'That could be arranged. Tell me, what does the name "Lemuel Scabior" mean to you?'

Moody jerked. 'That was a damned ugly thing, Snape.'

'I'm not too clean on the details. If you've not got anything better to do.'

Moody snorted and spread his hands. 'You could always pull the file.'

'No.'

'No?'

'He's Rodolphus's second in command.'

'Scabior? Doesn't he know what he did?'

Snape laughed. 'Would it stop him? You knew Rodolphus almost as well as I, though not in the same way.'

'No' said Moody distantly 'I'd imagine it wouldn't bother Rodolphus a whit. And that's why you can't pull the file?'

'Something that like.'

'Who else?'

'Phidippedes Limpkin, Jocelyn Biksdale, Albens Monroe, George Bishop, and Llewellyn Rice. Those are his inner circle. There are others.'

Moody was pale. 'I put most of those men away.'

'No one hated the Ministry more.'

'And they wouldn't hesitate to use force.'

'Rodolphus's kennel, Malfoy calls them.' Snape had heard that from somewhere, and it did seem to fit.

Moody nodded. 'We got tipped onto Scabior. Barmen of this pub he frequented. We caught him with the poor sod's tongue in his pocket. Used it as a watch fob.'

'Who was he? Scabior doesn't want to talk to about it.'

'Reginald...something. Perhaps Nelson? Nellins? Something, at any rate. He was having an affair with the sister, we think.'

'And Scabior killed him for it?'

'No. The sister-Nora, pretty little thing like those women are pretty sometimes-had fallen pregnant.'

'And Scabior?'

'Didn't want any competition.'

'It was his baby?'

'We never found out. Nora did herself in before we could test her. Arsenic from the apothecary.'

Snape nodded. He could very well be selling the Latvian girl to a fate worse than death.

'Do you suppose he'd do it again?'

'Probably. I'd imagine he's very good at what he does for Rodolphus.'

Snape nodded. 'He is. He has a knife he likes to use.'

'Doesn't surprise me. They said there were puddles of...well, evidence he'd enjoyed doing for poor Nevins or whoever he was.'

Snape nodded again. 'I'll try to get you those dossiers tomorrow.'

'Why do you ask about Scabior, Snape? He in trouble?'

'No,' said Snape, wondering whether this changed his next move, and deciding, not without regret, that it didn't. But he'd make sure his little spy and her mudblood could protect themselves. The girl was resourceful. She'd find a way.

'But it helps to know, I daresay.'

'Yes' said Moody stolidly, and said little else the rest of the night.

The dossiers arrived before breakfast, just as Snape had hoped, though not without some difficulty. Snape frowned, contemplating the amount bribes he was giving lately. Not that he didn't get a very generous salary from the Ministry-one had to hand that one to Rookwood, he took care of his fellows-but still. He was a very saving sort of man, and he liked to have a good amount in the bank.

Anyhow, the parcel arrived Monday at nine, and he cut the twine and scanned the files. His man in the records department had been thorough-not that for ninety galleons he ought not to have been, the bastard-and he'd copied _everything_.

Snape had set Moody up a small work area in the attic, and with the dog, ascended to deliver the package. The three men settled down for a day of research, and with Mippy sometimes bringing them snacks and refreshment, started to slog through the piles of papers.

Sirius read, thinking of a cousin Trixie who'd been the most beautiful girl in the whole world, whose perfume smelt like love, and who'd be a good storyteller. And her big, strong husband, who'd roughhoused and teased with two little, very impressed cousins.

He shook his head. Those people didn't exist anymore. Perhaps they never had. Surely the mania had been in them; he'd simply been too young to understand it then, was all.

And the evidence of it was here, in emotionless black and white. Murders. Fires, believed to be started by Bellatrix for her own amusement. Pictures of Lucullus Brown's shrivelled skin, which had been peeled whole and left hanging on a mirror.

Who were these people? Had they always been there, under the kisses on the cheek and the wrestling and the games and the fairy stories? Had they grown, like Dementors, in the bodies of his two once adored cousins? Had something happened?

Moody was having thoughts that were surprisingly similar. He'd only known these people as enemies, but it was odd, seeing things in here, asides, almost, that made them seem more human, less like black cloaks and masks and more like the men under them.

Had he known Galvin Goyle raised kneazles? That Alecto Carrow was in love with Jonas Avery and he, apparently, with her? Had he known, when he took the baby girl from Azkaban, that she would turn out to have to have top marks in every subject at Hogwarts and Beauxbatons?

He swallowed, reminding himself that these people were Death Eaters, but it was still strange and poignant, to see this other side of them. His eyes flicked to Black, who was silently holding a folder Moody suspected was Regulus Black's. He wouldn't ask, of course; let Black have his private grief.

Snape knew most of this, but was interesting to observe the other two. Alone in the room, he had seen both sides of the people they were researching. He'd seen Galvin smash his enemies with his a well aimed spell and then, an hour later, gently handle a newly born kneazle, pointing out in a hushed voice that this one had a very rare pattern of stripes, tone on tone.

He shook his head and pressed on. He was sure that Moody was the right man for this job, and he wanted to make sure he was prepared. At some level, he almost thought he wanted to train Krum Jr as his replacement, a new spymaster who could work in tandem with him.

And this would be his proving ground. With Moody, who was as paranoid as anyone could ask, he would teach the boy to do what he did, and by the time the children were would, Krum would be as formidable as his little spy.

'The Krum woman is dying, I take it?'

'Yes.'

'What happened to her?'

'Bludgeoning curse to the head.'

Both other men's eyes darkened with comprehension. 'Ah.'

'She's held on hard thus far.'

'Yes' said Snape, who'd had the same thought. 'Krum wants her brought home to die.'

Moody had lost his own mother at thirteen, and he felt a flicker of sympathy. At one level, he was inclined to dismiss it; Krum was at best a tool to bring down the regime, and at worst a dangerous incipient Death Eater.

On the other, there was no reason to suspect that Krum was necessarily a true believer. From what Moody could tell, the father wasn't especially into the whole ideology; probably he'd signed on for this for the trade subsidies and to get his son a wife.

He shook his head and concentrated on matter more at hand. He'd cultivate the boy and then see where it went. Possibly, perhaps, he could gently steer him toward the more...innocuous...aspects of things.

'Am I to encourage the lad to take the Mark, Snape? If I can?'

'No. It is vitally important that he not, in fact. If anyone might come out of this unscathed, it is the children.'

'You think so?'

Snape shrugged. 'I don't know, but I think it would go more smoothly for us to if Krum has no loyalties to any organisations out of my direct control.'

'And his taking the Mark would conflict with that?'

'I can't be all things to all men, Black. And it behoves us all to make sure the more temperamental amongst us don't feel like their feet are being trod on.'

'Malfoy?'

'He's the foremost, but others as well. It's infinitely useful to be thought a mere servant.'

'What of his wife and son?' This from Moody, who was thoughtfully gnawing a hangnail. He'd seen Narcissa Black a few times, but he'd lost of track of her after the Death Eaters disbanded, and aside from Malfoy's trial, hadn't seen her in ten or eleven years.

'What of them?'

'Will you send me the boy?'

Snape sat back, thinking it over. 'I daresay Narcissa would never forgive me.'

'Krum will need a second.'

'Let me give it some thought.'

The men went back to reading, all of them mired in their own private trains of thoughts. Snape rose, and leaving the two men, left them to go to London and check on the women he'd left there.

They were sitting together in the parlour. The seamstress elves were busily making them both some new things, but for now, they were both using Hetty's bright, fashionable and slightly gaudy wardrobe.

'Ladies, good day.'

'Severus, how delightful to see you.' Eugenia stood up and presented a soft and powdered cheek to be kissed. Snape obliged, sort of jerking his mouth over her face rapidly and did the same to Miss Gill.

'I wanted to see how you're getting on.'

'Well, well. Thank you for coming. How are Salazar and our other friend?'

'Fine, I'm sure. Miss Gill, what else do you need?'

Hetty shook her head. 'Violet water, some more wine, and chocolates, if you would.'

'Done. Anything else?'

'Not that I can think of. Eugenia?'

'No, thank you.' The change was remarkable, Snape had to admit. Vance's voice, once soft and no nonsense, had drifted up just a little and taken on a lilt which spoke of elocution lessons.

'I wanted to see how you were getting on.'

'Do come for supper, Severus, won't you? Tomorrow, say?'

'I would be honoured, Miss Feathering. Miss Gill.' Snape rose, bowed, and then closed himself in the study, Krum's letter in his hand. It was neither headed nor signed, the easier to make it deniable should the need arise.

"*_Well done. Put a stop to the harassment, but be subtle in your methods and careful in whom you antagonise. A dagger in the dark is worth a thousand wands at dawn._

_My deepest sympathies for your current situation_.*"

Snape wished he could give the boy more insight, but he couldn't. At best, he could probably get Hristov removed, or even send either the dog or the rat after him if need be.

As it was, he wanted to watch the boy and see what he'd do. It would bode well if he could find a way out of this himself. Snape didn't especially care how he did it-he'd had no particular problem with Krum's beating of the other man, or violence generally, for that matter-but in this case, a bit of finesse might do better. They would see.

He wrote another letter to his little spy, couched in terms of a concerned teacher asking after a student. It wasn't wholly a pose; he wanted to make sure she was using her skills to benefit them both, and, as he added in the letter, to remember to brew. Once a Professor, always a professor.

He gave his letter to the elf to take, and got a response before midnight. The girl was well, it would seem, and had used her power as chatelaine for the first time that day, orchestrating a visit between her English family and the Krums.

"But really, the main thing is that Mother Krum is not at all well. Have you seen her? Is she as bad as they say?"

Snape had seen her, multiple times a week. She was the same every time. She wasn't a beautiful woman, like Narcissa, but she was pleasant looking, and it rather saddened him, seeing the body she'd never inhabit again, the shell that was growing more and more faded day by day.

"I was hoping you'd have some advice for me. Is there something I should be doing to help Viktor? Or anyone else?"

No. There was nothing for it. She would die, and if she didn't, she would linger for weeks or decades as she was. He suspected she would never come back to them again. Perhaps it was a mercy, even a cold and comfortless one like this. Some disasters are left hand blessings.

Snape stood up, opting to answer the next day. He bid the ladies farewell and then went home, feeling heartened by the way all his pieces were positioned so comfortably on the board.


	40. Chapter 40

**A/N: Love to reviewers and Countess Black**

**'Make sure the ghosts are friendly' is a reference to Dan Abnett's Gaunt's Ghost series.**

**Good luck to those taking finals this week!**

One of the pieces was currently hurtling toward the earth at an astonishing rate, a fierce, wild joy thrumming in his veins as he pulled up at the last moment, body compensating as he adjusted his seat and regained his lost altitude, instinctively giving the broom a slight pull upwards to straighten it out.

Far below, the eighty-four men (and handful of women) not playing watched as the fourteen in the air swooped and darted. There is a very real pleasure in watching a genuine master of his or her craft at work, and these were the top of the top. Hristov's friend Zograf was Keeper for Viktor's team, and Viktor nodded to him and took more air, going higher, looking, looking for it...

The snitch! It was ten yards ahead and perhaps fifteen metres down from his current position. He could see the other Seeker, a fellow called Dinev (the Minister was his uncle) sight it and try to overtake him. He wouldn't; Viktor knew he had enough altitude to drop down on the snitch, whilst Dinev the younger would need to climb upwards, and so lose valuable time.

He angled toward the snitch, hands tight on the broom handle, and when the bludger careened into him, it was at a huge speed, making a sound that, to the people on the ground, was more felt than heard, the distinctive pop-crunch of bone shattering on contact.

Viktor hardly felt it. His blood was up, and he felt something warm and wet dripping down his arm, but paid it no mind at all. He adjusted for the delay and continued on, leaving the younger Dinev behind him.

He sped up in the home stretch, hunkering over the front of his broom, the wind wrenching tears from his eyes, and lashed out with his hurt arm, closing fingers wet with his blood round it, holding it up. There was a faint roar from the ground, and Viktor, still holding the snitch, came back down, dizzy now, head filled with cotton wool. But his side had won. .He almost didn't notice the medi-wizard who came and gave the arm a prod, cutting away the sleeve of Viktor's tunic with a small pair of enchanted shears.

'Broken in three places. Come on, lad, we'll get something in you.' Viktor rose and stumbled after, a bit of blood dripping down his arm and onto his tunic. All about him, men were murmuring.

The medi-wizard's tent was back amongst a stand of trees. Three apprentice sports medi-wizards were waiting, and they sprang to work, one of them getting out the bottle of potion to knit the bone, one of them getting water and disinfectant for the laceration on the arm, and one of them getting out a phial of pain relief.

'Well, boy, that was some manoeuvre.'

'Thank you, healer.'

'Move your fingers for me.' Viktor did, and the man nodded. 'You should be fine. No alcohol, and be sensible in how you use it.'

Viktor nodded. 'Am I all right to travel?'

The old man huffed. 'As though anything I said would dissuade you?'

Viktor snorted, a touch abashed. 'I could Floo.'

'That would be better. Let me tell the coach to let you use his connexion.'

The man made an irritable motion at the apprentices, and they vanished like smoke.

'So what happened between yourself and Hristov the other night?'

Viktor relaxed as the pain relief coursed through him. 'He called my fiancée a whore. And my mother. And her mother.'

'All that?'

'He was drunk. I didn't want to fight him.'

'I didn't think you did.' The man prodded the place where the bone was knitting, the bulges under the flesh moving and changing as the bone sealed itself back into a whole.

'It's good you got this out of the way.'

'Sorry?'

The healer's eyes were shrewd behind his spectacles. 'I was married at sixteen, myself. My parents had died, and I had younger siblings who needed a mother. So I married. Her name was Sveta. She was very beautiful. Seventy two good years, we had.'

Viktor didn't follow. 'Sir?'

'Others will always envy what you have, lad. If it's worth having, it's worth a fight.'

Viktor nodded. 'I just want to be left in peace.'

'Who amongst us does not, boy? The others might well leave you alone, between Hristov and that play out there. If you weren't on the short list before, you are now.'

Viktor nodded. 'But this will keep happening.'

'Oh, it will. Just remember you might need to smash some faces every so often and you'll be fine.'

Viktor thanked the man and rose, a bit shakily. He could see the coach coming toward them, scowling, dressed in a tunic and boots despite the warmth.

'Krum, use my Floo.'

'Yes, coach. Thank you.'

The man nodded. 'Blagun Hristov looks as though he got worked over. Do you know anything about that?'

'Yes, coach.'

The man nodded. He couldn't have thrown Krum out even if he hadn't wanted him for the team. Like Dinev, he was partly political. The fact that Krum was the most talented Seeker he'd ever seen (and had no ego about it, hurray!) simply made it that much easier.

'Rayko Zograf seems to think Hristov started with you.'

'He insulted the ladies of my family.'

The coach nodded. 'And he swung the first punch?'

'He did.'

'Well, watch your back, Krum. I don't think he's the sort to let things go.'

Viktor nodded and thanked him for the advice. It was almost supper. He was going home for the weekend. Home and Hermione, he thought smiling, and rose to gather his things.

He stepped into the hall from the Floo and was mauled by two little blurs of excited noise and yelling. 'Viktor! Viktor!'

'Hello! I've missed you. Have you been good?'

Ivan proudly held out a bandaged arm. 'I fell off my broom!'

'Did you?'

'I did. Mama was upset, but Papa said I was very brave.' Ivan's hair had been neatly combed forward, like Draco's, and he was glowing with pride at his big boy injury. Viktor patted his shoulder and grinned his approval.

Yana held up her doll, which had been outfitted in a little English style robe. 'Look what Hermione helped me make!'

'That's lovely, Yana. Where is Hermione?'

He smelt roses and she was beside him. 'I'm sorry. We looked for more thread in the storage place.' She looked tired but happy, and he swept her into a hug with his good arm, not caring that the children were there.

'Viktor, you hurt your arm.'

'It's nothing. How are you?'

'All right. You?' She snuggled into his neck and closed her eyes, sighing deeply. At their feet, Bess whined, wanting to get in on this bizarre vertical pile. Viktor broke the hug and picked her up to kiss her head.

'Bess is bigger.'

'She is most good at guarding. When Ivan falls, she bark until he is standing once more on feet.'

Viktor nodded and scratched the puppy's ears. 'Well done, girl.' Bess's long tail thumped happily.

'Viktor, there you are. How is your arm?' Rumen bowed but then stepped closer, meaning to inspect his nephew's injury and make sure he was all right. Lord or no lord, his little bear's frequent cuts and scrapes still made Rumen feel protective.

'Sorry, Uncle. It took a while for the Floo to work. The mountains, I think.'

'That will do it. The network out there is terrible, anyway. How do you find Pernik?'

'Lovely. The mountains are gorgeous this time of year.'

Rumen nodded and clapped his nephew's shoulder. 'I've always liked that part of the country.'

'I do miss the sea, though. And the fish isn't very fresh.' Viktor would cheerfully admit to be spoilt by the fact that the fish Castle Krum served was freshly caught and prepared whilst still practically wriggling.

'Sacrificing for one's art.'

'If that's the worst thing that happens to me, it will be a miracle.'

Rumen bent and picked up Yana. 'Children, leave your cousins be for a while.' He waited for Viktor's nod and shooed his offspring into the yard to burn some energy before they ate.

'How have you been?'

Hermione sat down and he scooted next to her. 'Tired. There is very much to do.'

'Before winter, you mean?'

'Yes. We carded wool, then we spun it, and now we weave it with the elves.' She held out a hand which had a fresh layer of callus on it. 'I am very bad at spinning.'

'Your Bulgarian is excellent.'

She smiled and rested a head on his shoulder. 'I missed you. What happen here?'

'What do you mean?'

Hermione reached up and traced his nose lightly with her finger. 'There is little bump. You get hurt?'

He was torn once again between honesty and protecting her. 'I got in a fight.'

'Oh? Why?'

'Someone was rude.'

She didn't dig, having been trained to well for that. Instead, she cocked her head and cupped his cheek. 'He is not as good as you.'

Vikor raised an eyebrow, and Hermione said 'You are not the sort to start fight.' She said it so firmly that all he could do was nod and move a little closer to her on the bench.

'And your family?'

'Mother trains aurors with Scabior. They come home today early to see you. And Aunt and Draco are well.'

'Excellent. How did the visit with your great great aunt and Barty go?'

Hermione looked at her hands. 'Well. Barty is missing you.'

'And your aunt?'

'It's hard for putting in words.'

'Shall we talk after supper?'

'Yes. Lamb and spring onions, with cucumber soup?'

'That sounds wonderful.' He was glad to be home. Bess hopped up and sat down in his lap, whining happily, wanting him to stay there where he belonged. It made all the dogs very nervous when one of their pack was missing.

Bellatrix came in from training flecked with blood and feeling pleasantly fatigued. They'd done drills in cave fighting that day, having been Portkeyed en masse to a remote mountain location. Her shoulders ached painfully, but it was a good ache, and it made her smile.

'_Mother_!'

Viktor rose and bowed. '_*Mother, you look vell. How is your health?*_'

_'Fine. You? What's this you did to your arm?*'_

_'*Broke. Hit by a..._Bludger_?'_

_'Bludger.' _Hermione was frowning, studying the arm in it's sling of wool. She decided to write Snape at once for a recipe she could brew and send to the camp to make sure his arm healed properly.

_'Too bad. But you're happy? Will you make the team?'_

_'I am most happy. And I hope so_.'

Bellatrix sat down and let the elf ease off her torn, dirt caked robes. She was covered in dirt and bruises from the fighting in the caves, and Hermione turned from her intended to her mother.

_''_Snetzka_, _would you please bring a flannel for Mother to scrub her face with? And some pain potion for Viktor?'

The elf brought a basin of hot, lavender scented water and a small phial of pain relief for Viktor to take. Bellatrix set about scrubbing at the dirt, knowing she'd bathe before the meal, and enjoying that her daughter could speak so fluently with the elf and her intended.

_'How vas it, Mother? Vith aurors_?'

_'Your countrymen' _said Bellatrix as ayran and fruit arrived _'are very good at fighting one on one, but in close quarters, they need to reign in their impulses and fight less flamboyantly.'_

Viktor sipped his yoghurt and considered. _'Ve are hot-blooded people. They vant very much to defend our country.' _He half wanted to cheat and use a translation spell, but he knew he'd never get really fluent if he did that.

_'I don't fault them, mind. But cave fighting isn't like fighting in the open.'_

Hermione was listening intently to the exchange. She and Draco had sparred a bit, but she wasn't nearly as good as either Viktor or, of course, her mother.

_'There is much fighting in caves in Britain_?'

_'Not usually' _said Bellatrix, who'd rather developed a taste for the salty, refreshing yoghurt. _'But in this case, where else would a wolf go to ground?'_

Viktor considered this seriously. _'If vere me? Vould go city_.'

_'Oh?'_

_'Hide in..._sewers_?'_

Hermione translated, and added her own bit. _'Or else abandoned houses? There are loads of them, aren't there, Mother?' _Many magical villages were almost empty these days, the people having fled to Romania.

_'There are_.' Bellatrix blinked. It mildly disturbed her that the children had been thinking about this in such depth, but she was almost equally as pleased. Her daughter was smart, and fierce, and as soon as she was a bit older, Bellatrix would teach her all she knew.

_'That's not for a while. We'll do the urban areas last._' Hermione was looking at her, and Bellatrix took her hand. '_Trust_.'

'_Trust_.' said Hermione, who'd heard that urban warfare was the most dangerous kind. She looked worried, and Viktor, who'd begun to throw Bess's rag ball to give the ladies some privacy, decided he would gently ask later, probably in the moon viewing room.

Bellatrix rose to take her bath. _'I'll see you both at supper, then_.' She stalked out with the disturbing grace of a predator, and the two children were alone for the first time in five days.

'We should go and see Lady's puppies now? They are most big and fighty.'

'Fighty?'

'Mmm hmm. Bess is eating shoes. We must be very careful.' She looked quite serious, and Viktor had to laugh even as he explained the grammatical intricacies she'd just invented.

They met up with Draco, who was flying down to see them, waving. '_Hello _!'

_'Drago, you fly very clean there_.' The two embraced and then stepped apart.

_'Mother is visiting Cunegarde is Sofia today. She sends her love and wants you to promise to take your potions_.' They'd heard about his arm, except Bellatrix and Scabior, and Narcissa was quite concerned.

_'Cunegarde isn't sick?'_

_'No, just old and tiresome.'_

_'Draco!'_

_'Well, she is! Viktor, don't you think?'_

_'I don't meet her yet.'_

_'You're lucky. She's like a disease.'_

_'She's old and grumpy, is all.' _Hermione had got very quiet, and both boys sensed this was not the best topic. Viktor raised a brow at his cousin in law, who shrugged. He had no earthly clew.

Snetzka appeared, bowing. 'Milord is ready to eat now?'

'Is everything ready?'

'Milord is ready?'

Hermione raised a brow at Viktor-this was what she put up with every day, after all-and then turned to the elf. 'Snetzka, Aunt Narcissa is not back. Please to send elf to see whether she eats there tonight?'

She was, as a matter of fact, and so the group sat down to a huge welcome home meal of fresh lamb cooked with spring onions, cold tarantor soup, a salad of cucumber and tomatoes and, for lasts, rakhat and baklava.

The food at camp wasn't bad, but it certainly wasn't as good as this. Viktor was starved, and he did the meal more than justice. Hermione, he noticed, didn't seem to be eating much. It solidified his resolve to ask after they'd eaten.

It was hard to get her alone, though. The children clung to him, wanting his attention, and Rumen wanted to go over some accounts, and then Narcissa came home, looking politely ready to chew through her own arm.

Finally, Viktor rose and held out a hand to Hermione. 'If no one minds, Hermione and I usually spend a little time in the moon viewing room.' Rinky popped into view, bowed and moved silently to stand near his mistress.

'Please, go on.'

_'Join us, Draco_?'

Draco rose, gently disentangling Yana, who'd been playing with the buttons on his shirt. The three walked up the stairs and settled on the hide rugs, looking over the moon and sea. Snetzka, face a mask, brought Bess when asked, and the puppy happily hopped between the three, snuffling and panting with glee.

'So what happened?'

Hermione sighed. 'It was not bad.'

'Hermione.'

'Viktor.'

Hermione rested her head on his shoulder, hearing Draco clear his throat meaningfully. 'It was fine.'

'Mmm hmm.'

'Aunt Cunegarde gave me...words. Old people words.'

'Advice?'

'Yes. It was hard.'

'Why?'

Hermione lifted her head (if Draco cleared his throat any harder, he'd probably burst a vocal chord or something) and tried to explain.

**Three days previous**:

It was after lunch. Everything had gone swimmingly; Cunegarde was pleasant-ish, Barty was chipper and lucid as he ever was, and the others had a good time as well, from what Hermione could tell.

Over pudding, Cunegarde patted her bony leg.

_'Come here, girl, I want to look at you_.' She held up her quizzing glass and Hermione obeyed, moving round the table and sat down next to her.

_'You look...well enough, I suppose, thought that hairstyle is wretched. Why does your elf dress it this way?'_

_'It's the fashion, Aunt Cunegarde. And Viktor likes it.'_

_'That's very important. I've never cut my hair, have I, since Allard liked it long? Even when it was the fashion to cut it shorter, I never did.'_

Hermione nodded. She felt a bit rude not to have insisted on a translation charm, but her Bulgarian family, she thought, would understand that Cunegarde was very old and set in her ways.

_'And he's nice to you, this boy?'_

_'He's wonderful, Aunt Cunegarde_.'

_'He is' _piped up Barty, very seriously, from next to Narcissa. _'And he likes our Hermione very much, I think.'_

_'Liking is fine, but you have to give them sons.'_

_'Cunegarde! Really!'_ Narcissa dug her nails into her palms to keep from laughing. What a thing to say! Hermione;s cheeks were red as roses.

_'Aunt Cunegarde, would you like to rest?'_

_'Yes, of course. Regular habits, girl, that's the key to longevity. Regular habits and not straining oneself overmuch.' _Cunegarde looked absolutely certain of herself.

'Aunt, perhaps I take Aunt Cunegarde to bed now?' Flustered, Hermione couldn't quite make her grammar work, but for once, her aunt by marriage said nothing about it.

'Please do.'

Hermione helped get her great great aunt settled in the bed. _'You're really happy here?'_

_'Very. Viktor is everything I might have asked for.'_

_'Beware of too much affection between spouses. Clovis and I might not have had a great love, like in novels, but we were married seventy very adequate years.'_

Hermione said nothing. Cunegarde was looking at her with eyes as bright as an owl's. _'He's not asked you to let him touch you, has he?'_

_'No, Aunt Cunegarde.'_

_'Good. Remember who you are.'_

Hermione turned to go. Cunegarde peevishly called her back again. _'You wore my dress that night. The peach silk.'_

_'Yes, Aunt Cunegarde.'_

_'It suited you. You ought to bring dangling sleeves back in, they look very well on a girl with pretty arms_.'

Hermione settled down on the bed next to her aunt. _'I'm sorry it got ruined_.'

Cunegarde shrugged. _'Nothing gold can stay. Emeric of Flanders said that in 1212, and it's still true. Everything fades, girl._'

Hermione felt a surge of love laced with pity. Cunegarde was fading herself, but she refused to gracefully accept it. Perhaps there was something admirable in that, no matter how hideous it could be at the same time.

_'It does, doesn't it?'_

The old woman looked shrewd. _'And what do you know about that, little madam?'_

_'Viktor's mother is dying. She's coming here for the end.'_

Cunegarde nodded. _'I saw two husbands, both children and countless friends die. It can be a mercy, child.'_

_'Not like this.'_

_'No?_' Said Cunegarde, feeling every second of her 118 years. _'Better she should linger, dying by inches? That's how Allard did, and my children.'_

_'No one got to say goodbye.'_

_'No one does, not really. There's always more to say, and once you've the courage to say it, they're too far gone. We all have our ghosts, girl. Would you add the boy's mother's to his?'_

_'No.' _Hermione didn't want to think about ghosts, and especially not mother ghosts, because then might turn and see them standing there, savaged, covered in blood, asking why she had brought their death on them, how she dared to go on whilst they, unburied, could only roam?

Cunegarde wondered what the girl would do. This was a hard lesson, but the girl had to understand how it really was, what it meant to be a woman. Women collect ghosts, and the faster the girl learnt to dispel them, the better.

Hermione's chin wobbled for a second but she wouldn't give in. She wouldn't. It would upset the others. Instead, she squared her shoulders. _'Can I get you anything else?'_

The old woman sat on her elbows. _'Are you tired of it yet?'_

'_Yes_.' Hermione slumped, feeling as though her blood was liquid lead, as though she'd aged a thousand years since she'd left France, as though this war would never, ever end.

Cunegarde nodded, apparently pleased by the answer. _'That is your fate. Embrace it, and do your duty.'_

_'Then it...it never gets better?'_

The old woman's bird-claw hand closed on hers, small and hot, tiny twigs under damp vellum. '_Make sure the ghosts are friendly, girl. If the ghosts are friendly, you should be fine_.'

The girl's big, soft eyes weren't the right colour. Cunegarde searched her face, waiting for the hair to lighten and straighten and the eyes to go hazel-green. She reached up and smoothed the face, familiar and foreign both, and then closed her eyes, seeing her own ghosts behind her eyelids, her children, her torment, the people she'd loved and helped to kill.

Hermione, of course, didn't know that. She let the woman stroke her face and then quietly slipped out, skin prickling, feeling as though the air was filled with currents she didn't really understand.

**Now**:

At some point during the story, Draco scooted over and sat on his cousin's other side. He took her hand and listened as she told them. Viktor had thoughtfully swished a translation charm, so he caught eighty percent of the story, and all of the relevant parts. Hermione had left out the part about Zhivka, of course; she didn't want Viktor upset on his first night home.

'_So'_ said Hermione finally _'do you...is it true, do you think?'_

Viktor moved a bit closer, hurt elbow throbbing, and put his arms over her shoulder. Hermione nestled into his chest and closed her eyes. He could tell she was holding something back. He didn't want to pry very hard right now. Best to just let them soak up comfort from one another.

'_Yes_' said Draco from Hermione's other side. _'I think it is. I see them sometimes in my dreams. At the Ministry. Those wolves, with the blood everywhere.' _He shuddered, thinking of the dreams, the dreams were the wolves were not stopped, where the people Draco loved fell under their claws.

Viktor sighed deeply. '_I don't see wolves. But I see.'_

_'What do you see?'_

_'Mother.' _Viktor said nothing else, and didn't need to. They could both imagine what he saw when he closed his eyes. Zhivka, falling, a fan of blood and brain tissue erupting from the side of her head, eyes rolling back in the stench of blood and burnt flesh, the screams of battle and, above it all, Bellatrix's high, demented laughter.

_'Herm-on-nee-knee? What do you see_?'

_'My muggle parents. Hogwarts, during the battle.' _She hadn't opened her eyes or moved. She wanted to sit here and let the sea take her words, take all their words, and send them far, far away, so she wouldn't need to see her ghosts when she closed her eyes.

Bess whined and nuzzled against Draco's side, pressing her face into his belly. She didn't like this change in the atmosphere. It smelt like Bad and like Scary and like Lost. If she knew what was lost, she would scent it out and bring it back to make them feel all better.

Draco lightly dug his fingers into the dog's ruff, scratching absently. She wagged, and then, dancing backward, yapped sharply to scare the Bad away from them. _'Bess, shhh_.'

_'What do we do now_?' Draco felt a bit better, but he wasn't sure what he could that was useful to fix these problems.

Hermione thought about Cunegarde's advice and, unknowingly, drew strength from it, feeling the hard bones of truth buried under the layers of bitterness and anger. Perhaps she understood the old woman a bit better now; she just had too many ghosts, was all.

_'We fight.' _Hermionewouldn't let the ghosts take over. She was doing what she could for them, and that had to be enough.

Draco was nodding, too. _'We'll come up with a plan._'

_'Vhat do you have in mind, Drago?'_

Draco bit his lip. _'Let me think this over_.'

_'We need to divide and conquer.' _Hermione translate the concept and Viktor nodded. He'd heard that before, and it sounded quite good to him. And Snape's letter had said much the same.

_'Vhat is your idea, Herm-on-nee-knee?_'

'_Can we talk about what happened at camp_? _We could use it as a test, I suppose.'_

Viktor summarised what had happened. _'I...I vanted to hurt him_.'

_'Don't blame you' _said Draco, who wanted to hurt this bloke himself, and then tell Father. _'I'd_ _have done it, too._'

Hermione squeezed Viktor's hand. She thought this was probably a male thing. She might have wanted to hurt Hristov, too, though perhaps it was better she not say that aloud.

_'So what do we do?_' _To make sure it doesn't happen again_.'

_'Tell Dinev' _said Draco. _'He wants your vote to make sure his man gets to be headmaster of Durmstrang, doesn't he?'_

_'He does. Herm-on-nee-knee?'_

She shook her head. What would Snape do? Snape wouldn't tell the Minister, and he'd forbid her from doing it, either. _'No. We don't want people to know. What about a potion?'_

Both boys stared in surprise_. 'You want to poison him?'_

_'No, no. Just something so he won't be at camp anymore. Maybe...something that might make them think he's not safe. A disease he could give the others. A rash?'_

Viktor was nodding. '_Something_ _ve all could get if he stays. Something bad but not dangerous.'_

_'It'd be silly for him to go to hospital for something so minor._' Draco was nodding. It was, he decided, a travesty that Hermione had not made Slytherin. He'd talk to his godfather about adjusting the records so people didn't get the wrong idea.

_'There's medi-vizard at camp could help us. Perhaps ve send him something? For making better my arm?'_

Hermione was nodding. _'A nice cloak with a fur collar_?'

_'I ask Lyudmilla make that first. Volf collar?'_

_'Yes, and we'll use the heaviest wool. Is he old, the medi-wizard?'_

_'Very. Good thick cloak take off chill.'_

Draco was nodding. '_And a bottle of something? Father always sends cognac, or wine_.'

_'Slivov. Ve have many bottles in the cellar._' Viktor was studying his English family with pleasure and surprise. He'd never suspected that sweet, gentle, proper little Hermione had it in her, let alone Draco.

_'The first step' _sweet, gentle, proper little Hermione was saying _'is to find something that won't hurt him. Not hurt-hurt_.' She didn't want to give the man permanent damage, after all. He'd been drunk and stupid, more than anything.

_'Ve look in herbal. Something there, definitely_.'

Draco was nodding. 'And Godfather would help, I think.' Snape, he was sure, would be thrilled by their cunning and slyness. It's not like Hristov, should he even think to connect his symptoms to his brawl with Viktor, would be able to blame them. What sort of idiot would publicly accuse a teenage boy-especially one as shy and well mannered as Viktor-of giving him a rash?

_'Herbal is in library. Ve go look now_?'

'_Yes_' said Hermione, standing, Bess yapping at her feet. _'We'll write Snape and see what he says.'_

And when Snape got the letter, he laughed a long, long time in his room, lying in bed. His little spy-and unwitting apprentice spymaster-were going to be just fine.


	41. Chapter 41

**A/N: Love to reviewers and Countess Black**

**Mea culpa: The poet Cunegarde references in Chapter 40 as 'Emeric of Flanders' is actually Robert Frost.**

**Mea Culpa: Due to technical difficulties, I'm a bit behind on posting chapters. Sorry, everyone.**

Eugenia Feathering, once Emmeline Vance, swore under her breath but kept at it. Hetty winked and did likewise. They both loathed this aspect of things, but needs must is needs must.

'Miss Gill, don't stop until I've said. And do try and look pleasant, would you?'

Hetty took up the pen and made another row of 'R's, trying not to look as cross as she felt. This was not right, no matter how much money she was making. Her handwriting was fine. Not perfect, but not horrid, and how much would she need to write as mistress of her own brothel?

Not that Snape had been moved by this logic. He'd just given her the same look she remembered from school and pointed to the parchment, and Hetty, knowing when she was beaten, had obediently started to practice.

'Enough.'

Both women set down their quills with identical sighs of relief. Snape nodded and rose to move about the room a bit. 'The clothes are adequate?'

Both women nodded. Snape didn't stint, they had to give him that much. The seamstress elves he'd got from someplace had produced a full wardrobe for both of them, down to shoes, and they were dressed in the best of taste.

Eugenia didn't mind the practice as much. She'd been taught to write in the muggle fashion, and she did see Snape's point about potentially blowing her cover if she couldn't write copperplate.

The ancient elf that came with the house entered, bowing. 'Mesdames is ready for dinner to be served?'

'Do. Professor Snape?' Eugenia rose and waited for him to escort her to the dining room. He alternately escorted them both, and tonight was her turn. He led them in and took up his seat.

Another sort of man might have enjoyed being the sole focus of attention of two attractive and well bred ladies, but Snape was not another man. He assessed them as anyone else might assess a painting or a vase. Would they pass? What needed improvement? What was good?

He could see a real change in Feathering-Vance, he thought. Hetty Gill had been raised by Wizarding people, and mostly knew their customs; she just needed a bit of refining. Eugenia had had to relearn literally everything, from the second she woke up and called for the elf to bring her tea, to the last thing at night, when, as Hetty explained, she politely ignored her husband's absence should he choose to sleep _chez les dames_.

Snape quizzed them on current events as they ate. Eugenia had an instinctive grasp of things, as befitted a former auror, but Hetty struggled sometimes to comprehend the bigger picture.

'The situation in London, of course, is totally safe.' Snape managed to repeat the bald faced lie in a tone of deadpan calm which caused Eugenia to lift a brow before she remembered herself.

'Of course it is. Hetty, would you like some more turnips?' They'd decided that whomever was Snape's escort that night was hostess, and acted accordingly. Hetty agreed that she would, and then the talk resumed.

'What if they do come here?'

Eugenia smiled brightly. 'Then our gentlemen will protect us, isn't that right, Professor?'

Snape nodded approvingly. 'It is. And the aurors.'

'How do the Bulgarians fare?'

'Well enough. They're in Wales right now. Perhaps I can arrange for you ladies to meet a few once they've come to London.'

Eugenia nodded. 'That would be most pleasant.'

Hetty, who tended to get very quiet during political talk, brightened up a bit. 'And perhaps Lem can come and visit when he's back?'

'I shouldn't think, Miss Gill.'

Eugenia's face gave nothing. She waved away the elf with the wine decanter without so much as a look and then motioned for the other one to bring out the spiced plum tart.

They more than did it justice. Snape left the ladies chatting about the upcoming events in town (not that they'd get to go). He rose and silently went home, bowing himself out.

'Well' said Hetty, who always felt a bit intimidated by Snape 'that was bollocks. Is this a nursery school?' She frowned winsomely, and Eugenia laughed.

'He's a bit of an arse, but he's keeping us in high style.'

'Never said he wasn't. Just wish we didn't have to work on writing and making menus and such. What could he have up his sleeve?' It rather disconcerted Hetty that Snape had never expressed an interest in her charms, or Eugenia's either, from what she could tell. It wasn't right for a man to have a whore on hand and not lift her skirts even once.

Eugenia shook her head. 'Would that I knew. He's sly.'

'As a snake. Not a bad thing. My Lem was a Slytherin, you know.'

'Lem for Lemuel?'

'Yes' she said innocently. 'Why?'

'I'd heard the name in a book, I think.' But that wasn't what she thought at all. She'd been lead auror on a case once...

'It's not usual, definitely. What shall we do now?'

'Your choice.'

Hetty stood up and pulled a dog eared copy of Aretino's Postures from the shelf. 'Let's go over sixteen again, shall we?'

In Bulgaria, the children were likewise making the best of a rather unfortunate situation. Hermione had woken that morning with a familiar and unwelcome sensation, which is to say, cramping.

As it turns out, her cycle was quite convenient in a way. By custom, she was excused from work, and might have slept, or read. Instead, she suggested that she might like to brew some things, partly to keep her skills sharp and partly because she wanted to make a stock of cramp potion. Lyudmilla didn't totally approve, but as things had been rather disordered lately, they hadn't been able to brew for some time, and so she suggested perhaps the children could work together, and make things they were low on?

So, joined by Viktor and Draco, the chatelaine of Castle Krum set out everything they'd need in the brewing room in the basement of the castle. Hermione felt basically fine, aside from a small backache, and sent Rinky to gather the ingredients they'd need for the other potion.

Hermione started the cramp potion (and the hand cream she was making to surprise the other ladies) as a cover, and then they set about the real task.

The return letter from Snape had come early that morning.

'"_Children,_

_I hope this finds you all well.' (The next few paragraphs were pap about taking exercise, eating green vegetables and other sort of nonsense adults tell children in lieu of useful advice.)_

_Especially, see that you avoid the batwort which is rife in caves. Combined with stinging nettles (also common) they produce a nasty reaction. Worse, is difficult to treat because it wears off the skin and leaves no trace, like a potion might._

_And do be careful. All of you know how much the war effort needs each and every one of you_.'"

All three of them got a slightly different read on that, but that small, innocent paragraph in the middle was the important part. Rinky was sent to find the ingredients (the initial plan involved the boys going on a flight to find the herbs, but Rinky wouldn't hear of it, and they gave in, rather than listen to hysterics about how they'd be killed by trolls.)

The decoy cauldrons set, they spread out the fresh ingredients and donned potions gloves. Hermione grimaced as the pain potion started to wear off and her belly pinched painfully.

_'Herm-on-nee-knee, something is bad?'_

_'No, I'm all right._'

He raised an eyebrow, and Draco, who'd also scolded her about this in the past, gave her his best Lucius-like 'you'll regret it if you aren't being honest' look.

_'It's a girl thing.'_

_'Girl thing?'_

Hermione's cheeks were flushing. _'Err...yes. You know, a girl thing_?' She called for pain potions for both she and Viktor.

As soon as she was distracted, Viktor bent and whispered something in Draco's ear. _'That's not true!'_

_'What's not?' _She turned back round and looked at Draco a touch worriedly.

Draco ignored her for the moment. _'That's disgusting!'_

_'Is true.'_

_'Viktor, did you just explain about...you know?_'

He flushed a little. _'Boys at school talk about it.'_

_'How would they know_?' Hermione put her hands on her hips. She had a firm belief, picked up from her muggle parents, that mystifying bodily functions was a very bad idea, and she felt no particular shame in discussing it; it was a natural thing, like snow.

_'They have sisters_.'

_'They were having you on, mate. There's no way that's true.'_ Draco bent and stirred the hand-cream to punctuate the remark. Hermione sprinkled the powdered moss into the rash potion and turned back to her cousin.

_'What did they say?'_

Viktor blushed even redder. _'They say...blood_.'

_'Yes, that's true. Mainly it's water, but there's a little blood in it, too.'_

_'Blood? Hermione, are you going to faint_?' Draco jumped up, determined to help her sit down. He'd give Viktor a good earful, too, about how he had to let Draco know about these things.

Hermione giggled and patted his arm. _'Draco, really, I'm all right. It's more a nuisance than anything.'_

_'Does it hurt?'_

_'No. Well, a bit._' Hermione gave the cauldron three anti-clockwise turns and set the stirrer down. It would simmer an hour and then go into a phial which would then be hidden until the opportune moment.

'_And anway, Draco, you said you knew where babies come from_.'

_'I do, but what that got to do with blood?_'

Hermione set down her stirrer, took off her gloves and started to talk. It was a terrifying few minutes, but both boys never forgot what they were hearing. At the end, Hermione took up her gloves and stirrer and said _'Any questions?'_

_'How you know all this, Herm-on-nee-knee?'_

_'My muggle parents told me.'_

Draco's eyebrows would probably never be quite the right height again. _'That's what muggles talk about?'_

_'Not exclusively-_only_. But if I had a question, they'd answer.'_

_'And you're quite sure that's how it's done? I mean, that's definitely how_?'

Hermione and Viktor exchanged a look. _'Yes, Drago. That is how._'

Draco leapt up. _'How do you know?' _He looked very fierce, but also sort of funny, more like a banty rooster than ever.

Viktor laughed. _'Drago, I am having friends. And sometimes people are saying at sports.'_

Draco had heard his own share of locker-room discourse in his day, and he nodded. Probably, seeing as many of the people played with were adults, he'd heard things even beyond some of the things the sixth and seventh year boys said about girls. Just so long as Viktor didn't have any personal experience, they wouldn't have a problem.

Viktor clapped his shoulder. _'I promise, remember_?'

_'I know. But a person worries_.' He did, too. Draco couldn't stand the thought that his father might be disappointed in him should he fail to protect Hermione, especially now that he knew what he was protecting her from.

The other potions were reasonably easy. They finished them and then Hermione rose and offered her hand to her fiancee. He took it smiling. There was a fresh layer of callus on it, and the nails were chipped from the hard work of the past few days.

'Draco, would you mind if Viktor and I took a walk? We'll talk Rinky.'

'Not at all' said Draco, who decided to go flying. 'Just don't do too much, either of you.' He rose as well, and followed them out. The various potions and salves had been put away, except the special one that they'd sent Snape to test-it wouldn't do to hurt Hristov more than needed, or something else terrible.

Viktor led Hermione to a battlement which overlooked the sea. They leant against the walls and Hermione was reminded of that day, what seemed like centuries ago, when Mother had taken her on the balcony at Hogwarts and told her about the Blacks.

'After camp, my parents will come home.'

'Yes.'

'Will you stay on after, do you think?' He tried to keep his voice light, but Hermione looked at him sideways and saw the furrow in his brow.

'I don't leave you, Viktor. War is still in Britain, remember?'

'I do. And I'm sorry that this was your first introduction to my country.'

'Yours was worse, to mine.' Hermione was pretty sure nothing could top nearly dying twice in less than a week. Viktor leant forward and studied the sea, watched the waves rolling against the side of the castle as it bellied into the water.

'You don't think your parents will want you to go back?'

'Sometime. But not with wolves there, I think. It is too dangerous.' Her voice seemed sad but not terribly longing. He wondered what she was thinking; did she miss her native country?

Hermione was looking at the sea, too. She liked how big it was, and the sound reminded her of beach holidays with her Mum and Dad. Was Cunegarde right, she wondered? Would Viktor have one less ghost because of how this had played out? Or would his ghost just be different?

Viktor was wondering the same. He watched as a seabird dove under and came up with a small, wriggling fish in it's beak. It swallowed, throat working, and took the sky again.

'It's only another few weeks. It doesn't seem long enough to me. And too long, too. Isn't that strange?'

Hermione shook her head. 'I understand. It is...it does...time is not right anymore.'

'No. I don't feel fifteen, do you?'

'No.' She grinned, cocking her head, and he snorted at his own foolishness and cupped her cheek. She snuggled into his hand and sighed.

'We are not anymore children. Not...precise.'

'Precisely. And no.' It seemed unfair to him, hideously unfair, that they'd been forced to become adults and yet got none of the benefits of it, nothing which made their painful slog of the past few weeks worth it.

'But soon we are not children. Then you go and fight.'

He nodded. Yes, he would fight, if he had to. And probably he would. It seemed as thought this fight would never truly end, and perhaps it wouldn't. But what of Hermione? What would she do?

Viktor took her hand in his good one. 'Make me a promise?'

'What is it?'

'Don't take the Mark. Unless your parents insist, promise you won't take it.'

'Yes. Promise. And you?'

'I promise.' And he meant it. He wanted no part of this fight for blood purity. He'd fight the werewolves for honour and the Romanians if they attacked his sworn allies, but other than that, Viktor wanted to live a life of peace and happiness with his family.

When he expressed this, Hermione nodded enthusiastically. She knew just what he meant-a person could learn to love this place very quickly. It had a solidness that she found comforting, and she could almost believe-almost-that the people in this place wouldn't vanish on her. She could be safe here.

She suddenly pounced him, pressing her face into his chest. 'Everything will be all right.' He hugged her with his good arm and dropped his face into her hair. Was she re-assuring him, or herself?

In Britain, Snape solemnly tested the potion he'd been brought. It did precisely what it was supposed to, which is to say, it brought him up in a hideous looking, itchy, painful rash that was otherwise harmless.

He sent back his approval of it, and then called the rat. Late Sunday night, he sent Pettigrew, along with the elf, to Pernik. The camp was outside the city proper, near a mountain range. It was almost deserted, the majority of the player returning the next morning by nine or so.

He crept, as Wormtail, into the tents, until he found the one labelled "Hristov, Blagun" and changed back. Donning the gloves Snape had sent him, he dumped the phial into a bottle he found under the bed, hand-labelled, and gave it a mix.

It wasn't the children's potion, not that Wormtail knew the difference. Snape was pleased and proud of his little spies' actions, but he saw no harm in hedging his bets a little.

Wormtail gave the stuff a good shake and then set about part two. Still well gloved, he carefully smeared the stuff all over every piece of gear he could find, especially the gauntlet and undershirts. Then Wormtail crept out, quiet as an infection.

Near Varna, the children bid one another goodbye in the hall less than eight hours later. Viktor's arm was more or less better, if slightly stiff, and Hermione made him swear he'd be careful about not hurting it again.

After he left, Hermione dabbed her eyes with the edge of her apron and then squared her shoulders. 'Aunt, we maybe weave now? Medi-wizard make better Viktor's arm.' Her grammar, Lyudmilla noticed, deteriorated when she was under stress.

Viktor arrived back at camp a bit before the others. He got settled and then stretched to limber up. His elbow creaked like a poorly oiled hinge but it felt all right. He climbed on his broom and flew upward, doing drills. He didn't have to think this way. It was a relief.

Everyone else was back by nine. He'd been joined by several others in the air, and move were down on the field, running laps or exercising. People were exchanging greeting and cheerful jokes, and Viktor chatted with a few he knew a bit.

From the corner of his eye, he saw Hristov. Hristov was a beater, and quite a good one. He was flying with a few mates of his when he stopped and put a hand under his gauntlet. He frowned and scratched, almost absently, at the cuff of his jersey.

Viktor dropped his altitude to cover his grin. The medi-wizard wasn't the only one who was going to get a wolf cloak out of this. He'd been afraid he wouldn't be able to slip the stuff to Hristov. The hard part was done, and, perhaps, it would start to look up now.

Not for Blagun Hristov, it didn't. He ignored the itching under his jersey for most of the morning, but when he tugged off his gauntlets for lunch, he saw the bright red rash that covered both hands.

He went into the bathroom building, which was concrete and dimly lit. He tugged the jersey over his head and gasped. His chest, too, was covered, and when he tugged away the waistband of his trousers, he realised that other, even less salutary places were covered.

He stood, replacing his clothing. He'd had a whore over the weekend, and he suspected she'd given him a dose of something. He made a noise of disgust, and vowed to smear on some cream to cool the itching.

He wasn't thinking of Krum or his English witch. Why would he? His mind had made a logical series of connexions, and as the children had guessed, it would have been insane for him to assume that this was caused by anything other than his hour's time with a woman who'd seemed clean enough to him in the tavern.

He decided to ignore it. He'd have a bit of the slivov in his tent and he'd be fine. He walked out without another word. He thought he could feel the stuff creeping even lower. Shivering, he went to have his drink.

The rest of the day only got better for Viktor and worse for Hristov. Viktor played in two more games and spent some very enjoyable time chatting with a fellow called Levski.

Hristov played for about ten minutes of his first game before the stuff Wormtail had put in his slivov kicked in. He was sailing after a bludger when he felt a terrible cramping in his stomach. He gasped and tried to go onward, but Snape could revenge like most people can breathe, and he'd made sure that his contribution to things was both colourful and interesting.

After they'd scourgified the man as clean as they could and levitated him from the field, they resumed play, with the next best beater taking his place. Viktor was one of the men pressed into service, and he carefully levitated the limp, groaning Hristov's gear from the field. There was a powerful reek in the air, so strong that men were gagging as they passed.

The medi-wizard stood up as the men entered. 'Get him into the sickbay, and for God's love, stop making that face, it's just a bit of sick.' This last to one of his assistants.

The other men stood awkwardly until the medi-wizard gestured at them. 'Krum, Zograf, stay. The rest, out!'

They did. 'Krum, roll him onto his back and pin him there. You' the first assistant 'get my wand and diagnostic potions. You' the second one, who looked sick at the smell 'you need to get his wife on the firecall. '

'Hristov lives by himself' said Zograf. 'He's not married.'

'What about his parents?'

'They live in a really small village. You'd do better sending them an owl.'

The assistant went to get the information. Viktor bent over the writhing Hristov. Had they done this? He felt a sense of horror that he shoved down. Of course they hadn't. It must have been Snape.

Hristov was having a worse day by the minute. He didn't even realise it was Krum holding him down until the he heard the swot's Varna accent. 'Blagun, try to relax. You're all right.'

'Fuck you I am!' He tried to struggle but muscle cramps were ripping through him. He turned and vomited, right onto Krum's hands. Krum never flinched. He kept on holding Hristov's shoulders until the medi-wizard found the right phial and forced the contents down his throat.

Hristov went limp, and Viktor stepped back, accepting the towel the first assistant held out to him with relief. He'd never had a sensitive stomach, but he could have done without being thrown up on.

'What happened?'

Zograf, looking a bit green round the gills, summarised events. 'He said he had a wh-was with a woman over the weekend. Perhaps that did it?'

The medi-wizard shook his head, disgusted. 'Don't I tell them to use something? There are shielding charms which prevent all this. And all the pox, don't get me started on that!'

He worked as he spoke, and rapidly poured out several other doses. He got them all into Hristov, shaking his head back and forth. 'Do I smell slivov?' It was, after all, just after the lunch hour.

'He might've had a little' said Zograf, who didn't want to mention that his friend drank quite a lot. He couldn't fool the medi-wizard, who stared piercingly at him until he finally said 'Blagun drinks too much.'

'Yes, he does. Krum?'

Viktor raised his head. 'Sir?'

'Good work there. Never flinched once. If you weren't such a good Seeker, I'd apprentice you this second. As it is, can you help me get his uniform off? Shears are behind you.'

Viktor did it. The rash was a dense, raw looking mass that covered most of Hristov's body in big, baroque swirls. He felt pity and didn't push it away.

'Will he be all right, do you think?'

'He should be. He probably picked something up from that woman. Did he mention that she'd a rash?'

Zograf shook his head. 'He's always very careful that...you know, that they're clean. The women.'

'You can never be too sure. He'll have to go back.'

Zograf went white. 'You're sending him home?'

'Nothing for it. He could be contagious.'

'Do you really think so?'

'Hard to say. But there's rules about these things.' And Hristov made the old man nervous. He'd seen the like before; good, but very, very angry. It had rather appalled him to hear the fellow had picked a fight with a boy half his age, and this clinched it for him.

Zograf nodded. 'Shall I tell him when he wakes?'

'I will. You pack his things. You' he gestured at the first apprentice 'you go and tell the coach he'll need to make the paperwork up. I'm dismissing this one for medical reasons.'

The assistant scurried out, his dread of dealing with the coach less than his dread of dealing with the healer when he was angry. Viktor wondered whether he should go, until the medi-wizard held out a hand, horny with age, joints swollen.

'Zograf, go and pack up Hristov's things, please. I'd have a word, Krum.'

Zograf walked out to gather his mate's things. The healer tilted his head back and looked at Viktor, who was a head taller.

'It's strange that Hristov got sick this way. It doesn't look like any venereal disease I've ever seen.'

Viktor nodded slowly. 'Very strange.'

'Still, I suppose these things happen. It would be too bad if you were to get it from touching him. If you should develop symptoms, let me know right away.' The medi-wizard had taken off his spectacles and he cleaned them vigorously with his handkerchief as he talked. Viktor nodded and rose to go. Neither of them said anything else.

The medi-wizard had seen a great many things in his life, and many of them were terrible. This was not, he'd decided, by any stretch, terrible, but it was curious. He'd watch young Krum with great interest, and not just as a Seeker.

It was no surprise that Krum made the final cut. It was rather a foregone conclusion. Not that it seemed to effect the boy's attitude. He came to see the medi-wizard the final day, holding a parcel in his hands.

'Hello, healer.'

'Krum. You're not injured again, are you?'

'No. I wanted to give you something. As thanks for patching me up.'

He handed over the parcel, shook the man's hand and left. The healer opened the parcel. It was a cloak, wrapped round a bottle of vintage plum brandy.

The old man lifted the cloak. It was thick, well woven, with a dense collar of wolf fur. The healer stroked it. It was beautiful, and it would keep the chill out admirably during the winter.

Yes, he thought, most interested, indeed.


	42. Chapter 42

**A/N: Love to reviewers and Countess Black**

**Due to some continued technical difficulties, I can only post intermittantly. I'm sorry for the delay.**

** NB: I felt really conflicted this chapter. On the one hand, I prefer not to bring actual ceremonies into my work as a matter of principle-I resent when people use things I believe as a means of cheap exotiscm, or to entertain, so I don't do it to others.**

** On the other hand, I felt like honestly depicting this part of the story called for an acknowledgement of the fact that there are rituals we carry out that give enormous comfort and strength to those facing a loss of some kind.**

** With that in mind, I have opted to include mentions of things but with as little real detail as possible, to sort of strike a balance. I've broken my own rule a little in this chapter.**

**NBII: Hermione can join Lyudmilla because her grandmother was from a Northern city with a large population of Catholics. The Litany of Loredo and the Litany to the Theotokos are very, very similar, and so Hermione has been exposed to many of these ideas and concepts before.**

On the day Zhivka returned to them, the sky was brilliantly blue. There were small and fluffy clouds in the sky, and the honour guard, in their formal tunics and shining boots, cut an impressive figure as they rose en masse into the sky to relieve their British counterparts over the sea, exactly halfway between their two homelands.

The elder Krums were in a carriage with a medi-witch, who was tasked with keeping Zhivka stable until they landed, and attending here thereafter. She had agreed to this trip knowing that it would be a very kind thing to do, and because she loved her own mother very much and would've wanted the same.

The carriage touched down as the moon was rising. It was very large, a white round moon that seemed to watch them as the aurors helped to carry her out. They carefully set the stretcher down in the courtyard and stood at attention whilst Viktor, still nominal lord of Castle Krum, came, his fiancée on his arm, and greeted his parents.

Martin Krum looked twenty years older. His bristling side whiskers were shot with silver, and the lines round his eyes were deeper. He stood as his son approached, and bowed, as did the others.

'My lord, my lady.'

Viktor stopped. He went white as he really saw Zhivka, and for a second, everyone was afraid he'd faint. He didn't. He stood straighter and embraced his father. 'Thank God you're home, Papa.'

Hermione embraced him too. 'Father Krum.' She didn't know what to say. He stepped back, smoothing her hair lightly. Viktor knelt in the dirt, heedless of his trousers, and stroked his mother's cheek. The place where her head had been smashed was dented, the new bone they'd grown for it bulging strangely. Her skin had a waxen cast

Looking at her, Viktor understood, and with understanding came the first tendrils of letting go. He rose and Hermione, too, bent down, and gently tugged the blanket higher.

The medi-witch came forward, curtsied and said _'Madam Krum needs to go inside now.'_

Viktor translated to his father. 'Mama needs to go in now, Papa.'

'Of course she does. Take her, gentlemen, please.' The aurors took the stretcher and lifted it and followed the Krums.

The medi-witch watched as they settled Zhivka in the bed she and Martin had shared for almost twenty years. As Viktor had promised, it smelt of roses, and bundles of Tyrian purples were tied on the beams, as they'd always been.

Hermione knew she wasn't done yet. 'Snetzka, please offer auror gentlemen refreshments and a place to stay for night. And please have brought Madam Healer's trunks to spare room and water , she'll want to bathe.' In extremis, her grammar was reverting to what it had been when she'd arrived.

'Father, you've eaten? I should have sent food and water to wash face? New tunic?'

'Yes, my dear, please do. Your own father is here, you know. I'm sure he'd like to see you.' Hermione curtsied and dropped her hand to her waist. The keys still hung there on her belt.

Martin stepped forward. 'Mother wants you to have them. Should she ever need them again, you'll have kept them safe for her.'

She closed the door behind herself. The two Krum men studied one another. Viktor, thought Martin, had grown. He was taller and his facial hair, once a few abstract patches of peach fuzz, seemed more like a moustache now. And he was officially Seeker on the national team.

Viktor thought Martin had changed too. He seemed mortal in a way he never had before. Viktor reached down and took off the ring, handed it to his father. Martin put it on. It magically adjusted to the wearer; he expected to feel it grow. It didn't. His hand and Viktor's were the same size now.

Then he took it off again and handed it back. 'You have done so well, Viktor. We are both proud of you. I need you to keep this, because I cannot tend the affaires of the castle and be here with Mother both.'

Yes. Viktor was realising that Cunegarde had spoken true; once a person took up a burden, they could never put it down again. But he could also see the truth in his father's words, and he donned the ring again without comment.

'Father?'

'Hmmm?'

'What do they say about her?'

'She's not in pain, they tell me.'

'Does she hear us?'

'I don't know.' Martin sat down on a chair next to the bed. His wife's hand was like it had always been, small and warm. But slack. It had never been slack. The layers of callus, which she had carefully smoothed off before their trip to Britain, had always made them pleasantly rugged. He missed that. He missed her. His wife was going to die. Martin dropped his head as his tears started.

Viktor had never seen his father cry before. He half stepped forward and then froze. Suppose he should offend? Did his father want privacy? Did he want comfort? He finally put a hand on his father's shoulder, hoping the right thing would come to him.

Martin stood and held out his arms. Viktor pressed himself to his father's chest and inhaled deeply, reassured by Martin's familiar scent of rosemary hair tonic and soap. Father was here and that meant everything would be fine.

Martin stepped back, abashed, and dried his eyes with his handkerchief. 'My apologies, son.'

'No. I mean, I...I did it, too.'

'She wouldn't want us to. She hated being fussed over.' Martin tucked the fur further up on Zhivka's shoulders. She didn't move. Wherever her spirit was, it had deserted her mortal frame, and roamed free, perhaps watching them.

An elf came in with a basin of hot water, and another with hot bread and cheese and some ayran to drink. Martin was starving and ate it all, surprised he could get anything down. A third elf brought him clean clothes, and he stepped behind a screen to change into them.

When he came out, he was the lord again. 'Viktor, should I have the girl come back up?'

'Please do.' Viktor sat in Martin's chair and then took Zhivka's hand in his. 'Mama?'

He half thought she would answer. She had never not answered him. Her chest moved, but nothing else changed. But she wasn't in pain, at least. If Viktor had learnt anything in the last few weeks, it was that sometimes a little brightness was all one has to cling to.

There was a knock at the door. Hermione poked her head in and then came to stand beside him. 'Viktor?'

He moved so she could share his chair. 'She's not in any pain.'

'No.' said Hermione. She thought Zhivka was the only one who wasn't. Everyone else was in agony. She'd hardly known her mother in law to be, but she'd liked her, and she thought the woman would hate that everyone was going through this.

'She was a good mother to me. Always patient. She never yelled or got upset. And she was so excited about seeing England. She worked for a month to get that doll just right.'

'She love you very much.'

'Yes! And I never told her how much...it's not...' he inhaled deeply, and Hermione put her head to his shoulder. Viktor sighed and took his mother's hand in his. The words would come, and until then, they would bide together, the three of them.

Downstairs, Rodolphus Lestrange watched as Martin Krum came in. The man looked a second from collapse, but damned if he wasn't keeping his chin up. He smiled tiredly and shook his head as Rodolphus came forward and bowed.

'*_No, no. My son has the ring now. I cannot both tend to my wife and see to the castle. He speaks for me in all matters.*_'

Rodolphus raised a brow internally but said nothing. He could see the logic of it, but it would feel odd, thanking a teenager for his hospitality and so forth. But this was what people did, and when in Rome, and so forth.

Krum excused himself a moment later. '*_I must go and see my brother. There is much to be done.*_' The group settled back to wait for whatever would happen next.

'_Rodolphus_' said Rabastan, who had an eye on Barty _'how have you been_?'

_'Tired, Rab. I think the ride over was the first decent sleep I'd had since this thing started_.' He looked it, too, to his younger brother. His eyes were ringed, and his beard wasn't as well trimmed as usual.

From their other side, Lucius Malfoy was standing with his wife. They both seemed calmer this way, as though the other was some part of themselves that they needed to feel normal.

Draco came in, trailing two children Rodolphus assumed were the cousins Hermione wrote about. They each had him by a hand, and Draco swished a translation spell as the children came to hug Barty and Rabastan.

_'Hello, Father. Uncle Rodolphus, Uncle Rabastan. Barty_.' Draco came and hugged his father and uncles. His voice was soft and flat, and he, too, looked tired. Lucius gently tipped his son's head back to study him.

_'How've you been, Draco?'_

_'Well, Father. Yourself?'_

_'All right. I miss you and Mother very much at home._'

The two children came over. They were sandy blonde like Rumen's wife, and eyed these tall English wizards with a bit of shyness. '*_Hello, Uncles._*'

'*_Hello, children_. _How are you_?*'

The girl frowned up. '*_You're Hermione's Papa?*' _She directed the question to Rodolphus, who smiled and bent down a bit.

_'*Yes, I am.*' _The girl studied him back with frank curiosity. The boy had come to stand next to Draco, leaning into his side a little. There were loads of new people in the castle, and it made him worried.

_'*Are you here to take her home_?*'

'*_Not quite yet. Your name is Yana_?*'

'*_Yes, Yana Krum. I'm five_.*' She solemnly held up five fingers and Rodolphus nodded, smiling. He was watching Draco from the corner of his eye. The boy looked exhausted, almost ill. Another headache, perhaps?

Lucius was having the same thought. _'Draco, perhaps you'd like to show me about?'_

_'Yes, Father.' _He was trying to find a suitable way to redirect the children when Barty came over and clapped his shoulder. _'I*'d like to see the dogs. Do you think the children would want to come?*'_

_'Yes. Ask Uncle Rumen, though.' _Rumen turned and nodded at them, showing his approval. Barty took the children's hands and started for the kennel yard, trailed by Snetzka, just in case.

Lucius followed Draco into the courtyard and up a few flights of stairs. Lucius was halfway dizzy with the turns and curves of the place, but Draco seemed to know precisely where they were going. He led his father to the courtyard from which the boys oftentimes flew.

_'We'd sit in the other one, but the Snatchers'll be in and out, I think.'_

_'How have you been, love_?'

Draco didn't answer right away. Instead, he looked cautiously about and settled himself in his father's lap. Lucius blinked, startled. Draco had firmly maintained he was much too old to want to sit in his father's lap anymore since Christmas of the year before he'd started school. Not that he minded; it had saddened him when Draco had announced that.

Draco snuggled into his father and closed his eyes. He was shaking slightly, hands clasped together in his lap. _'I've missed you, Daddy._'

Draco had started calling him Father about that same time, thought Lucius. He reached to rub the boy's back, trying to calm him. He suspected Draco was on the verge of a crying jag, or else a bad migraine, but he said nothing. The boy would open up in his own time.

Draco dropped his head and breathed. _'How is it at home?'_

_'The Manor?'_

_'Britain.'_

Lucius kept rubbing. _'It's all right, sweetheart.'_

_'There's a war on.'_

_'There is. Is something specific the matter, or is it just a lot?'_

Draco nodded. _'The children keep asking me about Aunt Zhivka. What do I tell them? She's going to die.'_

_'Yes, love, she is. What did you say?'_

_'That I didn't know. It's true.'_

_'Do you take care of the children often, Draco?'_

Draco nodded. _'Yes. They've sort of attached themselves to me.'_

_'You're doing splendidly with them, from what I can see._' Wizarding culture attached no stigma to a boy who cared for children; everyone, young and old, was assumed to like children, and everyone was expected to help the family. If anything, it was a point of pride that the boy had stepped up willingly to help.

_'They're really cute_.' Draco nestled tighter and sighed. _'Is the war going to go on for a long time, Father?'_

Lucius had never purposely lied to his son, and he didn't mean to start. _'Yes, Draco. We think that probably other countries are sponsoring the werewolves and helping them fight us.'_

_'Romania.'_

_'Yes, Romania. Probably some others, too. Possibly the United States and Canada, or even Germany. We aren't sure, but it's going to be a long fight._'

Draco sighed. _'Viktor's fifteen. In two years he'll be old enough to fight.'_

_'Yes. Does that worry you?'_

_'It worries all of us. I mean, Hermione and Viktor and me. We all worry about it._'

Lucius was definitely making the children those appointments. He had great confidence in his ability as a parent, but this was probably something a professional should address.

_'Have you discussed this with Mother?'_

_'No_' said Draco emphatically. _'Mother has enough to deal with, and so do the other ladies.'_

_'There's my good boy. Or your uncle?'_

_' Uncle Rabastan and I talked it over.'_

_'What did he say?'_

Draco explained about the Portkey. _'And he said it was it a good idea to have an extra.'_

_'Yes, it is. Perhaps I shall speak to Mr. Crabbe about it_?' Crabbe oversaw the invention of new spells and charms. It was good he was supervisor, as he wasn't nearly capable of actually inventing anything-mainly, he sat and read magazines all day, or played solitaire.

_'Please do. If Uncle Martin is amenable, I mean_.'

Lucius nodded and kept rubbing his son's back. _'Suppose I could give you something you kept on your person that could Portkey in an emergency?'_

_'That's a good idea, Father. Could we get them for the others?'_

_'Yes, we could.'_

_'Not until after...after. Everyone's got too much to think about right now.'_

_'Yes, they have. Draco, I'm sorry we couldn't have spent more time together after that thing at the Ministry. I'd imagine it was quite scary.'_

_'Yes. Is that what it's always like? With blood everywhere? And the smell?'_

_'Yes, that's more or less what it's like_.'

Draco nodded, seemingly a million miles away. _'And when I join, I'll have to do that.'_

_'I shouldn't...not necessarily, Draco. You might end up doing what I do.'_

_'If we're lucky, Father. But I don't think we are.'_

_'No?'_

_'No. And I'll do it, if I have to. Fight. We've been practicing. Duelling every day, and flying, and things.'_

Lucius was more and more disturbed by the contrast in Draco's tone and his words. _'Would you rather talk about something else, Draco?'_

_'Yes, Father. But that won't make it go away.' _Draco stood up and stretched, looking at the sky, where a few stars sparkled above them with the indifference of nature to human suffering.

_'I wish you'd tell me what's wrong, love.'_

Draco sat next to his father. Explaining came more easily this time, and he left nothing out. The lambs, the letter, his conversation with Viktor and his fear of being trapped in a falling castle, the women dead at his feet. He didn't mention the potion to take Hristov out of the running, though-Godfather'd said it was all right, and so it was.

Lucius's mouth tasted of bile. He literally couldn't start to form words. All he could do was hug his son and try to find something that would fix this. He couldn't; there was nothing. Draco was old enough to understand that he had a part to play in this new world, and that, if things didn't play out, that his part could easily end as he'd envisioned.

_'Father?'_

_'Yes, love?'_

_'If it comes down to it, you'll do for Mother, won't you? I can't. I'm sorry. I can't.'_

_'Hush, Draco. No one is killing anyone, I promise. They'll never get that close, and if they do, you'll Portkey everyone out.'_

_'What if there's no time, though? It'd have to be the children first, and then the old people, and then Barty.'_

_'You're thirteen, Draco. You'll get to go.'_

_'Can't without the women, Father. It wouldn't be right._' Draco's voice was certain, and Lucius felt a degree of pride despite the horrors they were discussing. He gave the boy the only comfort he could.

_'Yes, Draco. If it were to happen-which it won't, love-then your uncles and I will do for the women.'_

Draco nodded and let his eyes closed. _'All right then, Father. Maybe I won't see it now when I close my eyes.'_

For the first time, Lucius Malfoy wondered whether the new world the Death Eaters had forged was worth it. He didn't dwell on the thought-new world or no, his son was deeply upset. He kept rubbing the boy's back, and then, very gently, said _'It's all right, Draco.'_

Draco nodded, half asleep on his father's chest. _'Of course it is, Father.' _If Father said it, it must be true, after all.

Upstairs, the children rose as Lyudmilla came to spell them. Her face was like milk, and she was holding her breviary in her hands. She smiled at them a little and then sat down and opened to a spot she'd marked with a ribbon. Taking a deep breath, she began to read.

'Mother most amiable, Mother most admirable, Mother of good council...'

Viktor raised a hand and swiped at his cheeks. He wanted to tell Lyudmilla to stop it, to stop acting as though Mother would die. But she would, and could he live with knowing he'd denied her this consolation?

'Mirror of justice, Seat of wisdom, Cause of our joy...'

Hermione had heard this before, a lifetime ago. Her Nan had taught her, and her mind was brought back to it, and to Nan, now, half a world away. She started to whisper along in English, and Lyudmilla silently held out the book in invitation, never stopping her recitation, offering Hermione the chance to join their voices together in words as ancient and as new as grief, grief which had no outlet other than the lamentations they were offering, a desperate final plea and an acknowledgement of what was to come.

'Health of the sick, refuge of sinners, comfort of the afflicted...'

Viktor could take no more. He stood, legs shaking, and half stumbled from the room. Lyudmilla motioned for Hermione to join him, and Hermione, with a peck to the woman's forehead, followed her fiancé.

Viktor heard her shoes and stopped. 'I'm sorry.'

'Shhh.'

'I can't. I can't. I can't.' His shoulders were shaking, and Hermione put both arms about him and hugged. Viktor dropped his face into her hair and breathed deeply, rasping, his chest tight with emotion.

After a moment, he raised his face and swiftly led her to a small niche that had, once upon a time, sheltered archers as they shot into boats far below. Hermione sat down and so did Viktor, who pressed his back against the stones and put his hands to his face.

Rodolphus finally came and looked for them after an hour had gone by and no one had seen the children. He didn't seriously fear they'd sneaked off to have relations; absolutely everything conspired against it, so far as he could see.

What he found was almost worst. His daughter was sitting in a niche, the Krum boy beside her, face set, hands fisted. Hermione was nearly in his lap, hand on his arm, head on his shoulder.

Strictly speaking, Rodolphus ought to have demanded the children get up at once. It was hardly appropriate for them to be so close together, especially at their respective ages. But nothing of the scene spoke of eroticism; rather, the children were clinging to one another as bulwarks against what was happening.

Rodolphus returned to the hall, where the others were picking unenthusiastically at a supper of aubergines and tomatoes and bread, with the ubiquitous ayran and some white cheese. Rodolphus sat down next to his wife and dug in.

_'The children?'_

_'Fine, Narcissa. The elf is with them_.' He wanted to ask about the month and some he had missed. What had gone on here? When had the children skipped their youth and become old overnight?

His eyes shifted to his wife, who was picking at her aubergines with a thoughtful look on her face. He'd missed Trixie's strange little faces, and her habit of answering when she talked to herself in different voices, and the way she'd stick her feet against him if they got cold as she slept.

Bellatrix noticed his scrutiny. She finished her bite of aubergine and set down her fork. _'Something the matter, Rodolphus?'_

_'Just thinking about things.'_

_'Oh. Anything in particular?'_

He dropped his voice. _'I rather missed you both._'

Bellatrix's eyebrows shot up. _'Did you? I would've thought Malfoy and yourself had a fine time, living the bachelor lifestyle.'_

_'I'm too old for it these days.'_

_'Bosh.'_

_'Isn't.'_

She rolled her eyes and let the elf serve her a bit more aubergine, which had been roasted in oil and garlic until it was so tender it fell apart at the gentlest pressure. She did like the food here, she'd be sorry to leave that.

Because she'd have to leave. If this war didn't get resolved by the time her next batch of aurors had been trained, she'd have to go and lead them herself. Not that Bellatrix minded. She relished battle, and longed to wet her hands and avenge the insult the attack on the Ministry had been.

But what of Hermione? She'd be fine here, Bellatrix had no doubt, with Cissy and Draco to take care of her. And the boy would need her more than ever. But might it do harm to her, should Mother leave? She was so afraid that they'd not come back to her...

Well, no time to worry now. She'd deal with it when she came. She'd find a way to make Hermione understand. And the girl would have a chance to bond with her new family, which was nice.

Except it wasn't. Bellatrix wanted some time with the girl. She was growing up far too fast, and she wanted a little of whatever childhood her child had left. It was bad enough they hadn't got the holiday to France they'd promised her, let alone the rest of this.

She heard her husband's voice and turned her head. _'Sorry?'_

_'I said the elf wants to speak to us.'_

_'Who's with Hermione_?' The elf bowed low.

_'A thousand pardons, Madam. Snetzka is with Milady and Milord. Snetzka is speaking no English_.'

_'Of course. Is something wrong?'_

_'Milady is wanting input on sleeping arrangements._'

The children themselves entered a moment later, trailed by an elderly, sour elf in a Continental toga. Viktor had changed his clothes, and Rodolphus gave no indication of what he'd seen. Instead he bowed, and said

'*_Sir_, _thank you for receiving my family in your castle. I regret I have not been able to be of more assistance to you in this difficult time_.*'

'_You are most velcome, sir, and all your family. Our home is your home. Please, honour us vith your presence as long as you'd like.' _

Rodolphus had rarely got to speak with his son in law to be, but he was impressed the boy had pulled himself together so quickly, and that his English was so good. Hermione looked a bit better, too, if still much too tired. Hadn't she been sleeping?

She stepped forward and smiled at him. _'Would everyone mind awfully if I invited Scabior to talk about security? He's sent a message about it.' _

'_Of course, sweetheart_.' Rodolphus smiled and she hugged him hard, glad Father was there. He hugged straight back, and embraced Krum Jr too, surprised by how heavily built he was.

Lucius, too, stepped forward and gave the usual courtesies. Viktor replied in kind, and it struck everyone how deeply bizarre it was that they were going through this. Especially Draco, for whom Viktor and Hermione were more like siblings, and playmates, than the lord and lady of a castle.

Viktor sat down, the elf bringing him a plate and a stern look. He sipped some ayran and ignored the food for the nonce, until Scabior, slicked up in his best working robes, bowed and greeted the group.

_'Evenin, Milord. Milady. Madam Malfoy. Madam Lestrange. Boss. Mister Malfoy. Young Mister Malfoy.' _At Hermione's invitation, he sat down and waited for the nobs to speak.

_'Mr. Scabior, would you please discuss the things you put in your note?'_

_'*Be glad t, milady. It seems t me that havin you all ere-not that it's not right nice t sees you-is a target for them wolves, or ooever else. Mebbe we should talks about ways t make sure it aint a problem, yeah?*' _

Scabior was aware that he had a rather strong accent, and while it didn't faze him overmuch, he thought Krum Jr would follow better if it were translated for him.

The others were nodding. _'What have you got in mind, Lemuel_?'

_'*Well, fer one, mebbe it'd be better if everybody slept sorta close? So's we kin defend better in case a an attack.*'_

Viktor looked thoughtful. _'How you mean, Scabior, close_?'

_'*Mebbe in the same few rooms? Ladies in one, gen'lemen in the other_?*'

Rodolphus and Lucius exchanged a look. It had been a very, very long time, to say the least, since they'd had the pleasure of their respective wives' company. And it would worry and upset the children, too, to change everything up too much.

On the other hand, the man's logic was unassailable. It would be safest to have people in a small, easily defended area, preferably with a Portkey should matters get serious.

Hermione was gnawing her lip. The guest rooms were quite a ways from the family quarters. She could see both sides, at least to a degree.

_'I hate to decide this without having everyone here. It seems wrong.' _

Viktor was nodding. It was weird, but his father had been clear on what he wanted done, and so they'd do it. _'Yes, but we can always change if needed_.'

_'That's true. Would it be possible to double up? We could put Mother and Father and Aunt Narcissa and Uncle Lucius in a single room and then put up a curtain_. _It's not ideal, I know, but...'_

_'Is better than nothing. And Uncle Rabastan and Barty sleep in room vith Drago and Ivan and me. But then Uncle Rumen and Aunt Lyudmilla?'_

_'We'll have to treble the beds. Married people in one room, unmarried people of the same gender in another. The medi-witch can come in with Yana and Aunt Cunegarde and myself.'_

_'And Father on small bed in room vith Mother.'_

_'Yes. And the Snatchers on pallets-_small beds_-in the corridors. Would that work, Scabior?'_

_'Sounds fine t me, milady. Boss? Mr. Malfoy?'_

Neither of the other men exactly loved the whole idea, but there were considerations other than pleasure at work here. Safety was the most important of them, and trying to ease things as much as possible was the next.

_'That should be fine. Lucius, any thoughts?'_

_'None, really. We can always privacy charm everything, after all.'_

Hermione called Snetzka and gave instructions for how everything needed to be arranged. The elves worked swiftly, and within twenty minutes, beds had been set up, curtained and readied for their occupants.

Lucius gave his brother in law an approving look. The children had risen to the occasion splendidly. And they said Pure blood didn't tell! And he was proud that both children seemed to look to Draco for suggestions. His son would never want for money or power, but being close to the boy shaping up to be an international superstar wouldn't hurt the family prestige a bit.

The group turned as one as Martin and Rumen came back in. They agreed to the new plan at once. 'Very sensible.'

Hermione rose and approached her father in law. 'Father, what can I help you? There is lots of aubergines, or else something to drink?'

Martin shook his head. 'No, dearest. I am fine for now.'

'You eat before sleeping, please?'

'I will. Viktor, I am going to sit with Mother now.'

Viktor stood too. 'Father, you've not slept in ages. Let me do it.'

'Neither have you, Viktor, or Hermione. I'll be all right.'

Rumen frowned at both his relatives. 'You both need sleep. I can do it.'

Hermione cleared her throat. 'Uncle Rabastan can do it now, so you sleep, Father? And Viktor?' She gave Viktor an especially stern look, and he nodded, resigned. He'd had less than four hours sleep, and his head was buzzing with exhaustion.

_'Uncle Rabastan, would you sit with Mother Krum for a while? I'm sorry to ask, but Father Krum's not slept, nor Viktor_.' Nor had she, but she wouldn't have admitted that for all the gold in Gringott's.

_'Of course I will_.' The group broke for the evening, to repair to their new quarters and try to sleep. Barty and the children had dozed off on the benches, and were woken to go to bed.

Hermione had a final thing to do; as the group was preparing for bed, the elves brought everyone hot milk laced with a mild sedative to encourage sleep. Martin drank half of his and was asleep in minutes in his new bed. Rabastan got a mug of very strong, hot coffee instead, and the younger children each got a dose of soothing syrup to put them into a deep, calm sleep.

Twenty minutes later, Hermione was snuggling in her bed as her mother tucked her in. _'Mother?'_

_'Hmm?'_

_'Would you stay a moment?' _Bellatrix had promised she'd drink her milk after Hermione was asleep, and Hermione believed her, so she'd taken the offer of a bit of Mother comfort before bed.

_'Of course I will_.' Bellatrix sat down and ignored Cunegarde's harrumph. Cunegarde had been in bed since they'd arrived with sour stomach, and her mood was equally foul.

Yana, on Hermione's other side, mumbled and nestled into Hermione's shoulder.

Hermione gripped her mother's hand hard for a second. _'If anything happens, Mother, would you wake me up?'_

_'I will. Right to sleep.'_

_'Love you, Mother.'_

_'Love you too, girl. Now shush_.' And Hermione rolled over and did.


	43. Chapter 43

**A/N: Love to Countess Black**

**Reviews are how authors improve. I've noticed people have been sort of quiet lately. I understand this is a bad time of year, but it's enormously discouraging to me. If you have the time, I would truly appreciate hearing what people think about the story.**

Rabastan was startled when he felt a hand on his shoulder. _'Uncle?'_

_'Hello, Hermione. You do know it's six thirty AM, don't you, love?'_

_'Yes, Uncle. It's Viktor and mine's turn to relieve you. Would you like to eat before you go to sleep?'_

_'That would be lovely. Why are you awake?'_

Hermione smelt like roses, and her hair was damp. _'Viktor and I get up early every morning to do devotions and then talk about things. Since we're up, it makes sense for us to go next.'_

_'Of course it does.' _Rabastan bent down and shook Barty lightly by the arm. The madman's eyes snapped opened, and he rose at once so Hermione could have his seat. Hermione smiled up gratefully and Barty startled them all by kissing her cheek.

_'Hermione, it's too early to be up. Go back to bed, all right?'_

_'It's my turn, Barty_.'

'_Oh. Well, I suppose, but not too much, or I'll have to tell your father_.' Barty looked almost normal, thought Rabastan with a pang. Hermione nodded solemnly and sat in his vacated chair and closed her eyes for a second, sighing.

Viktor appeared and greeted both men. _'Morning, Uncle. Barty.'_

_'Morning, Viktor. Are you well?'_

_'No'_ said the boy, who definitely didn't look well _'but is nothing for it, Uncle_. _Is breakfast in hall.'_

Barty was studying Viktor. Suddenly he was hugging him. _'I'm sorry, Viktor. I lost my mother, too.'_

Viktor, startled, hugged back. Barty gently disentangled himself and followed Rabastan to the hall, where the Malfoys and Lestranges were eating bread and cheese, speaking softly. Lemuel Scabior was there as well; he and Bellatrix were dressed for training.

_'Good morning, all_.'

The others greeted the two Death Eaters and made space for them. Rodolphus took a single look at Barty and raised his eyebrows. Was he always like this here?

Rabastan shrugged. He didn't know what this was about. _'You seem very well today, Barty. Do you feel it so?'_

Barty ate some bread and tried to marshall his thoughts to respond. His memories, by and large, were like trying to read through a mound of wet tissue paper. He could sometimes see a place where a bit more showed through, but mainly it was a squelching, confused mess of images and outlines.

That made doing his duty hard, but he still tried. He watched the house whilst Rabastan was gone, and he squired Cunegarde about, and listened to her many stories, and told the elves where to put the mail when it came. He didn't have a wand, but he'd been reassured that Rodolphus had it at home. He rather missed it.

So now he was struggling to be part of a conversation, as he knew he ought to. Sometimes a flare of something would light up his brain, making him feel, for a moment, a stirring of something that seemed important to him, or had been once.

'_I_ _want to help. I'm a Death Eater too, you know_.'

Malfoy, too, was listening. _'Yes, you are, Barty_.' He found it useful to pretend that Barty was a child, and not the once powerful wizard he remembered, who'd shown such enormous promise.

'_Rabastan'_ he said, swallowing a bit more bread _'didn't you sponsor me for membership when I joined the Cause?'_

Rabastan looked at the others and nodded slowly. _'I did.'_

_'It was me and Reg Black-Bella's cousin-and Snape. Who else? There was another_.'

Rabastan went very still. _'Evan, Barty. Evan Rosier._'

_'At your father's house. Achilles was there. He gave me some wine, remember?'_

_'I do.'_

Barty beamed, delighted to have remembered. _'And Bellatrix was there, and Rodolphus. And Lucius, and...Mamercus? And His Lordship, of course.'_

_'Yes. It was quite a night.'_

Barty smiled again and ate more of his food. _'I was seventeen then. So young. Viktor's younger than I was, but not very much.' _

He cocked his head, trying to deal with the memories bouncing round his skull. He wanted to keep sharing them, but he sensed an odd reluctance in Rabastan and the others to discuss this topic.

_'Rodolphus, have you seen the puppies? Lady's puppies? They're so big now!'_

_'Are they? You'll have to show me.'_

_'All right_.' He frowned suddenly _'Rabastan_?'

_'Yes, Barty?'_

_'Don't be sad, all right? If you don't remember, I can remind you._' And Barty, childlike, beamed brightly, and Rabastan made himself nod, trying not to remember how it was in those days, because it would hurt.

Barty had come in at just after four. _'Can't sleep' _he'd said flatly, and sat next to Rabastan without another word until Hermione had come in. He'd watched Zhivka Krum, frowning from time to time, and sometimes seeming to doze.

And now there was this. It was good he was a bit more lucid, but why, of all the things his brain could have disgorged, did it have to be this, whilst they were here?

Rabastan rose and excused himself. He'd call for Dreamless Sleep, and then, when he woke, he'd be all right again.

Viktor and Hermione sat in silence upstairs, waiting. Viktor dared not think of what they were waiting for. He looked at Hermione from the corner of his eye. She was watching Zhivka, sometimes adjusting the covers or speaking to the elves that came in.

There was a knock. _'Sir? It's I._'

The healer came in, curtsied and checked Zhivka's pulse. It was strong, but not as strong as it had been. The healer listened to the woman's heart, and felt her skin. It was a little too cool, and the colour was starting to get waxy.

_'How long, Healer_?'

She turned to look the boy. _'I don't know, sir. I would venture not more than a few days_.'

He nodded, swallowing hard. _'But no pain_?'

_'I shouldn't think so. If there were people who'd want to come and say goodbye, this would probably be a very good time.'_

Viktor nodded. _'I send for uncle and for others_.' The Lestrange girl gently dropped his hand and called an elf, to whom she spoke rapidly for a moment.

_'There's breakfast in the hall, Healer. Please feel free to ask the elves for whatever you need_.'

_'How does my mother eat? We need to get vhat_?'

The healer felt deeply strange, discussing this with a teenage boy and an even younger girl. 'We've been giving her nutrient potion. It's not time yet for several hours.'

_'All right. Thank you, madam_.'

The healer went down and found Martin Krum. '*_Sir?*'_

'*_Hello, Healer. Everything is all right?*'_

_'*Yes, it is. I've told Mister-I mean, Milord-that it would be a good idea to have anyone who might like to see your wife come soon_.*'

The man nodded, years older in his face than when she'd first seen him. _'*All right. My son will see to it.*'_

Martin went to check on his son and daughter in law to be. Viktor might be nominal lord, but he was also fifteen. He'd want to know Father would help him with whatever came up.

Viktor was sitting with his little lapdesk, writing letters. 'Hello, Father. I'm writing Grandmother and Uncle. They need to come.'

'Yes, they do.'

'And who else, do you think? Uncle Penko, obviously.'

'I'll do it, son.' Martin squeezed his son's shoulder lightly. The boy didn't look up. He suspected his son didn't want to cry in front of him. Viktor finally forced his eyes up. They were damp but clear, and his voice was sure.

'Do we need to go and see those aurors off, Father?'

'Not for a while, little bear. I'll take over now. I'd like the two of you to go and relax a bit, please. Perhaps fly? Or read a bit?'

They both left Martin and his wife. As Hermione was leaving, she half saw her father in law to be brush a kiss on the woman's cheek and quickly turned so she wouldn't see any more. Now, of all times, the Krums needed their privacy.

They found Draco and the children in the library, as Draco drilled them both in writing the English alphabet. They both ran to Viktor when they saw him, arms up for hugs.

All of them settled, they eyed one another. What now? There was no pretending there was a normal anymore. Ivan finally decided to break the silence. '_*What does coma mean?*'_

_'*It means that a bad man hurt Mother's brain, and so she can't wake up.*_'

'*_And that's why she'll die?*'_

'*_Yes, Ivan. That's why.*_' Ivan clamoured up in his cousin's lap and hugged him hard, saying nothing. He knew what death was, and that it was forever, but he'd never actually had someone he loved die. How did one navigate something as huge as forever?

Viktor was wondering the same. His life, he thought, would be divided into 'Mother' and 'No Mother', and so would the rest of theirs. She'd fade from the children's minds, eventually, and his own children, and Hermione's, would know her as a picture on the wall or in an album.

Yana stood and threw down her doll. _'*No!*'_

_'*No what, Yana?*'_

'*_No, she can't die! It's not fair!*' _And she burst into tears, having no better means of showing how angry and sad and frightened she was.

Draco blanched. What did he do now? He didn't know how to calm a sobbing child. He finally leant over and awkwardly wrestled the girl onto his lap.

_'*Yana...calm down, would you?*'_

_'*No! No! No!*'_

What would Father do? Draco dropped his voice and said, very softly '_*It's very scary that this happened, isn't it?*'_

Yana stopped sobbing for a second and nodded. '*_Why does Aunt Zhivka have to die? We need her.*'_

Draco inhaled. '*_I don't know, Yana. It's a terrible thing that this happened.*'_

'*_Yes! Not fair!*'_

_'*No, it's not, and you've every right to be angry about it. Can we talk about it?'_

Yana snuggled into Draco's neck. _'*Will the bad men come here?*'_

_'*No*' _said Viktor immediately_. '*They won't come here, Yana.'*_

_'*How do you know? They hurt Aunt Zhivka.*'_

Hermione leant over and took her hand gently. '*_My parents, and Draco's father, are making sure they don't. They'll protect us.*'_

Yana frowned, working this over in her mind. '*_Will the bad men hurt them, too?*'_

_'*I hope not.*'_

_'*But you don't know.*'_

_'*None of us do, Yana.*'_

Ivan was frowning too, also trying to make this make sense. He wished he was a big boy like his cousin and Draco. Then it would make sense, and he wouldn't feel so afraid.

'*_Are you scared_?*'

All three of the elder children looked at one another. Who would admit it first? It was more or less acceptable for Hermione to be afraid, but what about the boys? Would they lose more face being afraid, or pretending not to be?

_'*We're all afraid' _said Hermione. _'But sharing fear makes it go away, I think.*_'

The children digested this. '*_Is Aunt Zhivka afraid, do you think?*'_

_'*No. She's very deeply asleep, and she doesn't feel afraid.*'_

_'*What if she has a bad dream?*'_

_'*She won't, Ivan.*'_

Yana looked speculative. '*_Can we visit her to make sure?*'_

There was another strained silence. That was up to Viktor. He looked down, shoulders knotting, and made his choice.

'*_Yes. We'll go and see Mother now_.*'

It was a very odd procession. Led by Viktor, the small group trailed down the corridors like a bizarre offshoot of the children's crusade. Yana was carrying a small basket with great importance. Behind them, Draco and Hermione were silently trailing. They wished they had something to bring to things, but they had nothing but their wish to help in this.

Martin rose when the group came in. 'Viktor?'

'Father, the children wanted to see Mother. I thought...perhaps this way they'll remember the good things. Should we go?'

Martin shook his head. 'No. Children, come in.'

They did, and both went to look at Zhivka, who was lying as she had been for over a month, unchanging as the tide. Ivan felt a moment of shyness and shrank back against Draco, who clapped his shoulder.

Yana didn't. She climbed up and sat next to her aunt, and then, very gently, touched the strange place on her skull. Yana wasn't scared; her aunt was asleep, was all, and would sleep forever, but that wasn't as scary as just having her gone had been.

After a moment, Ivan climbed in as well. He laid down next to his aunt and closed his eyes. Hadn't they sometimes sat together like this? He snuggled closer. Sometimes when he felt bad, his aunt had let him nap in here, as she worked on mending in the corner. He sighed. Who would mend now, he wondered, if Aunt Zhivka couldn't?

Yana kissed Aunt Zhivka's cheek and climbed down on the bed. 'Can you get the flowers now, Viktor?'

Viktor nodded and swished his wand. A few bundles of herbs and roses flew down and landed in Yana's little basket. Martin cocked his head, and before he could ask, the little girl piped up 'We're taking them to the chapel.'

'Ah.' Martin nodded approvingly. They were bringing an offering, both for his wife, and in some sense, from her. The flowers and herbs were a sort of emblem of who she'd been and how she'd run things, and they would take them and dedicate them there, in the sight of mortals and the Divine.

Viktor left the ones that would be in Zhivka's line of sight should she waken. He thought, deep down, that she would not, but a little hope was all he had, and so he left them where she could see, in case.

Ivan still hadn't moved. Draco bent to pick him up and Martin stopped him. 'He can stay here.' Let the boy have some time with his aunt. He was old enough to remember her, if only a bit, so let him have something to remember. The others quietly exited, and Martin sat back down. 'Ivan, have I ever told you how your aunt and I met?'

'No, Uncle.' Ivan rose carefully and climbed into Martin's lap. 'How?'

'It was spring. I was nineteen years old, and your aunt was seventeen. She was very beautiful, as I recall, and so when I saw her...'

The priest was delighted to see them, and blessed their offering before helping to arrange it. Afterword, he took Viktor aside from a moment and spoke to him very seriously. Viktor nodded a number of times, patted the man's bony shoulder, and then joined them. No one asked; Viktor would share in his own time.

Yana took one of Viktor's hands and one of Hermione's and decided that, having done their duty, they needed to relax a little. She expressed this firmly, as she'd inherited her mother's ability to categorise things in such a way that they seemed very logical.

So when the gentlemen came to find their respective offspring, what they discovered in the small courtyard stayed with them forever. Draco Malfoy, scion of the wealthiest private family in Britain, was blindfolded with his cousin's apron. He moved carefully right and left as the lord and lady of Castle Krum, and Yana, now one of the most desirable unattached ladies in Europe, darted round him.

Rumen smiled at Rodolphus, and Lucius, who was half tempted to sneak up on his son and hit him with a tickling jinx or something. Viktor saw them and the game ceased at once. Draco tugged off the apron and, blushing red, came to see his father.

'*_Hello, gentlemen_.*'

Yana squealed and happily lifted her arms to her father, explaining what she'd done that day. Rumen put her on his hip and listened, asking questions from time to time. He felt a start when his daughter told him she'd seen Aunt Zhivka and that Ivan was still up there.

Viktor stepped up. 'I hope you don't mind, Uncle. I thought it might help for them to...'

Rumen nodded. He might not have done the same, but he trusted his older brother and his nephew. And Yana seemed calmer and more relaxed. Rumen wanted to ask what had caused this, precisely.

But not right now. Right now he'd enjoy his little girl and leave the Englishmen to do the same with their children. And Viktor, of course. His little bear, thought Rumen, wishing he could take this on for his nephew.

Still chattering, Yana let herself be carried into the castle. She adored her Papa, and she'd missed spending time with him. Rumen mouthed an apology which the others waved off; it was natural for a man to want to spend time with his children, and, as Lucius would have pointed out, Yana wouldn't be five forever.

The other two approached and greeted the three remaining children. It was hugely reassuring to Rodolphus and Lucius that they'd taken some time to indulge in purely childish fun. There was something more than a little upsetting about watching their children turning into adults in such a sad and permanent way.

Viktor motioned to the benches. _'Shall ve sit down_?'

Hermione's face lit up and she called for her elf. _'Father's not met Bess yet. Rinky, could you please bring Bess to us?'_

Lucius leant over and took her hand, in order to gently remind her that one does not ask an elf, one orders an elf. He was stopped by the hand itself, which was shockingly rough, the nails gouged and dull.

How had this happened? Didn't that manky old elf the Dark Lord had gifted her know to keep her hands smooth and soft? He'd ask Narcissa whether they ought to get her a proper maid as a gift.

The elf returned with a wriggling ball of fur and a pink, flashing tongue. The elf put the dog down and she ran toward them, yapping happily, tail wagging.

_'This is Bess. She's a Karakachan_.'

Bess sniffed both men with interest, jumping up to nuzzle Rodolphus's hand. Viktor gave her a sharp look. 'No, Bess.'

Bess jumped back down and moved to Draco, one of her best playmates. She tugged his trousers gently to invite him to play, and when that failed, she whined, hoping she'd get passed from arm to arm.

That, at least, succeeded, and soon she was happily sniffing at Rodolphus's beard. He was charmed, as he liked dogs almost as much as Bellatrix, and let her lap his face a bit.

_'She's beautiful, lamb. And that was some meal last night. Your elves are very talented, Viktor.'_

'_Yes_' he agreed. _'All elves have been in family for-tens years-?_'

_'Decades._'

_'Yes, decades_.' He smiled at his fiancee and said _'Herm-on-nee-knee make meals every veek vith elves. Makes...meal lists?'_

_'Menus.'_

_'Yes, menu every veek_.'

Rodolphus looked at his daughter, who was got up in a linen dress and belt, hair braided. There was a heavy ring of keys at her waist, and she was holding an apron in her hands, which, as Lucius had noticed, were rough, the nails chipped.

'_Darling, what have you been doing with your hands?'_

_'Spinning, Father. We carded and spun the wool, and started to weave it to make cloth.'_

_'Don't the elves do that_?'

_'Mostly they do, but we supervise, and I wanted to learn how to do it so I could direct them_.' Hermione was quite proud of that, and wanted her father to be proud, too.

Rodolphus nodded, not fully approving. It wasn't like the Krums didn't have plenty of elves, after all, and why should Hermione ruin her hands when that was the servants were for?

On the other hand, Hermione was visibly glowing with pride. Her rough hands were clearly a mark of distinction to her, so he grinned and gave her a hug. _'Well done, love.'_

Lucius was studying Viktor. His first impression of the boy seemed accurate; big, quiet, tough. He had to give it to him, he'd thought the lad a bit dim, but that impression had been dispelled by the events of the last month and some.

_'Perhaps, Viktor, you'd not mind showing me these kennels? I've heard quite a lot about them._'

Viktor rose and said something to Hermione in Bulgarian. She shook her head and smiled. It took Lucius a second to realise the girl was nodding Bulgarian style now. Yes, she needed a good English ladies' maid so she didn't forget herself. And he'd find a way to get the boy to promise that they'd spend some of the year in Britain. It wouldn't do for Lucius Malfoy's niece to be married to a rustic boyar, no matter how much they liked one another.

Draco knew to stay with his uncle and Hermione. He also knew not to ask Father what was being discussed, but he could gently hint to Viktor if need be. Did Father mean to scold him for something? What could Viktor have done? He hadn't compromised Hermione, at least.

Lucius followed through the complex warren of stairways and tunnels and finally emerged in the kennel yard, where a pack of huge dogs was strolling majestically, their movements slow and fluid and beautiful.

Viktor called one over. It was ancient, one eye milky, toothless and grey. But still powerful, thought Lucius, as the boy knelt and let the dog sniff his hand. Was this a message? Or did the boy just want to show off a beloved pet? Or both?

_'His name means 'Bear'. He is very old_.'

Lucius let the thing sniff him. _'You know, my niece is taken with you.'_

_'Sorry? I do not quite follow. My English is poor.'_

_'No poorer than most native speakers, I'd say. I mean, Hermione cares about you very much.'_

_'And I her. I vant only to be good husband to Herm-on-knee-nee and good lord of Castle Krum vhen is my time.'_

_'Now is your time, it seems. You must be a very brave young man, to do all this yourself.'_

Viktor shook his head. _'I have help. All the family help.'_

_'Yes, of course_.' Lucius bent and scratched the ears of a pup who'd approached, clearly Bess's sibling. This one didn't bark or tug on a cuff; it just sat, waiting.

_'What does it mean, precisely, that you are lord? I'm afraid we do it a bit differently.'_

Viktor frowned contemplatively, gathering his English. _'In old days, boyars fought much. Always fighting. Always var. So Tsar-king-called to court all boyars. Krums, Dinevs, Borevs, others. He take map' _Viktor bent and drew a crude outline in the dirt, and then criss-crossed it with lines _'and he say each set of lines is different family.'_

_'Here, by Pernik, is Borevs. They control mountains. Here, in middle, Dinevs. They have Sofia, and inlands. Here, Krums. Ve have the sea and the coasts, some inlands_.' He subdivided it further and then explained the minor families.

_'So ve sign promise, no more fighting. People come and live, they svear to us their...feally?'_

_'Fealty. Go on.'_

_'They live here vith us forever. We protect them. No one hurt them in ley- lines. Not ever. And when no more Tsar...ve are ancient people. Ve keep old vays.'_

_'I see. And so the great families control ley-lines that form grids of natural power.'_

_'Yes. Castle Krum is ...centre...of ley-line convergence. Castle Borev, Castle Dinev, some monasteries...all centres.'_

_'A nexus, you mean.'_

_'Yes, nexus. We control nexus.'_

_'And so the buildings on your ley-lines draw protective power from the nexus your family has harnessed.' _Lucius was nodding. Britain didn't do it that way anymore, but he was familiar with the general idea. Hogwarts was on a nexus, and so was Gringotts. Lucius wondered what would happen if the wolves did try to come; he'd no doubt the protections were strong here, but anything could be breached if someone was determined enough.

_'And your people_? _Surely they aren't the descendents of those original tenants.'_

_'No. But they sign too. Some move to cities. Their business. But not the best idea.'_

_'Because your protection is only on these lands.'_

_'Yes. Lord is keeper of ley lines. And cities are under protection of Ministry.'_

_'So if there's a problem...'_

_'People come to ancestral home. If they get out. Some can't. Is why castle must have lord. And lady, to help lord.'_

_'And that's yourself and my niece.'_

_'Yes_.' Krum nodded firmly. He was seemingly at peace with his place in things. Lucius leant over and clapped the boy's shoulder.

_'If it comes to it, will you call your people to fight?'_

_'Yes. I send people, and they come under Krum banners.'_

_'I see. How did you like England, if I might ask?'_

_'Very much. Your house is most beautiful.'_

_'Wiltshire, yes. Should you ever find the climate here doesn't suit, our doors are always open to you.'_

Viktor nodded slowly. What was Malfoy about? His English was good but nuance could be tricky.

_'Suppose I were to...arrange a small token of your regard for you all. Something that would enable you to visit whenever you liked.'_

He understood. Viktor rose and stood next to Malfoy. He was quite tall, but Malfoy had nearly three inches on him. _'I vould appreciate very much, sir.'_

_'And the ladies, of course.'_

_'And perhaps I could do same for you. Bulgaria has so many beautiful places, is a shame ve could not have met under more...salut-airy?-condition. Someday your family joins us in rose valley?'_

Lucius nodded. _'Salutary. Of course. We'd be thrilled.' _

Viktor nodded and bent to stroke the elderly dog, who'd shuffled stiffly over and nudged his arm. _'Bear vas quite the hunter in his day. Once led a pack on a small troll from mountain_.' He pointed to the dog's stiff left forepaw. _'Got smashed there. Kept going.'_

_'Impressive. And they guard the castle?'_

_'Some. Most are vith the flock, or else in villages. Krum dogs are all over Bulgaria_.' Viktor's family bred the finest magical strain Karakachans in Easter Europe, and he was proud of their unusually large size and handsomeness. Bear snuffled, as though adding his own war-stories to the mix.

_'If I call banners, all Krum dogs come home, too. They fight vith us.'_

_'You have given this a good deal of thought.'_

_'Have to. If something happen, I send them to you, yes? Hermione and Drago take children and go.'_

_'Yes, absolutely. What about yourself?'_

_'I am lord. Soon I am heir again only. But I must stay.'_

Lucius smiled. _'And if you have not fathered an heir?'_

_'Then Ivan inherit.'_

_'And my niece? She'd refuse to go.'_

_'Drago take her.'_

_'And if she fights him?'_

Viktor frowned, thinking this over. _'I stun her and send her. If I live, she vill be anger with me.'_

_'Angry. Yes, she would. And as I've said, you're always welcome in our home_.'

_'Thank you, Uncle. We should go back now?'_

_'Of course. And for what it's worth to you, I'm awfully sorry about all this_.'

Viktor squared his shoulders. _'Thank you. I am too. But soon I am seventeen.'_

_'And then you'll go and fight?'_

The boy stopped. _'I have not a choice. If they stop, I stop. Do they stop?'_

_'No. I shouldn't think they'll stop.'_

_'Then vhen Hermione is ready, I marry her. And go to var.'_

_'Would you widow my niece so quickly?'_

_'Not for everything. But vhat man can stay here and be man still vhilst others die for him?'_

_'Quite so. But remember my offer.'_

_'If anything happen, I send you Hermione and children. And Drago, if is here.'_

_'And yourself._' Lucius gave the boy a look that sent Draco into nervous squirming. Viktor took it with relative equanimity. Was he going soft? Lucius resolved to ask Narcissa if he was losing his touch.

_'If I can come, I come.'_

_'Good enough_.' Lucius had every intention of making sure of it. He wouldn't have Draco foolishly throwing his life away, and the first step was making sure Krum didn't, either. And the boy had an awkward charm that, with some polish, could be a benefit to them all.

_'I wonder whether you'd like to continue on with your English after everyone has left?'_

_'Very much. Especially reading.'_

_'Of course. Let me see what I can do_.' He'd get the boy a decent valet, an English valet, to polish him. If he was going to be married to Lucius Malfoy's niece, he'd need it.

In Britain, Severus Snape was sitting across from the Dark Lord. His false Mulciber had planted the seed in the Dark Lord's mind, much more plainly that Snape was wont to do.

'Mulciber has had the drollest idea, Severus. He thinks we ought to send one of our people to be Headmaster of Durmstrang. Has he mentioned it to you?'

'He has, my lord. Feathering is related slightly to Archie and myself.'

'Of course. I've told him he's my full permission to do whatever it takes. It would be good for people to see our new order, don't you think?'

'I do, my lord. I wanted to speak to your lordship about that, actually. Would my lord consider sending Draco Malfoy to Durmstrang?'

'We need the Pureblood children here to show the others how to behave.'

'I could not agree more, my lord, but Draco is a special case. He's a target for werewolves. And he could be a powerful tool for recruitment abroad.'

'You feel he would bring many of them to us?'

'I feel he could. He and Krum boy are thick as goblin's porridge. Miss Lestrange seems to think the little cousin virtually worships him.'

'How cute. I see your point, Snape. Make the arrangements.'

'Yes, my lord.'

'And the Krum woman?'

'Her condition is very poor, my lord.'

'Then she will die.'

'Yes, I believe that she will.'

'You must go and represent me to them, Snape.'

'Of course, my lord.'

'Very well. I'll have Rookwood write you a safe passage and a letter of exchequer.'

'You mean for me to leave right now, my lord?'

'What better time is there? Of course, you'll need to pack and such. So shall we say an hour's time?'

Snape stood and bowed, head spinning, and backed from the room, wondering how this would play out.


	44. Chapter 44

**A/N: Love to reviewers and Countess Black**

**Thanks, y'all. I really do feel loads better knowing people like what I do.**

Cunegarde Lestrange Mulciber Wilkes Lestrange had sat vigil for the dying, by her own estimation, no fewer than fourteen times. The first had been at seventeen, for her mother, who had suffered a month with the Hierophant's Chorea that killed her.

The last one had been the final friend of her girlhood, a McKinnon who'd never married. That had been fifteen years earlier. She'd been spryer then. The friend had been the last person on earth who'd known her school nickname, which was Gardie.

Of all those vigils, the hardest by far had been her children's, and of those two, the harder one (can one quantify things of those nature?) had been her daughter. So when she woke and found the girl standing next to her, she'd sat up, gasping, thinking that, somehow, Ermentrude had returned, perhaps compelled by the vigil the whole house was keeping for the Bulgarian woman.

Of course, it wasn't she, but that was who Cunegarde saw for a moment as the girl stood next to the bed mutely, eyes ringed in shadows.

_'Hello, Aunt Cunegarde_.'

Cunegarde sat down her plainwork and gave the girl a terrible look. _'How long did you sleep last night?'_

_'I wake up at five every-'_

_'That is not what I asked you. How long did you sleep last night?'_

_'A few hours.'_ Hermione slumped. _'Mother Krum doesn't have long left.'_

_'No. And will you heal her by refusing to sleep?'_

_'I'm all right. Really. Do you need anything?'_

Cunegarde glared. _'I certainly do. Lie down. I wish to instruct you in your duty to that boy in what's to come.'_

Hermione walked to the other side of the bed and climbed up. She hadn't slept more than four hours last night, and her head was buzzing with exhaustion. She tried to prop up on her elbow but she found she couldn't. Linky came and took off the girl's shoes, and spelled the blankets up to the girl's chin.

Hermione was shaking her head. _'No. Can't. Have to...'_

Cunegarde snorted. _'What good are you to them half asleep, hmm? What's going on that they can't spare you for an hour? Did no one notice how tired you are?'_

Hermione mumbled. _'Had to greet the guests_. _Uncle Penko and Snape and Grandmama came.'_

_'Your grandmama is dead, child.'_

_'Viktor's.'_

_'Hmmph, and where's that mother and posh aunt of yours when you need them?_'

_'Mother's training all yesterday and last night and today. And Aunt Narcissa went with Uncle to Sofia. Don't know why_.'

_'Hmmph. Linky, send word I'm keeping the girl until she's slept. And get her into her nightgown, she's staying here for the nonce.'_

The elf did as she was bidden, and returned with a message from Rodolphus, who thanked Cunegarde and agreed to pass the word on. The old woman took up her piecework again, settling back with the air of the vindicated.

Hermione woke just as the sun was setting. She was warm, and the bed was soft and thick. She nestled into it and sighed, thinking muzzily that any second Dad would call her for breakfast. After a second, when she heard voices speaking Bulgarian, she remembered who and what she was, and sat up with a gasp. The woman next to her raised a brow.

_'Going someplace?'_

_'I have to get up!'_

_'Lie back down. We've not had our talk.'_

Hermione did. _'What did you want to talk about?'_

_Cunegarde looked frankly at her. 'You will stop this.'_

_'Stop what?'_

_'This. It isn't seemly, and it shan't help anything.'_

Hermione looked at the blanket, sighing deeply. _'No, Aunt Cunegarde.'_

_'Don't you "No" me, girl, I can tell when I'm being soft-soaped. Why do you do this? You've plenty of help.'_

_'Someone has to.'_

_'And must it always be you?'_

_'I'm chatelaine.'_

_'You're thirteen. Do you think people will love you more if you don't ask them to help you?'_

Hermione jerked. A less composed child would have burst directly into tears. She didn't, though they shimmered in her eyes. She swallowed hard, wishing she could make her escape then and there, nighty be damned.

Cunegarde reached out with one of her little claws and tipped the girl's face up. _'Nothing you do' _she said bluntly _'could make us love you more. You have been ideal these past weeks, and if you think no one's noticed, you are very wrong. But that does not give you permission to run yourself ragged. It shan't help. I know.'_

Hermione sagged against the pillows. _'It's hard.'_

_'It doesn't get easier, we've discussed this. But if you let yourself get ill, you'll make it harder and not easier.'_

_'I worry.'_

_'Because of those muggles?'_

Hermione went white. She didn't want to replay that incident. She inhaled and tried to find a way to squirm out of this. She needn't. Instead, the woman sniffed and said _'Well, don't. Your mother's like a cursed knut, one can't get ride of her_.'

Hermione nodded slowly. _'I have to trust.'_

_'Yes, you do. Now go and do your duty. And let Linky do something with your hair, it's wild_.' Hermione asked Rinky to bring the hip bath, and she had a quick bath, and let the old elves braid her hair.

When she emerged, she nearly ran into Viktor, who was coming from his mother's room. Hermione felt a terrible stab of guilt, which was allayed as soon as Viktor stopped and said 'I slept too.'

He hadn't wanted to. His mother had not changed but he could sense that death was getting ever closer. He'd slept only because Penko, who was as unimpressed with Viktor's lordship as he'd ever been with Martin's, had refused to take no for an answer, and had finally resorted to threatening to tell the chatelaine every embarrassing story he could remember about his nephew. After mentioning a few salient examples, Viktor had given in.

As he was walking to his bedroom, Penko had stopped him with a hand on his shoulder, and then a hard hug. 'Little bear, you know how proud I am, don't you?'

Viktor nodded into his uncle's shoulder. He wanted to stay there a long time, and Penko let him.

'Wake me if something...'

'Of course I will. But you take a good nap. Promise?' Viktor did, too. He'd slept almost seven hours, and woken refreshed not more than twenty or thirty minutes before Hermione had come out.

The two of them walked by unspoken accord to find Draco and the dogs. From the corner, a shadow detached itself and proved to be Severus Snape. He bowed, a touch sardonically.

_'My lord and lady Krum. May I join you_?'

The three of them walked in silence for some time. _'I believe young Mister Malfoy is with his father and mother for now. Tell me, how are you both?'_

_'All right, Professor. You?'_

_'I have been worse. May I meet these dogs the children were shouting about_?'

Salazar, as it turned out, had beaten them there. He'd managed somehow to herd the pups into a rough line, and was teaching them to bow as the three came in. Hermione was, of course, utterly charmed, and praised the smug bastard of a dog profusely, despite his having objectively done very little to merit it, as far as Snape could see.

_'You __**are**_ _a smart boy! Can you teach Bess to sit and walk as nicely as you do?_' The dog barked an affirmative and then growled at a pup who'd started to slink out of line.

She came back, slightly abashed at having forgot herself. Viktor smiled a bit, and then the three sat down together and studied one another, spymaster and spies. Rather, spymaster, spy and future spymaster, even if the boy didn't know it yet.

_'How did you find camp?'_

_'It vas good. I am Seeker now.'_

_'Yes. And the strange outbreak of rash?'_

_'I did not get.'_

_'Excellent.'_

_'Other symptoms, though. Awful. Hristov vent home. His stomach_.'

Snape nodded. _'Unfortunate, to be sure_.' He hadn't been sure what he'd find when he arrived, announced at the last second, at two thirty AM, but he'd been greeted by the two children as though it were the most normal thing in the world. Both of them had looked exhausted, to be sure, but not wholly unwell given what had happened.

And now, eighteen hours later, they both looked better, but not the same as they had been. Miss Lestrange, he noticed with a surprising pang, hadn't bounced a single time, or chirped, or otherwise given any indication of her usual boundless energy.

On the one hand, he was pleased to see the boy had gained some self confidence. He held his head up when he walked, and seemed to miss nothing. That was good for Krum, but was it good for Snape?

He'd bowed low. '_'My lord, my lady, on behalf of the Dark Lord and myself, please accept the sincere best wishes of our people on this terrible catastrophe. I apologise for imposing on you on this difficult time_.'

Krum had stepped forward and smiled. _'Please, Professor, tell the Dark Lord ve are honoured you have come. Be velcome in this place as long as you might stay_.'

Snape rose and then nodded to them both. Miss Lestrange had come to him and extended a hand for him to kiss. _'Professor, I'd imagine you're hungry. Shall I have food and hot water brought for you to refresh yourself with? And scraps for Salazar_?'

_'That would be most kind. I would not have brought him but I had no time to find a suitable replacement as regards his care.'_

_'Of course. Hello, boy_.' Black came forward and lapped her hand, whining softly. She scratched his head for a moment, visibly swaying, and Snape decided to act. _'Miss Lestrange, Mr. Krum, perhaps it would be wise for you to retire, you're far too tired to be of any use this way_.' But, of course, neither had slept well.

_'Did anything else of interest happen, Mr. Krum_?'

_'Quidditch things. But not thing-things_.' He'd picked that usage up from Hermione, who made a face at him where Snape couldn't see. Viktor gave it straight back the second the dour potions master was looking elsewhere.

Snape pretended not to see. It was well they could still play a bit, even if he usually discouraged that sort of thing on principle. Black, meanwhile, had moved onto teaching the pups to roll, and a number of fat and shaggy dogs were now awkwardly rolling across the muddy kennelyard, yapping with excitement at the whole thing. Black demonstrated a roll into a bow, and then stood looking at the humans, head cocked.

_'Flash bastard' _muttered Snape, and ignored the smug dog as much as he could.

_'Miss Lestrange, I wonder whether you'd be willing to arrange for Salazar to have a bath? He's been rolling in that mud for some time_.'

_'Of course, Professor. Let me talk to the kennel elf, they can all have one. If you don't mind, Viktor_?'

_'No, puppies will need baths. Visitors soon_.' Hermione rose and made her way into the kennel to speak to the elf, knowing she was being asked to step out for a reason. The elf was delighted to be asked to do something, and so within five minutes Salazar was being coaxed into a tub by a combination of Hermione and a very determined coterie of elves.

Snape watched her go and then looked to his new apprentice. _'I've a candidate for headmaster which the Krums must back.'_

_'Who is it?'_

_'That's not important right now. But it's in all of our interests that this man be headmaster. I've a letter from the Dark Lord that says much the same thing, and another for Dinev.' _What he had was a letter promising the Bulgarians good things in return for their vote that the English candidate be instated as Headmaster.

Krum nodded. _'Yes, all right. But you talk to my father and tell him...something, because I am not much longer lord_.'

_'I will. And I want you to be his right hand-his second. He's aware. You may choose whomever you like as prefects and so forth, but you will be his Bellatrix to his Dark Lord.'_

Viktor nodded. _'Yes.'_

_'I 'm sending Draco Malfoy to you. It would be safer.'_

_'I think so. It is not safe in Britain now, Professor_.' Viktor liked the idea of having the people he cared about under his purview. He wanted to help Draco improve with his defence, and to make sure that Hermione would be safe no matter where she went.

_'It is hard place, Durmstrang. Cold. Drago can do it?'_

_'You'll help him?'_

_'Yes. Ve learn much together this way.'_

Snape nodded, satisfied. _'I shouldn't disagree. How are you? Really_?'

Viktor looked down. _'My mother dies soon.'_

_'Yes. I am truly sorry_.'

Viktor nodded. _'Something in return?'_

_'Perhaps.'_

_'Not someone...bad. Karakaroff was bad. Someone kind.'_

Snape nodded, knowing what the boy meant. _'Karkaroff was a petty tyrant with a penchant for sadism. No, this fellow is nothing like that. He's slightly mad, but you'll never met anyone better for defensive magic.'_

Viktor nodded. _'Drago needs to vork on it. Maybe you tell him vould please you? Please his father?'_

_'It could be arranged. How is everything else?'_

_'Fine. For how long?'_

_'Would that I could tell you that.'_

_'How is it vith volves? Good luck?'_

_'They've gone to ground. Those aurors will help us flush them, but it will be a brutal war, Mr. Krum.'_

_'Ve prepare for siege at castle. Much food and vater in basement.'_

_'Good. You've done me a great service by keeping all the non-combatants here.'_

_'Is good to have them. But it makes us target, says Scabior.'_

_'He's right.' _The wolves would have to be insane to attempt to take on a walled castle, especially one with Bellatrix Lestrange and nearly every other Death Eater of real note in it.

Or desperate. If they pushed them enough..._'What will you do, if you are attacked_?'

Viktor looked grim. _'Castle, you mean? If volves come here?'_

_'Yes._'

_'Close drawbridge, light...ditch...?'_

_'Moat.'_

_'Moat, light moat, then shutter windows. Send vimen and children with Drago, close Floo connexions, set up armed guard round valls. Then ve vait.'_

Snape nodded. _'And your people?'_

_'Come here, if there is time. If no time, then they fight, ve all hope for the best.'_

_'And if you can't get the women out?'_

_'Ve take them to centre of keep and close off towers. Ve have food and vater enough for six months of siege.'_

_'By then, someone will come to lift the siege_.'

_'Yes._' Krum didn't seem wholly sure, and again, Snape felt a flare of pride for the boy. Did his little spy know how well she'd done in this plain faced, soft voiced son of Durmstrang?

She came out as though called, followed by a stormy looking Black and a damp, prancing puppy. She sat down next to her fiancé and Snape saw how their hands brushed, and how they bent toward each other, like flowers follow the sun.

Black huffed and sat down, giving Snape a look that clearly promised a lot more piss in a lot more shoes, to coin a phrase. Snape raised a brow and gave one of his rare, terrifying smiles. _'Don't you look all squeaky clean, Salazar? Goodness me, I'd have hardly recognised him._'

Hermione scratched the dog's ears. _'He was fine. I think Bess likes him._'

'_Bess_?'

Hermione, proud as a mother, picked up the puppy, who yapped to meet a new friend and then wriggled to go into this strange man's lap. Severus Snape, spymaster of Britain, did not hug puppies, especially not puppies who jump around making a ridiculous little noise that certainly wasn't a proper bark.

Yet somehow, he ended up with the ludicrous creature on his lap, as she danced with glee and tried to tug his hair. _'Why "Bess_"?'

_'For the queen. The first one, I mean, not Her Majesty. Some bad things happened to her when she was young, but she was very brave about it all.'_

_'Of course' _said Snape, who let the puppy down. Bess danced round Sirius, and the dog finally stopped pouting and pounced her. They grappled, Black clearly holding upper hand, but the younger dog wasn't deterred a bit. She wagged the whole time-what fun this was! She had so many playmates these days!

Hermione watched them wrestling with a smile. She hadn't smiled much in the last few days, come to think of it. She'd spent most of the day previous in helping Lyudmilla tend Mother Krum-rolling her over so she didn't get a bedsore, rubbing her swelling arms and legs, making sure her lips didn't crack.

It was hard. They couldn't touch Mother Krum's skin directly, because she was sweating a noissome fluid that would make them very ill should they get it on their own skin, so they had to shield charm their hands so it didn't get into their pores. Lyudmilla had taught Hermione to use a bubble-head charm in order to protect her nose and mouth from the smell of illness, but it couldn't bloke the sight of the blood which was pooling under the skin, spreading up from the feet, or the spongy feeling of flesh under her shielded hands.

And Mother wasn't home. Hermione knew she was acting like a baby about the whole thing, and reminded herself about making sacrifices and being chatelaine and doing for others, but she eventually decided none of those things could change how she felt, which is to say, she wanted Mother.

Viktor rose so his fiancee could have time with her old teacher. _'I go and help elves vith dogs_.' Bear needed to be handled with care, and Viktor wanted to personally make sure the venerable survivor of a thousand battles against trolls, wolves and poachers got what he needed.

_'Well, Miss Lestrange, how goes it?'_

Hermione watched the dogs. _'As well as it can, I suppose. You?'_

_'The same as ever. How do you find your role in things?'_

_'I like it. Viktor is brilliant and the castle is nice._'

Snape noticed her red, rough hands. _'What happened there?'_

Hermione explained. _'And then I got to choose fur and everything.'_

_'You're sincerely happy with this, aren't you?'_

_'Yes. But I...I wish Mother would come back_.' Her shoulders were knotting, and her hands were wringing the apron she was wearing. Snape said nothing; the girl needed to work through things in her own time, was all.

_'And soon she'll leave, won't she? For Britain?'_

_'Yes. That will probably happen_.'

Hermione nodded, looking as though she'd expected it. Probably she had. Snape had no idea what she'd do if her parents left her to go to war, but he suspected this would not help with her obsessive fear of abandonment.

_'Oh.'_

_'Miss Lestrange?'_

The girl shook her head no. Black came and nosed her hand, and she scratched his ruff distractedly, eyes fixed on the ground. _'Miss Lestrange?'_

_'Professor?'_

_'Do you plan on pouting all night, or just until I ask what's wrong?_'

The girl's head snapped up. _'I am not pouting. My parents are going to fight in a war and they might not come back. And my uncles, and you, and everyone else. Then Viktor will go, and Draco, and I'll have to watch all of you die.' _

She reached out blindly and Black stepped into her lap, letting her bury her face in his neck. His eyes, to Snape, were hard and cold, unlike a dog's eyes in every way. The girl clung to the big, soft dog, whimpering softly. _'I want my mother_.'

_'Miss Lestrange_...' What did he say, exactly? He'd never calmed an upset child. He'd upset a good many children, but not ever tried to repair the damage. Severus Snape, spymaster of Britain, did not hug, but he had to do something, if nothing else because if Krum came out and saw the girl weeping, he'd trace the source to Snape without any trouble.

_'Miss Lestrange, calm down. Nothing's happening this moment, is it_?'

The girl ignored him. She hugged the dog tighter and the dog, obligingly, rumbled a low, soothing sound and raised his head to gently lap her face.

Hermione's world was the dog and the stone bench and her terribly hurt feelings. She wouldn't look at Snape. Didn't he understand what was happening? She felt young and scared, and she wanted him to hug her and say something reassuring. Or something, because he was the only person she could confide in about her feelings. She dried her eyes on her sleeve and raised her head a little. Salazar chuffed approvingly and gave her a gentle bonk with his head, right on her chin. Was the dog telling her to keep her chin up?

Snape would feed the damned dog some steak. Or something, because he'd somehow got the girl semi-calm again. He was going to get an earful later, Snape didn't doubt, but for right now it had to be enough.

_'Miss Lestrange? Look at me.'_

_'That wasn't very nice, Professor.'_

_'I do not do nice, girl. But I spoke rather hastily. Perhaps. A bit.'_

Hermione recognised this as an apology of sorts, and accepted it with a smile. To Snape's horror, this somehow translated to his climbing into his lap again, and resting her head on his shoulder.

_'Are you afraid, too?'_

_'Afraid?'_

_'We are. Even Viktor.'_

_'It's normal to be in this situation_.'

_'And this has happened to you quite a lot. Before, I mean. Lots of people you cared about, isn't it?'_

Snape's heart skipped a beat. He forced his pulse to slow and tried to figure out how to get the child (who had the unimaginable nerve to cuddle against him! Severus Snape, spymaster of Britain, did not cuddle! And the bastard dog was smirking at him, damn his insufferable eyes!) off his lap. Finally he nodded once.

_'Yes, many of my contemporaries went to war and did not return.'_

_'Did you go?'_

Snape had gone. He'd once fought Alice Longbottom and Marlene McKibbon, alongside Malfoy and Rabastan, laughing and taunting the aurors before they'd made their escape. He could tell her stories of battles, skirmishes, killings, wounds.

Instead, he gruffly patted her back. _'Yes. It is quite a painful topic.'_

_'I'm sorry, Professor.' _Unimaginably, she was hugging him. Hard, with her face in his shoulder. Snape's reputation would never recover. He'd obliviate the dog, that was all. And the girl, and whomever else. It would be fine.

The girl picked up her head. _'Professor?'_

_'Miss Lestrange?'_

_'Why does Barty have moments where he remembers things?'_

_'The damage is localised, Miss Lestrange. It might be that his brain is repairing itself.'_

_'Will he get better?'_

_'A bit, perhaps, but he'll never be like he was.'_

Hermione nodded. _'He and Uncle Rabastan were very good friends, weren't they?'_

_'Yes, they were. Your uncle sponsored Barty to join.'_

_'He and the other potioner, wasn't it?'_

Snape's ears perked up. _'Where did you hear that?'_

_'Barty asked Uncle about it last night. I think more than once, because I heard Uncle Lucius say he was talking about it a few days ago.'_

_'Yes. Your uncle sponsored them both, some years apart.'_

_'Who sponsored you?'_

_'Your uncle Malfoy.'_

_'How old were you?'_

_'Seveteen. Regulus Black joined that same night. Bellatrix sponsored him. Our birthdays were three days apart.'_

_'He was my cousin, Regulus. Right?'_

_'Yes. You own his house now. His parents' house, rather.'_

Hermione nodded. _'Viktor and I will spend time there, I'm sure. He wants our children to speak English well.'_

_'That's wise of you both.'_

_'Professor?'_

_'Miss Lestrange?'_

_'Uncle Rabastan was close to Evan?'_

_'What makes you say that?'_

_'He gets white in the face when that name comes up.'_

Snape nodded and closed his eyes a second. _'We've all lost people we care about, Miss Lestrange. Barty is like a small child, if it comes into his head he blurts it out_.'

Hermione nodded, feeling sadder by the moment. _'He used to be loads different, I expect. Smart.'_

_'Yes, he was. And very good at magic.'_

_'That's really sad, isn't it?'_

_'Yes. Tragedy stalks us all, Miss Lestrange_.'

Hermione looked round and then rose, feeling a little embarrassed, but much better. The dog danced at her feet to make her giggle. Hermione scratched his ears and smiled gratefully.

_'He's a wonderful dog, Professor. Where did you find him?'_

_'In the woods.'_

_'And someone taught him to do all this and then dumped him? How dreadful.'_

_'It's for the best. People who throw out those that depend on them without just cause don't deserve to have them.'_

Salazar woofed as though to agree and then laid down, keeping an eye on the two. Hermione nodded looked to the kennel. _'I should go and see if Viktor wants a snack.'_

_'Take your elf.'_

_'I will. Thank you, Professor_.' And then, the impertinence to end all impertinences, she pecked his cheek! His dignity would never recover. And the bastard dog was gobbling it all up like ice cream!

The girl set off across the yard and a moment later, emerged with the boy beside her. They both waved and then wandered into the bowels of the castle, holdings hands and chatting animatedly in Bulgarian. Snape shook his head and then rose. _'Well, Salazar, do introduce me to the rest of the family, would you?'_

Snape dismissed the elves and then warded the room thoroughly. Black transformed back and, eyes gleaming, made the necessary introductions.

_'Mmm. Keep your eye out for anything unsual going on. I suspect things will get interesting when Madam Krum joins the ancestors.'_

Black nodded, eyes still sparkling. _'All right, Snape.'_

_'Out with it, Black!'_

_'Sorry?'_

_'Go on and laugh. You're clearly aching for it_.'

Black shook his head. _'Would I ever?'_

_'Yes.'_

_'True enough. But I think I'll save my good humour for someone who appreciates it. Good old Mad Eye, say.'_

_'I could obliviate you.'_

_'Then I'd not remember what you just told me.'_

_'You're unbelievable.'_

_'I know. She needed to hear that from you, though, you know. You're Padfoot to her Bess.'_

_'I am nothing like your mangy dog form.'_

_'All right.'_

_'Black, damn it.'_

_'Snape?'_

_'If you don't wipe that smirk off your face, I'll have you neutered. That should calm you down.'_

Black snorted. _'He just doesn't want any competition from my enormous-_' Bess yapped to show she totally agreed, despite her lack of understanding about what Sirius had been about to say.

_'Black, damn you!'_

_'Snape?'_

Snape turned and stalked out, with the dog's barking laughter ringing in his ears.


	45. Chapter 45

**A/N: Love to reviewers and Countess Black**

**Lots of references this chapter:**

**'Like a thief in the night' is a reference to a quote from the bible.**

**'...cursed with a little taste' is from Silence of the Lambs**

**Thanks again to everyone who's speaking up :)**

Death came for Zhivka, not like a thief in the night, but like an act of completion, the final guest to arrive at the celebration of her life. Everyone else was there, even the two children, even Barty.

Her blood pressure had started to drop just after supper, and Snape, recognising it as the beginning of the end, had woken Martin from his exhausted semi-doze and called the priest.

By the time the priest arrived, the room had quietly filled. Zhivka had lived amongst them. It was meet she start her journey the same way, with the family on hand to speed her passage to the stars.

As the assembled watched in silence, the priest had sprinkled her with holy water, forgiven her sins, and readied her soul for the moment of it's departure as well as he could. The others joined the prayers or didn't, as was their preference. Hermione did; she could follow well enough, and much of it was familiar to her, enough that she joined in wishing her mother in law an easy passage.

The priest finished and stepped back, nodding to Martin. He took her head in his lap. She was cold to the touch already, her lips turning blue, her nail-beds dusky as her circulations slowed. Her breathing had taken on the hitching, jerking rhythm that presages shut down of the respiration.

'It wasn't supposed to end like this, Zhivka. I'm sorry. Forgive me?' He whispered it, not wanting the others to know, trying not to imagine the rest of his life alone without her, decades of their cold, cold bed.

Her mother came next, and took her daughter's hand. 'Zhivka? Zhivka, it's Mama. It's all right, love. Go on. We'll be along after you.' She could give her daughter nothing else except, at last, permission to leave them. Her way was open; her soul could depart without looking back.

Then Viktor. He took her other hand and bent to whisper in her ear. 'Mama? It's all right. I love you.' Hermione was right next to him, sitting on a stool, as befitted her position, and because Viktor couldn't conscience the absence of them both at that moment. He was bidding his mother farewell, and he wanted Hermione close by, so he didn't worry, even for an instant, that he might lose her, too.

Zhivka's breath stopped and started at increasingly long intervals until just after midnight. Then her breath stopped, and death slid into the room with them and Zhivka, finally, could go.

The medi-witch stepped up and checked the woman's pulse with her fingertips. Nothing. She swished and no sound filled the room. Silence. It was, after nearly two months, over at last.

The priest was the first to move. He started the prayer for a newly departed soul, and it galvanised them. Martin stood, gently rested his wife's head on the pillow, and then turned to both mother in law and son. 'Mother Borev? Viktor?' They both released the hands they were holding and Martin silently arranged them on Zhivka's chest.

Viktor was numb. He shook his head and then rose, lurching, as Hermione caught his arm to steady him. He held the wall for a moment, dizzy, and then straightened. He turned and murmured something that no one else caught, just for Hermione. She nodded and went to stand next to her aunt Narcissa, who reached out and took her hand as Viktor had done.

Lyudmilla only gave her a moment. 'We need to prepare her, Hermione. It's your duty.'

Hermione nodded, and Penko began to gently shoo the English from the room, along with the children and the shell-shocked, blinking Martin. Rumen tailed the group, prepared to host whilst his brother and nephew were in no state to do so.

Lyudmilla tugged the sheet back as the elves appeared with water. Hermione had no idea what to do. Her aunt in law had guessed as much, and she handed the girl a sponge and gestured to the basin.

'We need to wash her and anoint her with the rose otto. Zhivka loves-loved-roses. Did you know that?'

'Viktor said.'

'And then we'll dress her. After she's dressed, the elves will take her to the chapel. There will be a vigil there as well. Rumen and I, and Penko, and her mother.'

'Yes. I should send you something?'

'No. We'll be all right. That's right, just like that.' Hermione was sponging her mother in law's face lightly. She felt cool but not cold, and her eyes were closed. She might have been sleeping.

As Hermione washed her mother in law's mortal shell, Lyudmilla brushed and plaited her hair, and then coiled it onto her head as elegantly as she could, taking care to hide the new growth of bone.

They dressed Zhivka in clothes from her wardrobe, still quite full. Lyudmilla chose blue, with a white chemise and snowy kerchief. Hermione gave her own handkerchief as a parting gift, and carefully made sure that all the details were perfect.

The elves finally came with the bier and took Zhivka, in her finery, to the chapel to wait for the vigil there to start. Lyudmilla stopped Hermione and looked at the point above her head.

'You'll wait for your mother to come? And Stefan Borev?'

'Yes, Aunt. I should ask Viktor to go rest now?'

'No. He'll want to wait with you. Keep him away from Stefan, they don't get on well.'

Hermione went to the hall. The English contingent was gathered in a small knot by the fireplace.

Hermione found her father and leant against him a second. Rodolphus immediately stood and embraced her. _'Pet, shhh. Shhh. It's all right.'_

Hermione nodded against his chest. _'Yes. Yes, it's...I have to wait for Mother and Uncle Stefan Borev.'_

_'Alone?_'

_'I don't know. Aunt didn't say._' Hermione didn't want to be alone, but she also wanted to do what she was supposed to. She felt alert physically but so tired in her mind that it was like she was watching a play. Rodolphus gently stepped back and sat back down, moving so his daughter could squeeze in.

The Floo flared just as Viktor came in. His father would be sleeping in a guest room that night, and he wanted to wait with Hermione. Perhaps the others would like some fresh air?

The elf appeared to comfort the family as they, in obedience to their host's wishes, slipped out. Rodolphus and the Malfoys opted to stay close, in order to provide whatever help they could. Draco, especially, was grimly determined to do right by his cousin and friend.

The man that stepped out looked so much like Zhivka that he could only be a brother. Viktor stiffened but didn't move otherwise. He was watchful, like a mastiff sniffing the air.

'Viktor! Aren't you going to come and greet me?'

'Where were you?'

'Business, lad? Have food sent, would you? I'm starved.'

'No.'

'Sorry?'

'Get back in the Floo and go to whatever brothel or gambling den or wherever you were. I'll tell everyone you've been detained. No one needs to know you were ever here at all.'

The man's eyes widened. 'What are you talking about?'

'My mother's died. You weren't here.'

'The letter said she had time.'

'Four days ago, she did.'

'Where's Martin? Why did he send a child to greet me?'

Viktor silently held out a hand. Stefan's eyes widened, and Hermione found herself understanding why no one talked about this uncle.

'Now leave.'

The man set his jaw, looking, for a second, very like Viktor himself. They eyed one another, and Stefan pulled himself to his full height. 'I'd hear it from my brother in law, then, not a boy.'

'I am lord of this castle.'

'Let me speak to Martin.'

'My father has lost his wife this evening. I will not disturb him for you. He is too upset. If you'd rather hear it from Uncle Rumen, or my father in law, or my uncle in law, I'll summon them.'

Stefan sat down at the closest table, snorting. 'Viktor, you're thirteen.'

'Fifteen.'

'Fifteen, right. And I just want to say goodbye to Zhivka. Isn't that what she would want?'

Viktor's throat worked. His dislike of Stefan warred with the fact he was Mother's brother. What should he do? He turned and looked at Hermione, who looked as lost as he felt.

Hermione dropped her voice. She was being, she knew, unpardonably rude, but she was chatelaine first in this situation. 'Sir, you stay here, please, whilst lord and I talk it over.'

'And you are?'

'Hermione Lestrange, my fiancée and the chatelaine of this castle.' Viktor's voice was hard and flat, daring Stefan to object.

'Of course. My lady.' Stefan rose his brows mockingly, and had their not been a body in the house, Viktor would have reacted then and there. Hermione felt like she was balanced on a knife's edge; this situation could not help but explode. The question was when and how, at this point.

'Snetzka, ayran and bread and cheese, please, for Mr. Borev, and a basin and cloth to bathe his face and hands.' The whole room reeked of cologne, and it just made her more nervous.

Rodolphus and the others were waiting in the antechamber when Viktor and Hermione came in. Viktor seemed to have been roused from his usual placid good nature, and it made the instincts of every person in the room, honed razor sharp, start to sing.

_'Mother's brother is come. He is not good man.'_

_'Did something happen?'_

_'Not yet.'_

The adults exchanged looks. This was a tricky situations, to be sure, but none of them would let the boy do this alone if they had a choice. He could simply have the man removed by force and then shut off the Floo connexion from wherever the man got sent, but might that do more harm than good?

Draco stood up. _'I'll watch him for you. With Mother and Father's permission_.' He didn't want to do it. He sensed this would be some tedious at best and dangerous at worst, but he had both parents alive and with him, and it would be an act of silent thanks for this fact that he'd do it if he had to.

Rodolphus, too, stood, and clapped the boy's back. _'I should like to get to know my in-laws a bit better. Draco, would you mind if I accompanied you?'_

_'No, Uncle.'_

_'Lucius? Narcissa?'_

_'Please do_.' Rodolphus looked at his son in law to be and raised a brow. Viktor nodded and then lowered his voice. _'If he give you problem, elves throw him out. He have sticky hands.'_

_'Fingers. Don't worry about him, hmm?_' Rodolphus followed Draco into the other room. After a second, Viktor and Hermione followed. Stefan was studying the tapestries on the walls, hands behind his back.

'Stefan.' He turned, and Rodolphus felt the same instinctive dislike his daughter had felt. The man's hair shone greasily with pomade. He stank of musk and something alcoholic , and the sleeves of his robes hung down almost to his knees. He looked like a cheap bounder, a man cursed with a little taste and too much money to squander on it.

'*_Rodolphus Lestrange, this is Stefan Borev, my mother's brother. My father in law, and his nephew, Draco Malfoy.*_'

'*_A pleasure, gentlemen.*' _His eyes sparkled with amusement, and Draco felt a strange, primal jolt of distaste that made his mouth taste like copper. He didn't want to escort this man anywhere. He seemed...off.

'You would like a sleep now? Rest, I mean. You sleep in guest room at the end of corridor.' This from Hermione, who was still tight against Viktor's side. There was something about this man she found faintly repulsive. Stefan turned back and bowed again. 'My lady, I would be forever grateful.'

Hermione nodded, and beside her, Viktor stiffened even more. 'Fine. Draco and Father Lestrange will come to collect you in an hour's time.'

'You're the lord.' Stefan bowed a final time and followed the elf that came to guide him. The group watched him go, and Rodolphus put a hand to Viktor's shoulder. _'Nicely handled, lad.'_

_'Thank you. Hermione and I can go and have valk?'_

_'Take the elf, would you?'_

_'Yes. You vant us take Snetzka and you have Rinky? He speak English. Ve come back and greet Mother Lestrange vhen she arrive._'

_'Of course_.' Rodolphus didn't think the children would try anything, and it might be advisable to have the English speaking elf if they should have to have Stefan removed. Hopefully, he'd behave, or restrict himself to being an insufferably smug berk, which could be lived with.

Precisely what had this fellow done? Rodolphus would ask Rumen or Penko at first chance. He spent a moment stroking his daughter's hair. '_Hermione_' he said, very softly _'you aren't ever to be alone with Stefan, do you understand_?'

_'Yes, Father_.' Her eyes were big and soft, and he could sense discomfort from her. He wondered whether she knew she could press her advantage with Viktor and demand the man's removal. Perhaps it was better she not; this situation could devolve very quickly, and whilst Rodolphus was no politician, he could almost smell the combustible nature of these personalities. A spark could make it explode.

Snetzka, the house keeper apparent of Castle Krum, appeared, bowing, face like a pound of bad clams, and followed the two children as they departed. Rodolphus suspected the boy wanted to break down with just his daughter there to see him. It was wonderful, how close the children were, but worrisome as well. Where did the adults fit into a life where the children had learnt to depend on one another so fully?

Draco sat down, sighing deeply, and put his head in his hands. '_Uncle?'_

_'Migraine, Draco_?' If it was, the boy was going to bed. Lucius would back him fully, and Rodolphus wanted to have a relationship with his nephew, who seemed a good boy to him, and part of that was caring for him when he needed it.

_'No, sir. That man is trouble. He's going to start something_.'

_'Spoiling for a fight, I'd say.'_

_'His sister has died.'_

_'It brings out the worst in people, Draco. I don't know why.'_

Draco's face changed subtly. His eyes narrowed slightly and his mouth pursed thoughtfully. Draco always looked like his father, but now the resemblance was almost uncanny.

_'I daresay he'll get one if he doesn't behave, Uncle. Father won't let him torment Viktor or Hermione_.' As always, Draco fully believed his father's displeasure could quell any problem simply through the threat of it. Rodolphus smothered a grin and the urge to ruffle the boy's hair.

'_No'_ agreed his uncle _'and neither will anyone else. One of the benefits to having some many Death Eaters in a single place is that there will always be someone to make sure nothing untoward is going on.'_

_'And Snatchers.'_

_'And Snatchers. Out of curiosity, Draco, which would you choose for this?'_

Draco frowned and rested his elbows on his knees, knowing Mother would have kneazles if she caught him this way. '_Scabior'_s _not about. He's my true first choice, but..._' He was creepy. He looked at Hermione. Not in an inappropriate way, necessarily, but it made Draco uneasy.

_'He's training with your aunt. He'd be mine, as well. Who's next?'_

_'Rice.'_

_'Why Rice? I don't disagree, just more curiosity.'_

_'I don't like Monroe. He seems...well, stupid to me. No offence, Uncle.'_

_'None taken. What gives you that impression?'_

_'He seems...like he's up to something, but he isn't smart enough to hide it. Does that make sense? And he's insolent.'_

_'Quite so. What do you make of Rice?'_

_'He's a dangerous sneak, but a smart one._' Draco said it with such absolute certainty that Rodolphus blinked. The boy's shoulders were tense, and his eyes were bright. So like his father at that age, Rodolphus thought, all sharp intellect and cunning. He nodded approvingly. _'A sneak?'_

_'Yes. He's sly, Uncle. But that might work better. He can calculate what it's worth to him to do his job.'_

And the price of failure, of course. Rodolphus smiled a little and praised his nephew. _'And what else?'_

_'If we make it worth his while, he'd make sure Borev minds his manners._'

_'What would you suggest_?'

Draco considered. _'Not money, because Borev probably has some with him. So what about Monroe's job?'_

_'Scabior's second in command?'_

_'Yes. Or something in the war. His own aurors or something_.'

_'Good boy, Draco, that's very cleverly thought out. Borev doesn't have that to offer, to be sure.'_

_'Yes.'_

_'Monroe wouldn't like it.'_

_'He doesn't have to. And you could give him a new job. Make him teach Care of Magical Creatures at school_.' Draco wiggled his eyebrows to show this was a sally, and Rodolphus snorted and clapped his shoulder.

_'Even I am not __**that**__ cruel. Azkaban always needs guards.'_

_'Something like that.'_

Rodolphus bent and spoke to the boy earnestly. _'When you're grown, Draco, and command your own group, remember this. It never hurts to sow a touch of dissent in the ranks.'_

_'I thought you want them loyal to you.'_

_'Mostly I do. Scabior, especially, is worthy of his place. I'd never undermine him. His ideology is excellent, his fighting skills are almost as good, and he's shown great devotion to my family particularly and his betters generally.'_

_'But below him? These people are not like us, Draco. They were not born to rule as we are. Some might not be as apt as we'd like .'_

_'And so we test them.'_

_'In order to be sure the best men have the job.'_

Draco nodded. 'Rice _is slippery, though. I think we should watch him.'_

_'Rice? God, yes. He'd slit someone's throat as soon as look at them. But useful in his own way.'_

_'A place for everyone from high to low.'_

_'Good boy, Draco.'_

In the corridor, Viktor held it together until they were out of earshot. Then, jaw set, he hissed a few long, soft sentences under his breath and put his head against the wall.

Hermione had no idea what to do. They'd always coped with things by moving ahead, but that wasn't an option here. Zhivka lay in the chapel, and everything was in flux, the world reshaping itself round her absence.

Viktor turned back. _'Herm-on-nee-knee?'_

_'Viktor?'_

_'It hurts too much to talk?'_

_'Not for me. Does it for you?'_

_'Maybe. I mean, vhen your muggles...how you felt, remember?'_

_'I do_.' Hermione sat down near the wall and he joined her. He gently tugged her so her head was in his lap, and carded his fingers through her hair.

_'Relief. I felt relief.'_

He seemed to relax a bit_. 'Relief?'_

Hermione nodded. _'Yes. You?'_

From above her, Viktor took a deep, slow breath. _'Yes. Is over.'_

_'And sadness.'_

_'That too. But not cry sadness. More like...Mother is not here, but is not suffering now. She vould hated being in bed all the time.'_

Hermione said nothing. She suspected this was so he could open up without feeling as though he was acting babyish or something. And his hand in her hair felt good. She closed her eyes.

Viktor's chest felt full of stones, but he kept talking. It was something, and anything was better than the stark reality that Mother was gone from them.

_'I don't feel like...Mother is gone really. It makes sense? Is like she went in the other room, she come back any moment. Doesn't feel dead_.'

Hermione patted his calf lightly. _'I know how that is.'_

_'And then I think I play in Cup and no Mother. Ve get married and no Mother. Ve have child and no Mother. It hurt then.'_

Hermione laid still. Let him purge it now, and then, perhaps, he could start to feel better. She thought they should have a plan for dealing with Stefan, but not now. Perhaps he'd behave. And if he didn't, then at least Viktor could deal with it, having started to grieve.

_'You feel it?'_

_'Yes. Sometimes the hard thing is getting used to having them not there. But someone said that people aren't lost to us as long we remember them, and love them.'_

_'Hurts to remember_.'

Hermione felt that sometimes too, and the terrible, stomach clenching knowledge that safety was largely dependent on the whims of Fate. Viktor kept stroking her hair, staring into some internal distance Hermione could only speculate at.

_'Feels wrong not to cry. You cried?'_

_'Not at first. Later I did.'_

_'Vhy you couldn't cry?'_

Hermione let the feeling of his hand in her hair soothe her. She wasn't there, she was here, and he wouldn't vanish as long as his hands were touching her, and his hard legs were under her cheek.

_'Because...they didn't tell me that they'd died for a while. I thought they were in Romania. And Mother told me, finally. And it...'_

_'It feel real then.'_

_'Yes.'_

_'Maybe it feel real in chapel tomorrow_.' He sounded doubtful about it. Would it ever feel real to him? He felt as though this whole last month had been a mummery, and that Mother was someplace nearby, ready to end this cruel farce.

Or perhaps not. Suddenly he couldn't stand the castle, because it seemed too much like her, too full of her lingering spirit. Would they all spend the next months or years-decades?-chasing her ghost from room to room, sensing her, smelling her perfume, seeing the flash of robes from the corner of his eye?

It had to be worse for Father. If he felt as bad as this, his father must be a million times worse. That, strangely, lessened rather than increased his pain. He could do something useful, perhaps, by helping his father whilst he was at his worst. Viktor could grieve later; now he would hold things together.

He felt, like a heavy cloak, the mantle of lordship on him, and he realised that Cunegarde was right in that regard; he'd never doff it again. Even when his father had the ring once more, Viktor would never be quite as innocent of things as he'd been.

_'Herm-on-knee-nee_?'

She half lifted her head. _'Are you all right?'_

_'No. I don't trust Stefan.'_

_'Me neither.'_

_'He is not good man. You don't go vith him alone, not ever. You go vith Uncle Rumen, or Uncle Penko, is fine. Not Stefan.'_

It was not lost on Hermione that Viktor had not given the man a title. She nodded and closed her eyes for a second, hoping they could finish this before the Floo went again and Mother stepped out.

_'I promise.'_

_'Thank you. Vhat you think ve do now?'_

_'Are you sure he'll cause trouble?'_

Viktor considered. _'Not sure. But is like to cause trouble.'_

_'How long will he stay?'_

_'A veek, two perhaps. Vith Grandmama. I think ve vait and see.'_

_'And if he causes trouble?'_

_'I still have phial.'_

Hermione was unfazed by the thought of administering the stuff to Stefan, especially with Snape here to help if need be. And they could ask the Snatchers to watch him, too.

_'Why don't we ask a Snatcher to keep an eye on him?'_

_'Not Scabior.'_

_'No. Rice, or Bishop.'_

_'Yes. And if ve have to, ve call Kreacher to give him dose in tunics or boots or something. Then I say he is risk to us all and send him avay. Children have not had dragon pox.'_

_' Why Kreacher?'_

_'Someone might ask Rinky or Snetzka. I call Kreacher, he do it and go back to England. No one think to ask.'_

_'Yes. That would work, wouldn't it?'_

He patted her back gently just as they heard the Floo hiss, and they both rose, straightening their robes without a word. The lord of the castle, fifteen, and the thirteen year old chatelaine walked, her hand on his arm, to go and greet her mother, their guest.


	46. Chapter 46

**A/N: Love to reviewers and Countess Black**

**After the funeral service itself, there is a Third Day ceremony which is quite significant. Viktor wants to wait until it's concluded to move on Stefan.**

**'Fides' is Latin. It means, roughly, 'credit.'**

Bellatrix rolled on her side and gave her snoring husband a poke. _'Rodolphus?'_

_'Mmpgh?'_

_'Rodolphus!'_

_'Love, 's'wrong?'_

_'Do you hear that?'_

_'Hmm mmm.'_

Bellatrix huffed and rose, shoving her feet into her mules and then slid out the door. She could hear suspicious noises from the bed where poor Cissy was stuck with Malfoy, and she vowed to find a reason to hex the pillock the next morning on general principle. Show him to force his debauched whims on her baby sister...

She pushed Malfoy from her mind and came face to face with Llewellyn Rice, who nodded at her. She nodded back and approached his desk _'Did you hear anything?'_

_'No, ma'am. Milady just returned to her room. Milord dropped her off and then went to his.'_

_'This late?'_

The man looked down. _'Neither of them seemed mussed, ma'am.'_

'_Oh_.' She'd been soothing the boy, that was good, but it was nearly midnight, and Bellatrix didn't want her daughter wandering at night. She knew precisely who her husband employed, and she wouldn't put it past some of them.

Dismissing Rice with a wave of her hand, Bellatrix went into the bedroom. Cunegarde and the little girl were both deeply asleep, the little girl curled about her manky old doll, and Hermione was behind the screen, speaking quietly to the elf.

_'Hermione? Girl?'_

_'Mother?' _Hermione stepped out, in her own nightdress and slippers. She smiled at her mother and came closer for a hug. She felt a little taller to Bellatrix, and heavier, too.

_'What the devil do you think you're about_?'

Hermione didn't release the hug, but then, neither did Bellatrix. She snuggled closer and said _'We had to meet with his uncle about the ceremony day after tomorrow, Mother. There's a ritual, and then people will come and we'll entertain them. We had to do a menu and instruct the elves and all.' _

_'This late?'_

_'Viktor wants to everyone to rest tomorrow, and we were afraid we might need to send elves to get some of what we need. We had it all, but...'_

_'And then what?'_

Hermione blushed a bit. _'We took a walk and held hands.'_

_'Neither of you took off your clothing?'_

_'No. We wouldn't...you know.'_

_'See you don't.'_

Hermione shuddered and nestled tighter. _'Promise we won't. It would make everyone angry with us.'_

_'Only until you're married.'_

_'And then we'll have a baby, and you'll come and see us ?'_

_'Yes. But not for a long time yet. Don't wish your life away.'_

_'No, Mother_.' Hermione finally stepped back. She wanted a cuddle on her mother's lap, and some pats on the back, and then a tuck in. She felt a little silly, but she was keenly aware-more than Mother?-how tenuous everything was, and how little time she might have to get cuddles and tuck ins and such.

Bellatrix could sense that her daughter needed something. She took the child's hand and led her silently from the room. _'Where can we go and talk_?'

Hermione considered. _'The hall, maybe? Or an anteroom_?'

_'The hall, then. You there, Rice, my daughter and I are going to chat. If anything should happen, sound the alarm._'

Rice nodded and inclined his head. _'Ma'am, milady_.'

Neither said anything until they'd settled down in front of the big fireplace in the hall. _'Well?'_

_'Mother, will your aurors go soon?'_

_'Day after tomorrow.'_

_'Are they good?'_

_'They're terrifying. A veritable army_.' There was real pleasure in her voice, and Hermione wondered whether Mother used that tone to talk about her sometimes. _'And then you'll go with the next lot.'_

_'They might root them out yet, girl.'_

_'All our best people are here.'_

_'Yes, well, don't think the others aren't good at what they do. Galvin Goyle's no one to sneeze at, nor Adelbert Nott.'_

_'Isn't Mr. Nott very old?'_

_'Yes, but that just makes him craftier. Don't worry about it.'_

_'You'll come back before I go to school, won't you?'_

_'Do my best. Do you like it here, Hermione?'_

Hermione nodded. _'I do. Can we show you round sometime? Viktor and I?'_

_'I'd like that.'_ She would, too. She wanted to see what Hermione had to work with every day. Narcissa seemed to think the girl was happy here, but Bellatrix wasn't one hundred percent sure she bought that.

_'I like to have the whole family here, Mother.'_

_'More work for you.'_

_'Not really. The elves like it, and everyone is safe here.'_

_'You worry about that a lot.'_

_'I...yes.'_

_'Why?'_

Hermione looked down at her feet, which were wearing little leather slippers, embroidered in red on red. _'Because it seems like everyone has to go all the time. You're going to go, and Father, and my uncles, and Uncle Penko_.'

Bellatrix frowned. _'Has this been bothering you?'_

_'A little. And then when we're old enough, Viktor will go. And then Draco.'_

_'We're Death Eaters, girl. It's what we do.'_

_'I know.'_

_'And it shan't be much longer. We'll flush them out and then it'll be safe again.'_

Hermione called an elf and spoke Bulgarian to it. It returned with yoghurt for them to drink and some pastry of chopped nuts and thin dough.

_'Mother?'_

_'Hmm?'_

_'Do you ever...when bad things happen, do you start to feel...does it make you think about other things?'_

Bellatrix blinked. _'I don't follow.'_

The girl's head was on her shoulder and she was whispering something. Her mother reached over and patted her back lightly. _'A bit louder?'_

_'It made me think about...things, and it hurts. I'm being selfish and I feel bad.'_

_'Selfish?'_

_'Why can't I feel sad for Mother Krum?'_

_'You didn't know her. You know the people that'll go when the call comes.'_

_'Yes, I know, but I'm not supposed to think of myself at these moments. How can I help Viktor if I'm thinking about my own problems_?'

Bellatrix sighed. Damned muggles, even dead they were bothering the child, twisting her about. Poor thing. She gently tugged, and the child half leapt into her lap, face in her neck. _'You mean about those muggles?'_

_'You knew?'_

_'Of course I knew. Why didn't you ever say?'_

_'You don't like muggles.'_

_'I like you. And if it was bothering you, I'd want to know_.'

Hermione's cheeks felt damp. _'Sorry, Mother.'_

_'Shush. Now let's have it.'_

_'Do we have to? We could just sit here a while_.' She nestled into Bellatrix's neck, and Bellatrix felt tempted. Her daughter just wanted to be cuddled, and she wouldn't deny her that. But later; now she'd get some answers so they could fix this.

_'We do. Now, what happened?'_

_'Viktor and I spent an hour upstairs. We talked about his mother, and things like that. He misses her.' _They'd had a long, interesting talk about Zhivka, but Hermione still felt worried. Viktor was holding his pain in, and she knew that wasn't good.

_'And then what?'_

_'He dropped me off, and I started to think about things, and I...they never had a funeral.'_

_'The muggles.'_

_'Yes. Do you think they buried them somewhere?_'

_'I don't know, girl. But you know, our bodies are only vessels. It wouldn't matter much.'_

Hermione's voice got so low that her mother had to prompt her twice to hear the next bit. _'Muggles don't...I mean, my Nan...muggle grandmother...said that people are ghosts if they don't get buried. Do you think that's so?'_

_'She said what?'_

_'She said that sometimes people can't rest if they haven't been buried properly_.'

Bellatrix said nothing for a moment, patting the girl's back. _'Hush.'_

Hermione did. Her mother rocked a bit, saying nothing herself for a few moments. _'And it worries you, that they might be wandering?'_

_'Yes.'_

_'Well, they aren't.'_

_'How do you know?'_

_'I just do_.' Bellatrix used her most determined tone, and it seemed to relax the girl a bit. She nestled closer, breathing deeply.

_'What else do you worry about, girl?_'

Hermione didn't lift her head. She needed the comfort that only Mother could give, and Bellatrix felt a moment of pleased shock. Her daughter was clinging to her. She wanted Bellatrix to give her attention, not anyone else. It seemed like a small miracle.

_'That something bad will happen. Or they'll come here. The wolves.'_

_'And you've spoken with the boy about it?'_

_'Yes, Mother. We've enough food for a prolonged siege, and we're prepared for six months of war, if we can't get everyone out. We probably can. There's a Portkey, you know.'_

_'If something happens, you see you get to it and go, understood?'_

_'I'm chatelaine, Mother.'_

_'You're thirteen, and I'll blister your arse if you don't.'_

Hermione, improbably, laughed. _'Not if I'm dead, Mother!'_

_'That's what you think._' Bellatrix glared at her only child, and she giggled again in answer, possibly the only person who interpreted that look as light-hearted teasing rather than a serious death threat.

_'Is there anything else_?'

Hermione nodded. _'Yes. But another time?'_

_'Tomorrow.'_

_'Mmm.'_

_'That wasn't a question, girl. We're discussing it tomorrow, and don't you dare try to wriggle out of it, either.'_

_'No, Mother.'_

_'I'll hold you to that. Girl, do you have some idea I'd be angry if you brought up the muggles?'_

Hermione nodded. _'Wouldn't you?'_

Bellatrix patted her daughter's back. _'Not at you. You didn't make that happen.'_

_'No. I'm sorry I didn't get to spend time with Aunt Narcissa's family when I was little, but...I'm glad I knew them. The Grangers.'_

Bellatrix could feel her blood start heating. Those loathsome, child-stealing, corrupting...Hermione was getting nervous. She'd lifted her head, and her eyes were bright and worried, like she thought she might need to move quickly. Bellatrix inhaled deeply and pressed her head back down. 'That's_...understandable, I suppose. They really never beat you?'_

_'No. Never. And it's not fair they got sucked into this, too. It's the Order's fault. Why did they kill them? They were muggles, they couldn't hurt a wizard_!'

_'No, but those people are ruthless, girl. They got done with them and threw them aside_.' Bellatrix was glad the girl couldn't see her face when she said it. Her anger was leavened by the girl's need for her to be gentle right now. Not that she'd believe that didn't mistreat the girl, mind you-but that was for another night.

The girl was shaking a little. _'And we don't know where they are or what happened to them. At least Viktor and Alise know! I'll never know, and..._' She trailed off, and then said, very softly _'See? I'm really being awfully selfish about things_.' That seemed to distress her more than anything.

_'Aren't. You're being a person. No one expects you not to have feelings, you know, or share them. I do.'_

_'You do?'_

_'With your aunt.'_

_'Or Father?'_

_'Sometimes.'_

Hermione nodded. _'I share with Viktor sometimes.'_

_'What's he really like?'_

The girl gnawed her lip. _'He's kind. And smart. And he makes me feel...'_

_'Safe.'_

_'Yes. And needed, Mother. Like we're both part of something big and important, does that make sense?'_

Bellatrix nodded and smoothed her daughter's hair. _'It does_.'

Hermione nodded at once. _'It's strange, you know. Everyone talks about love all the time, but love is just part of things, I think. A lot of it is working hard and doing what has to be done.'_

Bellatrix felt a sudden fierce pride in her daughter, a violent urge to be sure no harm would befall her. She'd see that things worked out for the girl, because she'd kill whoever got in the way of that.

_'That's true. A good deal of life is making the best of things, girl. Our Lord says that we've an obligation to twist events to our own benefit, because we, of all people, are the most equipped to do so.'_

_'"A Pureblood is not destroyed by disaster; they are sharpened, and in being sharpened, are made better and more worthy than ever before." Letters to Achilles Lestrange, letter five, isn't it?'_

Bellatrix's pride could not have got any higher. Tears stung her eyes and she squeezed the girl against her like a kitten. _'Good girl, Hermione! Who taught you that?'_

_'It's the only English language book in the library. I had to teach Viktor with something, Mother.'_

_'You've been teaching the boy all this?'_

_'Yes. And he's teaching me Bulgarian.'_

_'I know. His Lordship was very proud to hear that, you know. He could not have asked for a better daughter than yourself. Daughter of Britain, I mean.'_

Hermione was less concerned with the Dark Lord and more concerned with what Bellatrix thought. Was Mother afraid she and Father wouldn't return? If she didn't, what would happen to their family? Or if Uncle Lucius was killed? Would Aunt Narcissa and Draco come live with them?

_'Mother?'_

_'Hmmm?'_

_'It was a good service today, I thought.'_

_'It was. You knew all the words to it?'_

_'It's similar to what I grew up with. And the priest wanted Viktor to teach me, so he did, a bit.'_

_'Oh. And you really like him?'_

_'Very much. He's a good...he's good. I think he'll be a good husband to me.'_

_'I think so as well. And you'll be a good wife to him.'_

_'I want to be. Did you worry, before you married? About that_?'

_'About being a good wife_?' Bellatrix tried to contain a laugh. _'I can't say I did. Remember, though, it was different for Rodolphus and me.'_

_'You'd known one another as children.'_

_'And we were-are-Death Eaters. We had different concerns than most people.'_

_'You had no sheep.' _Hermione had forgot that Bellatrix hadn't been there for that episode_._

Now she did laugh. _'No, no sheep. And there was a war coming. Not right away, but soon. We had to be ready.'_

_'Did your parents want you to be a Death Eater, Mother?'_

_'No.'_

_'No?'_

_'No.'_

Hermione didn't pry. _'What was my Grandpapa like?'_

_'He was a kind man, Hermione. He would've loved you very much. Does love you very much. The dead see and hear us, you know.'_

_'Some of them are ghosts.'_

_'Beyond that. It's possible that he's with us this second, listening. Probably is, for that. He and I were very close.'_

_'Did he like Father?'_

_'Well enough. Your grandfather Lestrange was his best friend.'_

_'And they wanted you to marry?'_

_'To combine land and resources. That's why you're heiress to Orion Black's estate, you know, through your Grandpapa. Orion would have been your great uncle.'_

_'And he was Sirius and Regulus's father_.'

_'He was.'_

_'Was Sirius a Death Eater?'_

_'We didn't know it at the time, but he was. He got himself disowned and everything else, but it turns out he was a spy.'_

_'His mother must have been a nervous wreck all the time, two sons serving.'_

_'Aunt could chew the hind leg off a hippogriff. But yes, I suppose she was.'_

_'It must have been terrible, pretending to disown her son.'_

'_Yes_' said Bellatrix, cuddling her daughter unconsciously _'I'm sure it was. And then he died in Azkaban.'_

Hermione frowned and nuzzled closer, wanting to be well wrapped up for this next thing. _'Everything is so sad!'_

_'Sometimes it is.'_

_'What about Regulus?'_

_'I don't know. He was sent on some mission and never returned.'_

_'Did no one ever find out what happened?'_

_'No.'_

_'All these sad things mean that we're all due for something good, doesn't it?'_

Bellatrix playfully swatted her daughter's backside. _'You sound like a diviner!'_

_'I hope not. It was all I could do to get out of divination for next year. I had to take a double period of potions instead.'_

_'You like potions.'_

_'Yes, but I know all of the things Monsieur is teaching us. He lets me help the others, but still.'_

Bellatrix nodded. _'At least you're smarter than they.'_

_'That's true.'_ Hermione sighed contentedly, feeling reassured by having talked it out with Mother.

_'Your father doesn't like that uncle of Viktor's. Stefan, is it_?'

Hermione nodded at once. _'Nor do I. Or Viktor. He's sneaky.'_

_'I think so. We'll all keep an eye on him. But be aware, would you? That's the first step to successful defence, being aware of one's surroundings.'_

Hermione nodded. They went back to bed.

Though Draco had not heard the conversation between Hermione and her mother, he would have agreed with the principles of it, to be sure. As it happened, he had spent part of the night before musing on the same things she and Bellatrix had discussed, and had come to his own conclusions.

The next morning, he approached Rodolphus and asked him for some advice concerning a spell he was trying to master. When they were out of earshot of the others, Draco laid everything on the line.

_'It would be a test.'_

_'And quite an interesting one, too. You propose that we give Monroe the job and then set a trap for them both?'_

_'Maybe Stefan just wants to be with the family, Uncle. If he does, not causing an incident will improve his fides with them.'_

_'And if he does cause an incident?'_

_'Viktor can decide whether he ought to be thrown out. Something clear cut so he doesn't seem like he's being disrespectful of his uncle.'_

_'Excellent, Draco. What do you propose we use as bait?'_

_'What about a watch or some cufflinks?'_

Rodolphus shook his head. _'No, because they'd be the obvious choice. It would look like a trap. But papers...'_

_'But how would he...oh. He'd sell what was in them.'_

_'Yes, he would. The right parties would pay a mint to know what was in the private correspondences of Death Eaters, Draco.'_

_'We could ask Father to help us. And Godfather. He doesn't like people like that either, I shouldn't think.'_

_'Sort of a family project, then?'_

_'We have to protect the ladies, Uncle.'_

_'Yes, we do. Shall we ask your father to weigh in on your problem?'_

Lucius was delighted to do so, and shared a titbit he'd got from Rabastan the night before. (Rabastan himself was in Sofia for the day, or else he would have been front and centre in the plan.)

_'He ruined no fewer than three witches of good family, and refused to make remuneration for any of them, and then accepted the challenges their protectors levelled against him. He killed two and wounded the third permanently. A dangerous and callous man.'_

_'And so we'll make sure he won't harm anyone here?'_

_'Martin and Viktor took our wives and children in, not to mention your aunt and Barty. We've a duty, I'd say.'_

'_Please_' teased Rodolphus _'you just want to make a stir.'_

_'Hmmph.'_

_'You didn't correct me.'_

_'Shall I join the long list of those waiting to hex you, Lestrange?'_

_'Get behind Trixie and Snape, Malfoy.'_

_'If I were in front, they'd go through me.'_

The hardest part was getting rid of Rice for the nonce. They finally settled on sending him to Britain with a progress report for the Dark Lord, and to visit his wife for a few days, as she was nine months pregnant.

They were not the only ones setting a plot in motion. Viktor and Hermione went to see Snape, and laid out much the same objections to Stefan's presence. And Viktor was worried that the man would upset either his father or grandmama, neither of which he would conscience.

_'These things can be fixed. I presume you want him alive?'_

_'Yes, alive. Just not here.'_

_'I understand. Miss Lestrange, your thoughts?'_

_'I agree with Viktor, Professor. But he's not done anything yet. I think we ought to keep a close eye, like Mother said.'_

_'Your mother is one hundred percent right. So when shall we move?'_

_'After third day_.' Viktor had explained the significance of the third day, and he'd not force his uncle out until then unless whatever he did was egregious. There were proprieties even for the likes of Stefan.

_'And then?'_

_'If he behave, nothing. If he can't be good, ve move then.'_

_'All right. A test balloon, shall we call it?'_

_'Yes. Maybe he make a new leaf.'_

_'Turn over a new leaf. Yes, that's possible.'_

_'Miss Lestrange?'_

_'I think we should hold off as well. Like Viktor said, he could be trying to change.'_

Snape suspected this fellow would no more change than Bess would be named Minister of Magic, but he held his tongue. Let his apprentice and his little spy work this out betwixt themselves. They'd done well so far, had they not?

_'Assuming he makes trouble?'_

_'Ve have Kreacher smear his clothes vith potion. Medi-vitch returns to Britain today. Ve don't get new one. You maybe say dangerous if he get rash?'_

_'Yes. And then?'_

_'I am lord. I make him leave.'_

_'And if your father is lord again by then?'_

_'I remind him children have not had dragon pox.'_

_'All right, then._' And so the plans, and plans within plans, were laid.

The meal that night was delicious baked fish and vegetables, with cucumber salad and hot bread. The group was subdued, but the children, with Barty, provided a few brighter moments.

Lyudmilla had got some good news from her younger sister, and she'd let the children tell it, so during supper, Yana set down her fork and said '*_I've a secret.*'_

_'*What's that, sweetheart?*'_

_'*Aunt Svetlana has a baby in her belly. She's married to my Uncle Boris.*' _Svetlana was Lyudmilla's younger sister.

'_*How exciting! So you'll have a new cousin next spring.*_' Narcissa beamed, seeming as thrilled as the children by the idea.

The other adults were obligingly admiring of the news, and expressed their best wishes to the happy parents to be. Yana was still mulling this over, and then said gravely

'*_Hermione?*'_

_'*Yes, Yana?*'_

_'*You and Viktor are married. Have you got a baby in your belly?*'_

The table went utterly still. Hermione and Viktor went red as roses, and the other adults dared not look at one another. Hermione realised she'd been thrown to the wolves by her family and said _'*No, Yana.*'_

_'*Why not?*'_

_'*We aren't married yet, remember? Engaged is different than married.*'_

Yana thought this a very silly distinction, and anyway, a baby would be great fun, like a doll but even better, and so, she felt, Hermione ought to take one for the team on this issue.

'_*But why can't you have a baby? I'd help you take care of it.*'_

Hermione thought faster than she ever had. '*_I'm not old enough yet, Yana. You have to be a grown up before you're a Mummy.*'_

Rodolphus caught her eye and winked. _'Good answer' _he mouthed, and then gave his son in law to be a wink as well, mainly to see the boy go scarlet again. It worked.

_'*Yana, love, let's talk about something else, hmm?*_' Her mother murmured apologies to everyone, who waved them off, still smiling.

'_*All right, Mama. Uncle Lucius, when I'm big, can Draco and I get married?*'_

Draco, who'd just taken a swallow of ayran, spat it into a napkin, lest he spray it on the tablecloth. The room, which had just settled down after that first sally, erupted in laughter, unable to control it any longer.

Yana was unfazed. '*_We could live here, and we'll let Aunt Narcissa have wool from our sheep. Is that all right, Hermione?*'_

_'*It is, Yana.*' _Hermione grinned evilly at her uncle. Ha, let's see who's dodging bludgers now!

Lucius saw the look on her face and shook his head, eyes twinkling. She looked like the Bellatrix he remembered, all big eyes and appealingly naughty mischief.

_'*We'll see, Yana. Just worry about your lessons right now, all right?*'_

_'*All right.*' _said Yana, who, unaware of how she'd outraged the room's sense of dignity, went back to her salad.

Snape had not joined in the playful ribbing, or the amused grins that followed. He was watching Stefan Borev, wondering when he'd strike. The man fancied himself a predator, did he? He was a mouse, awaiting the strike of the snake he didn't know was lurking in the grass.


	47. Chapter 47

**A/N: Love to reviewers and Countess Black**

**Meant to add: Yana's questions in the previous chapter (as regards her wish for a baby cousin and to marry Draco, respectively) actually happened. The first one happened to me during my stint working in a daycare, and the second happened to CB with a little boy she knew.**

** Also: In my previous works, I decided to avoid the dodgy question of religion by inventing one for Wizarding Britain. It's a loose amalgamation of practices that I would sum up as ancestor worship with a Greco-Roman flair. That's what Scabior is doing when first we see him in this chapter.**

**Finally: Strangely, in a story where nearly every character is a murderer, I find Stefan to be absolutely revolting as a human being. I respect (while not condoning or approving the nature of their beliefs in the slightest) that the Death Eaters at least admit being what they are. Stefan, on the other hand...**

Lemuel Scabior was, in his own way, quite a devout fellow. The evening of the third day found him with a brazier, chanting prayers of his own. He'd sent an elf to Sofia to buy some very good wine and flowers, and started by giving a large offering to guide Zhivka's shade to the halls of her ancestors, there to drink wine and celebrate forever.

He'd made one for the first group of aurors, for success in the training of the second, for the health of Flower and her Bulgarian, and for Madam and the Boss's safety in the coming war, assuming they didn't root out those filthy sons of bitches before the Lestranges could be shipped back home, and for his own luck.

Now he rose, having made sure the brazier was doused, and made his way toward the common room which the Snatchers shared amongst themselves. Rice was still in Britain, but two or three others were relaxing, reading magazines, playing games or writing letters.

_'Rice's bird ad the kid yet, d'you know?'_

_'No, but any day._' The man, Bishop, put down his playing cards and raised a brow at Scabior, waiting for him to speak.

_'Well, good on im, I says.'_

_'We're pooling our money to buy a gift for it. You want in_?'

Scabior nodded. _'Lemme know what I owes, George, an I'll pays it.'_

Bishop nodded. _'I will. What about you? You going to marry Hetty_?'

Scabior raised a brow. _'We'll see. I got to go an see what's appening with the nobs. Always sumthing, with them.'_

_'We'll let you know if anything comes up. Krum Sr is due back late tonight?'_

Scabior nodded. _'An is brother Rumen with im. Penko's for Sofia, I ears. Makes me edgy, avin em all spread out.'_

Bishop agreed with that assessment. _'Me too. Nothing for it.'_

_'No. They says Krum's goin back with the Boss. To fight, I means. Or whatever e does in London.'_

_'Really?'_

_'Throwin imself inta the work.'_

_'Makes sense_.' said Bishop, frowning a little. It gave him the creeps that the kid was running the show here, but nothing bad had happened yet, so he supposed it was the Bulgarians' business.

Scabior went down the stairs, greeted the bevy of dogs that wandered the keep as guards, and, trailed by Snape's huge black mongrel, went and found the man himself.

_'Sir? You wanted t see me?'_

_'Come and sit down, Scabior. Rodolphus should be here any second_.' The dog settled between them, and Scabior found a bit of digestive he'd squirreled away for the big fellow.

_'Ow's my Chum? E bein good, sir_?'

_'He's well. My new elf is watching him. I might have brought him, but the two of them in the same carriage for hours would be ghastly.' _He indicated the dog, who chuffed agreeably and went back to dozing.

_'Too right. Ow's Etty?_'

_'We shall need to discuss that. But not now.'_

Snape had spent some time with the elder Krum that morning, and he'd managed to get him round to the idea of supporting a British candidate for Headmaster of Durmstrang.

**Earlier**:

'*_If Durmstrang values blood purity, how better to show it than with a candidate endorsed by the Dark Lord?*'_

'*_Dinev won't like it.'_

_'*He needn't. The Dark Lord has promised him other things in return for help in this endeavour.*'_

Martin had nodded slowly, not asking, and Snape had moved onto part two. '*_Your son has indicated he is willing to entertain our Snatchers here a while longer to protect your women and children. Are you amenable?*'_

'*_Yes. But for how long?*'_

_'*However long it takes. I've offered him a handful in perpetuity, for after he and the girl are married.*'_

Martin nodded again. '*_That is between Viktor and yourself.*_' It was almost too easy, Snape had thought.

**Now:**

Lestrange sat down, smiling a bit, followed closely by Malfoy. _'It's good to see you both again. My daughter, Scabior, would like you to join us for dinner tomorrow night.'_

_'Be onored t, Boss.'_

_'I'll let her know. My wife has been very pleased by your help with those aurors. Are you prepared to do it all again?'_

_'I am. These blokes, they're ard, Boss. Real ard. They scares me, a lil.'_

_'Only a little?'_

_'I taughts em what they know. I kin still best em.'_

_'Hard men can do hard things, I daresay.' _Lucius's voice had that ironic quality for which he was famous. Rodolphus shot him a look-Scabior wasn't educated, but he was good at what he did, even as Malfoy himself was.

_'I've promised to buy an ore for every man brings me a pelt.'_

_'Employee discount?'_

_'Doan tells em that.'_

_'Is Dinev still here?'_

_'Oh, yes. He liked that letter well enough, I'd say.'_

_'Do you think our man will do it?_'' Malfoy again, pretending disinterest. Snape had told him that the Dark Lord wished Draco to transfer to Durmstrang. He dreaded telling Narcissa, to be sure.

_'Probably. Who better to lead a united, Pureblood Europe than a son of Britain called home after being reformed of his evil ways? Quite a story_.'

Rodolphus agreed. _'Exactly so. And it would be well for Germany and France to see what they'd be trifling with.'_

_'Them foreign blokes, Boss, they're a sneaky lot. Never know ow they'll takes things.'_

_'True.' _He would've said more, but an elf appeared, and told them in English that Dinev wanted to meet them.

'*_Word of your skills and devotion to your cause has often reached my ears, gentlemen.*_'

Dinev was speaking utter truth. Everyone had heard of Rodolphus Lestrange's chamber of horrors, and cadre of maniacs, and the story of Snape striking down the helpless Dumbledore after the old wizard had given him a place and a roof over his head. Oh, yes, he knew the stories. Behind them, Lucius Malfoy, the Butcher of Britain, architect of two near simultaneous massacres, was smiling, head gently cocked.

'*_And yourself, sir. We are eager for our homelands to profit from this new era in Wizarding relations.*'_

There would have been more political mouthings if Barty Crouch hadn't come in, bleeding from the nose and carrying a wand. _'Stefan tried to get out the emergency Floo! He stunned Monroe, so I hexed him and came downstairs_!'

Viktor, standing a few feet away with Hermione, swore. 'Close all the Floos and then bring him down here.' He turned to the Minister and bowed.

'*_I regret, Minister, we must cut this short.*'_

'Of course. My lord, my lady.' He bowed and, with his small retinue, vanished through the Floo, which was sealed behind him. The Death Eaters clustered about, waiting for the man to be brought down to face them.

Hermione went to Barty just as Draco got there. _'I've got it, Hermione. Help Viktor_, _will you_?'

She nodded. _'Thank you, Draco_.' He pulled his handkerchief and held it out to Barty, who took it and pressed it to his nose. Draco, mimicking what his father had always done when got nose bleeds like that, put a hand to the back of the man's neck and held it there, speaking softly.

Hermione had seen Viktor cry. She'd watched him go through the experience of becoming lord, losing his mother, learning to politic. But she'd never seen him angry. She could feel it moving off his skin in waves, like heat. But his face was calm, and his voice, whilst a bit more heavily accented than usual, was flat and smooth.

The first thing was the blood, which dripped in sheets from the man's face as he was led in. He was stumbling, gurgling, spitting. His eyes, a vivid gunmetal, seemed very bright, almost foreign in the mask of crimson.

'That maniac attacked me!'

_'Father, Uncle, you hold him vhile I search_?' Viktor stepped forward, and Hermione held up a hand. _'Let me scourgify him first, all right? It's a bad idea to touch blood with your bare hands_.' Her muggle parents had been dentists, after all.

She rapidly cleaned the blood from the man's face. Snape went still a second-the fellow's face was gashed and bleeding from a dozen cuts, some of them deep. Barty had either misaimed or else lacked the will to gather his magic for a killing blow. Otherwise, the sectumsempra would have done for him.

He shook it off and stepped up. _'May I_?' The girl nodded, busy cleaning the blood off anywhere Viktor would touch, muttering to herself in English. Snape raised his wand and started closing the worst cuts.

Together, they had Borev past the worst of it in about five minutes. Viktor pressed his fiancée's arm lightly and then motioned for his in-laws to tug his erstwhile uncle's arms wider.

Viktor worked with merciless efficiency. He tore the man's tunic open and then started on every pocket, looking for whatever he'd stolen. He had Lucius hold Stefan's legs as he pulled off his boots, which was where the bait was finally found.

A thick packet of letters, shrunk down, tucked into the toe of the boot. Viktor scanned them just enough to see that they were in English and then handed them over. _'Is yours, Uncle_?'

Lucius studied them. '_Rodolphus_?' They were, naturally, utterly harmless, comprised of several old notes about Quidditch games that had been played since Rabastan left, letters from Cunegarde about the insolence of the elves at the embassy house, and a list of things that Narcissa needed sent from Diagon Alley.

_'*Rabastan's. He had them in his cloak, I believe. How did you get them_?*' Rabastan had been apprised of the plan and agreed to set the stage by leaving the cloak spread across the bed he and Barty were using

Borev's face was still cheesy in colour. '*_I've no idea what you mean_.*'

'*_Boss? Can y'asks im where Monroe is? Did e kill im_?*' If he didn't, Scabior'd bloody well finish the job. Srefan shook his head.

'*_Don't know. All I know is I was walking about and this lunatic attacked me and hexed me.*'_

Barty shook his head, nose still bleeding from under the handkerchief. _'No! He was in the bedroom looking through things. Monroe is lying under one of the beds. I took his wand and made Stefan stop, he's a bad man!'_

_'How you found him, Barty?'_

Barty looked patient. _'I wanted to lie down and he was in the bedroom. I asked him if he felt sick too and he called me a bad name and told me to leave the room.'_

_'And you disarm him?'_

_'Him? No. But Monroe's hand was poking from under the bed, and his wand was right there, so I took it and told him to get out. He hit me in the face and tried to run away.'_

_'Why you hex him?'_

Barty looked angry for the first time. _'He tried to get through the door of the master bedroom and get out. If he wanted out, he must have done something bad. I was afraid he'd do something to hurt us if he did, so I stopped him.'_

He surely had. Barty himself had nary a scratch, aside from that first blow. Draco spoke to an elf, and it reappeared with a small phial of blood replenisher and some mild pain potion, both of which Barty took without protest, still angry at how badly Stefan had behaved.

_'Thank you, Barty. I am alvays in your debt for this.'_

Barty lit up, beaming with pleasure at having been useful. He liked Viktor and loved Hermione like a niece, which was part of why he'd hexed Stefan so hard. He had no intention of letting someone upset the children or steal from Rab if he could prevent it.

Viktor turned to his mother's brother. '*_You stole private papers from my in-laws. You assaulted a guest under my protection, you've probably caused the dismissal of a man acting on my behalf, and now I'll have to tell Grandmama why you aren't welcome anymore. Is there anything I've missed?*'_

_' _I have no need to explain myself to you.'

'No? That's not what the law says.'

'The law? There is now law now, boy. Your father sold it to that creature in Britain for the price of a thousand aurors and this girl. That's the order of things now. If you'd wear their yoke, do it. I'm no man's slave.'

'You've an odd way to fight for freedom, Stefan, stealing from the people who claim to hate. I'd imagine the Romanians would pay good money for these, is that it?'

Stefan said nothing. Then, after a pause: 'What would Zhivka say to all this? You're more English than Bulgarian these days.'

No one saw Viktor move. Draco came close, but in that moment he suddenly saw what others did, one of the greatest Seekers in the world, and not quiet, dryly funny Viktor.

Stefan reeled back in Lucius's grip. His face was going first a deep pink and then puce. He clawed his throat, gasping, and Viktor swished again. Stefan fell forward, swallowing great gasps of air, face returning to it's normal colour.

'If you ever throw her in my face again, I'll ask my father in law to show me how he makes them talk. Understand?'

Stefan nodded, retching dryly. Viktor waved at the elves and they took him away, to the dungeons cut into the bedrock. He relaxed a little, finally, and let himself lower his wand.

_'Herm-mon-nee-knee, maybe ve valk now?'_

_'Father?'_

_'Take your elf, love_.' They watched them go in stunned silence, until the doors had closed. '_Well_' said Lucius '_didn't think the lad had it in him_.'

_'I did_.' said Draco softly. _'He's a temper. He'd never turn it on us, but he has._'

Rodolphus was smiling. He was almost glad not to know what had been said between the boy and that idiot. At least he could tell Trixie her fears of nice were forever assuaged.

Snape was quiet. Barty had had the presence of mind to seriously injure his opponent. What could that mean? Anything? Nothing? He didn't know.

Viktor led them silently upstairs, into the moon viewing room. It was a warm, pleasant day, and the sea birds dipped and called. He settled against a wall and Hermione leant against him.

'Viktor?'

'Did I scare you?'

'No. Are you all right?'

'Fine. I knew he'd do something like this.'

Hermione sensed that this was an important moment for them, though she wasn't sure how. For the first time, the ball was totally in their court, and outcomes rested seriously on how they reacted.

Viktor sighed and rested his head on his arms for a moment. 'It never ends.'

'No.' she agreed sadly. 'But we make this better.'

'What should we do?'

Hermione considered. 'Stefan is in basement now. We leave him until Father is here.'

'He's my mother's brother. Could he not have acted better today of all days?'

It had seemed to Viktor that the morning marked the beginning of the rest of his life, until he and Hermione would marry. He forced away his memories of the funeral and then that morning's ceremony, and tried to focus on now.

'Is bad man.'

'And thank God those papers weren't important. Were they?'

'Don't think.'

Viktor was mortified at the thought his uncle had dug about in other guests' things. He'd set elves to guard the rooms during the day, was all. And have dogs brought, one to a room.

'Not your fault. He is big, should know how to behave.'

'I'll need something to tell Grandmama.'

'We dose him, then.'

'You think we should?'

'Have to send him if he is sick. I have not had dragon pox, you know. No need to tell about papers, except Father and uncles.'

'No?'

'No.' Her voice was very calm and very clear. They'd protect the people in the castle, even if they had to make Stefan Borev sick to do it. He'd brought it on himself. She felt a vague sense that possibly the fact she could do this wasn't good, but she let it slide away.

Viktor dropped his head and laid down so he was looking up at her, head in her lap. 'I can't cry.'

'I know.'

'Why can't I cry? I want to.'

'You will. When you are ready.'

'I'm ready now.'

Hermione shook her head. 'No. Maybe you don't feel safe now. When it is safe, you cry.'

'It might never be safe.'

'Maybe. Then we are not safe together.'

'That would make us safe, then.'

'Yes.' She reached down and stroked his short, bristling hair. Viktor closed his eyes and sighed deeply.

'I didn't mean to go after Stefan that way.' He regretted scaring the others, and was deeply glad that Lyudmilla and the children were visiting her father.

'I would have.'

'Really?'

'Yes.'

He half sat up and raised both eyebrows. 'You're too gentle.'

'No. I one time set Snape on fire.'

'What?'

Hermione, blushing, explained, and Viktor couldn't believe what he was hearing. 'You set Severus Snape **on fire**?'

'Yes. You don't tell him. He don't know.'

'Doesn't know.' Viktor would've answered more, but the thought of it was too much, and he set his head down again, laughing a little. Hermione swatted his arm gently, but she was giggling too.

And then Viktor was sober. 'Mother would've liked that.' He set his head back down and reached up as his eyes filled. 'She loved to laugh. We always had such a good time, and she was...' And then, shaken loose by the day's events, his tears came. Hermione said nothing. She sat still and let him purge the emotions, as Narcissa and Bellatrix had done for her so many times.

He cried for a long time, and when he put his head up, he was lord once again. It was easier and easier to do that these days. The lord was merging with Viktor, and someday, he knew, they'd be the same person, just as Hermione was more the chatelaine every day.

She bent and kissed his cheek, and called for a handkerchief for him to dry his eyes with. 'Better?'

'Yes. Now, how should we fix this with Stefan?'

Kreacher came at once when called, bowing. He grinned toothlessly, excited to see his master and mistress again. _'Master calls Kreacher_?'

_'Ve need your helps. First, you don't tell anyone ever vhat we do here. After, you go home to England and say nothing about it. Yes_?'

'_Yes_!' The elf bowed low, ears flopping. Hermione smiled at the old elf, whom, she suspected, had loads of good stories and advice like her Rinky. Another time, she thought wistfully, and explained what the elf needed to do.

Silent and invisible, Kreacher crept down the corridor and into the dungeons, where Stefan Borev had been put in the most comfortable cell. He had a bed, a small WC, a wash basin, and a pitcher of water charmed to be always full and cold. Everything, in short, except his freedom.

He was sleeping. The elf bent over him, making sure he was deeply out, and smeared the stuff on his body, especially his face and neck. When Stefan woke, he'd be covered in a violent rash literally from head to foot. On hearing he'd assaulted poor, addled Master Barty, Kreacher opted for a bit of revenge of his own, painting the man's nostrils and throat with the stuff, and other places, as well.

A little more house elf magic assured that Stefan would sleep at least another four hours. Kreacher dried the potion so it would become traceless, and then vanished back to Grimmauld Place and his other Misses without another word. As a house elf, his skin reacted to the stuff not at all. To be safe, he bathed thoroughly before he dealt with the ladies, and donned the snowy new towel Madam insisted on every day. His life was very, very good that day.

By the time Martin and Rumen arrived, the thing had been set in motion. As soon as they stepped through, they could hear upraised voices. 'Grandmama, it's too dangerous. We need your help up here.'

'He's my son, Viktor, I need to go to him.'

'Remember what the medi-wizard said about your heart? Whatever it is will stress it too much. Snape is with him, he's getting treatment.'

'Viktor? Mother? What's happened?'

Viktor, looking strained, appeared, trailed by a worried Elisaveta and Hermione, who was holding Yana on her hip. 'Good evening, Father, Uncle. May I ask you to sit down? We're having a bit of an issue.'

'Grandmama, you help with Yana? Her legs is hurting again from growing.' Yana sniffled harder and buried her face in Hermione's neck. Everyone suspected it was emotional upset and confusion about what was happening rather than growing pains, but that was a convenient excuse, so they'd all rather run with it.

Elisaveta nodded and held out her arms for the little girl. The English witch Viktor was to marry reminded her a bit of Zhivka when she was young, and that made her want to help.

The women went into another corner as Viktor started to explain. '...and now he's come down with some rash. Snape's with him. He thinks...well...'

'It's all right, little bear.'

'It's venereal. He's seen it before, and so have I. A man at camp got the same thing from a...'

'Ah. And he's still in the dungeon?'

'I had to. My in-laws have been incredibly understanding, and Snape says he's in no real danger, so it seemed the best course. I was afraid letting him up would make it seem we didn't take this seriously.'

Martin nodded and looked round. 'You've lit the braziers.' In all four corners, braziers smoked with incense meant to drive out the miasma of sickness. The smell hung about the room, heavy and cloying but also, strangely, comforting.

'In case Snape's wrong. And I've restricted everyone to upstairs. Shall I summon him?'

Snape arrived five minutes later and cast a privacy spell. '*_He's suffering some sort of rash, quite hideous and uncomfortable but not dangerous.*'_

_'*What do you suppose it is?*'_

'*_I've seen it in men who frequent pleasure houses. Probably a low grade infection being passed about. I'd clean anything he's used very thoroughly.*'_

_'*Is anyone else in danger?*'_

_'*No. I've always known of it to be spread...directly.*'_

Both men relaxed a little. Viktor was nodding. '*_Grandmama doesn't know. Only about the rash.*'_

'*_What do you think we ought to do_?*'

Viktor considered. '*_Keep him until he's well, or stable, at least, and then see whether my in-laws want a duel with him.*'_

_'*Will you second?*'_

_'*I'll stand in if Father Lestrange asks me to.*' _He would, too. The more Viktor thought about it, the angrier he got, and he was determined to restore honour, even if meant duelling his uncle.

_'And if they don't?'_

_'I suppose we can't send malcontents to the tsar's army anymore, Father?'_

Martin playfully cuffed his son's head. _'*No, Viktor, no army. What else?'*_

_'*Shove him through the Floo. Good riddance to bad rubbish.'*_

_'*Rumen?'*_

_'*Quite so. Ban him from our lands and try to convince Madam Borev to make him move from her villa.*'_

_'*Good luck, brother. I've spent ten years on that particular endeavour.*' _Martin had, too.

_'*I'm in support if you are.'*_

Snape was pleased. The children had handled this ably, and more than ably. He wondered who'd planted the letters for Stefan to find. He suspected it was probably one of the Death Eaters. Barty had just been a stroke of good luck.

'*_Would you gentlemen like to see him_?*'

'*No.*' Martin looked older as he spoke. '*_He not only violated our hospitality, he profaned my wife's third day. I never wish to look at Stefan Borev again.*'_

Snape understood that, certainly. Krum Sr and his brother had left just after the ceremony to go on a short pilgrimage to a monastery, and he imagined, having just spent the last eight hours at prayer for his wife, being brought home to hear her own brother had defiled her memory by attacking the family was hard.

'*_Very well. I'll be sure to let you know if his condition changes.*'_

_'*Thank you, Professor.*'_

Snape, naturally, could have changed the man's condition with just a few dabs of ointment. But that, he reflected, wouldn't give the fellow time to think about what'd he done. So Snape gave him a full day and night before he healed him whilst he slept.

The Lestranges declined the duel. Rabastan, who was thoroughly disgusted at what the fellow had done, opined he hadn't earned a death at any of their hands, especially Viktor's, and that the knowledge of that should be shame enough. On the third day, Stefan Borev was shoved unceremoniously through the Floo, and the way sealed behind him.

In the interim, Lucius finally told Narcissa about the Dark Lord's decree. She went white in the face, but only for a second.

_'It's safer, Cissy.'_

_'I know.'_

_'And he and Viktor will get closer. That can only be a good thing.'_

_'I agree.'_

_'I wish you were happier about this.'_

She looked at him, face blank. _'He is our son, Lucius. We will do what we must to keep him safe.'_

Lucius nodded slowly. _'Of course, love_.' Her tone of voice was disturbing him a little. He'd never heard her sound so...he didn't know what. Draco himself was blasé about the whole thing.

_'All right, Father.'_

_'You're not upset, Draco?'_

_'No, Father. It might be the best place to learn...what I'll need.'_

'_Yes_' said Lucius, increasingly disquieted by the weird reactions he was getting from his family. _'If you want to talk about this, love, we will, hmm?'_

_'Yes, Father.'_ Lucius shook his head and went to make preparations to return to Britain, and to war.


	48. Chapter 48

**A/N: Love to reviewers and Countess Black**

**Spoiler A/Ns at the bottom.**

**As a more general note, the way I look at it, one of the major themes of this story is that when the choice is between two hideous alternatives, one has to simply choose the less hideous and attempt to make peace with it.**

**Some characters are going to do things which are pretty awful, many of them involving third parties who get sucked in without their permission. Please remember that I'm not advocating for any of them-rather, I like to explore the consequences of those things.**

Hermione silently surrendered her keys to Lyudmilla, who hugged her swiftly and then clipped them onto her waist. Beside her, Yana was sobbing hard, and Ivan, who was too old for such things, was sniffling, rubbing fisted hands on his eyes.

'And I come back at Christmas, Yana.'

'P-promise?'

'Yes. Soon. You be good?'

'I will.'

Viktor was waiting by the carriage. Narcissa was in already, and she found something interesting to look at whilst the lord and lady of Castle Krum bid one another farewell.

'Write me from France?'

'Yes. In English, you write me.'

'And Bulgarian.' She pretended to sulk and then smiled up at him, eyes wet.

'Yes.' He dipped his head and their lips brushed quickly. Then Hermione tugged away and let the elf help her up. Their hands caught for a second through the window of the carriage, and then they were ascending into the sky, and Viktor was growing smaller and smaller, a dot, and then was gone.

They rode in silence for some time, until Hermione heard a funny sound. She sat up, reaching for her wand, and realised it was Aunt Narcissa. 'Aunt Cissy? What's the matter?' Her aunt was holding a small handkerchief to her eyes.

Narcissa shook her head. 'I'm being silly, darling.'

'Is it Draco?'

'Yes. It's difficult to imagine that he'll be so far away.' Hermione got up and sat next to her aunt in the nearly empty carriage, wishing her cousin was there so her aunt wouldn't cry.

Narcissa patted her lap and Hermione laid her head down and closed her eyes, sighing. 'I felt the same way when Mother and Father left.'

'Of course you did.' Narcissa felt a bit chastened, hearing that. Her son was going to Durmstrang. The Lestranges were off to war, and might never return. Hermione snuggled closer and said nothing for a time.

'I can't believe summer's nearly finished.'

'I'm sorry you didn't get your holiday to France, darling.'

'I'm not.' Hermione rolled so she was looking at her aunt. 'I'm very fond of Yseult, but this was more interesting by loads.'

Narcissa laughed, smoothing her niece's hair. A Gyffindor Lestrange! Who'd have guessed that one? Hermione's eyes were twinkling with mischief, and Narcissa, who would have recognised that look anywhere, raised an eyebrow.

'And anyway, Yseult doesn't have puppies.'

They rode for some time in silence, until Hermione sat up and asked Rinky for her handiwork. She pulled the square of white linen from her basket and set to work on hemming it.

Narcissa watched Bulgaria fly by underneath them. 'What that you've got, love?'

'A handkerchief. Yana's promised to carry one if I make her some like mine.'

Narcissa smoothed her niece's hair. 'I am so proud, love, of how seriously you took your duties. Will you miss being chatelaine?'

Hermione's eyes seemed to belong to a much older woman. 'I don't think I'll ever stop again, Aunt Narcissa. Not really.'

Narcissa said nothing, because there was very little to say that would refute her niece's statement.

In Britain, Severus Snape was putting the final touches on his plan. He wasn't sure even his formidable abilities would help him much, but he had to try. Beside him, Moody, deeply sedated, nearly in a coma, sleep soundlessly, dreaming of who knew what. The dog, in human form, was standing next to Moody, making sure that he kept breathing. Snape bent over him and entered his mind as gently as he could.

It was a fascinating place. Snape almost hated having to demolish it, on the chance he'd forget where some of it went. But there was nothing for it. Without breaking the mental link, he touched his wand to Moody's temple and then started to transfer the very foundations of Moody's being to a pensieve which set beside him. It took five hours, and when he was done, the former Alastor Moody was split in two, half of it an empty body and half of it a seething mass of memories and desires trapped in the pensieve.

The next part would be trickiest, but Snape was clever. Sending Mippy, he was soon in possession of a warm, living body whose consciousness, like Moody's, had fled. This unfortunate fellow had been mauled by a lethifold, and he'd been in Saint Mungo's some four years. He'd never married, both parents were dead, and at Snape's behest, his records had been destroyed, and the staff obliviated as to his appearance. He may as well have never existed at all.

But he was alive. That was the key; Snape could transfer Moody's conciousness, but he couldn't make life, and so, with the elf monituring the lethifold victim's vital signs, he went to work, recreating Moody in the man's brain.

It took twice as long as unmaking Moody had. He had to work in precise order, making sure every bit of things was there, and that nothing would come back to disturb or scare Moody by it's suddenness or because it was in the wrong place.

When he was done, he sank back, head pounding, and, hoping Fortuna was listening, tickled the brain stem. The eyes, a strange yellowish brown colour, flickered, and the body, motionless those many years, creaked upward. Moody's voice and yet not Moody's voice-this voice was young and strong, and rather than Moody's Irish accent, it spoke solidly of southern England. Leeds, perhaps, or Penzance.

'What's happened?'

'What day is today?'

Not-Moody's face contracted. It looked strange, without his rough hewn features to support it. 'Don't know. Tuesday? What's this about, Snape?'

'Who are you?'

'Alastor Stephen Moody.'

Snape asked him a few more questions about his early life, preferences, and so forth. Moody finally reached out to move his hair from his eyes and stopped.

'My hand.'

'What about it?'

'It's different.'

Snape nodded. 'Black, get the hand mirror.'

Moody couldn't believe his eyes. 'I'm young.'

'Thirty two. Not terribly young, but...'

'And not bad looking.'

'I'm no one to judge.'

Moody's new face was non-descript in a handsome way, with good eyes and a soft smattering of freckles on his cheekbones. He stroked thoughtfully at the contours of his new face, and then, blinking, shook it off.

'Who am I now?'

'You are Desmond Feathering, brother of Eugenia. You grew up in Aruba, and at your sister's urging, you've come home. You spent your youth adventuring, and have been serving as a mercenary in the Congo these last five years.'

'Eugenia has no siblings.'

'She disowned you, as did your parents before their deaths. But you've made amends, and so you'll go and present yourself to Erasmus Feathering. He'll be delighted, I don't doubt.'

'How is Eugenia?'

'Well. Her feelings were deeply hurt by your heedless behaviour as a youth, but you'll write her a letter explaining how you've changed, and she'll forgive you.'

Moody nodded. 'All right. And then Durmstrang.'

'Yes. Krum has been briefed extensively, and Malfoy Jr is prepared to attend for the greater good.'

'Did the parents give you much trouble?'

Snape shook his head. 'No. Lucius half wanted to send him two years ago. Narcissa was...displeased, but she understands it's for his safety.'

Moody nodded. He rolled and gave his former body a sad look. He tried to bend to take his personal effects from the pockets, but he swayed dangerously. 'I almost forgot I've two eyes again. It's giving me a headache.'

'You'll get used to it.' Snape made a mental note to check whether spectacles would be needed and then rose to fetch the paper and ink for the note that Desmond, the repentant adventurer, was sending his sister, explaining how he'd changed his formerly wicked ways.

Eugenia and Hetty were looking over the latest hairstyle when Snape came in, bowed, and handed over a letter. 'From your brother, Madam. He begs the honour of being allowed to attend you ladies tomorrow at dinner.'

'My brother?' Eugenia had no idea she'd had one until that moment, but she took it in stride. She sat down and opened the letter, reading it aloud as good manners dictated.

'Tell Desmond we'd be glad to have him. Hetty?'

'Of course. Eight o'clock?'

'That should be fine. Professor, a drink?'

'Thank you, Madam, no. I'll be off.' He rose, bowed again and swiftly departed. Eugenia rose, tucking the letter into a pocket. 'Well, what shall we serve? It's your turn to pick, I think.'

Hetty shook her head. 'You never said you had a brother.'

'He and I don't get on, but he's come home as I have, so perhaps it's all for the best.'

'What's he like?'

Eugenia had literally the same amount of knowledge as Hetty. 'A rogue, but a charming one. And good with magic.'

'Is he handsome?'

'I suppose so. I'd watch out for him, though. He leaves broken hearts in his wake.'

'Does he?' Hetty laughed charmingly, showing her perfect teeth. 'So do I, duck. So do I.'

It was harder than Moody had suspected it would be, getting used to his new body. Everything on this one worked. He kept accidentally compensating for his peg leg, only to trip, or else squeezing one eye shut because it overwhelmed him to have two. The elf cut and styled his hair, giving him a rakish, old fashioned cut, and Snape got him decent, slightly loud clothes from somewhere-not vulgarly so, but enough to support his being the rebellious scion of island nobility.

Dressed to the nines, he waited with Snape, smelling of cologne and pomade. He felt an unaccustomed nervousness, almost excitement. He hadn't seen a woman (Emmeline didn't precisely count) for over a year. Unfortunately, that rather caused yet another unaccustomed reaction, and Moody found himself feeling fourteen again as he attempted to pretend it wasn't happening.

He didn't see where Snape took him. The next thing he was really aware of was Black, in dog form, bounded forward, and bowed to the ladies, both of whom cooed at seeing him. Snape stepped aside and gave Moody a gentle push. Eugenia, too, remembered herself, and opened her arms. 'Desmond, dear brother.'

'Eugenia. It's been too long.' She smelt like perfume and face powder, and Moody hugged her against him hard, inhaling, remembering women he'd known when he was young.

Eugenia stepped back, sincerely happy to see him, and bent to give Sirius a pat on the head. He snuggled against her, wagging, and then both of them remembered themselves.

'Miss Gill, my brother, Desmond Feathering.'

Moody bowed, and Hetty offered her hand for a kiss. Moody looked up at her and smiled with the other fellow's face. Hetty smiled back, fluttering her lashes, and Snape silently checked something off in his head.

It was a very pleasant night. The ladies fawned obligingly over both men, Salazar got plenty of pats (and some beef bones with tendons attached, delicious) and the elves were pleased to have something to do.

After the meal, Desmond, with some prompting, asked Hetty to show him the house, with Gemmy as chaperone. Snape faced Emmeline frankly.

'Desmond is the new headmaster of Durmstrang.'

'Oh?'

'Quite. He'll need a wife.'

'I'm his sister.'

'Miss Gill is not.'

'He'd be a good husband for her, I'd think. Ground her.'

'Yes.'

'And myself?'

'Rabastan Lestrange.'

'Go to hell.'

Snape held up a hand. 'I need someone as smart and reliable as yourself.'

'And when they recognised me?'

'They won't.'

'No, I've said.'

'Your life would be very little different, Miss Feathering. Rabastan does not worship at the shrine of Venus.'

'Evan Rosier?'

'Yes.'

'Ah. So I wouldn't have to...?'

'Perhaps occasionally. But I shouldn't think he'd make regular demands of you.'

Eugenia slumped briefly and studied her hands. 'I hate you for doing this to me.'

'And here I thought you cared about ending this disaster.'

'Damn you. When should I be ready to go?'

'As soon as I convince the Dark Lord that Death Eaters ought to marry.'

'You as well?'

Snape gave her his best withering look. 'Hardly. When the farmer takes his herd to slaughter, he saves back a bullock or two just in case.' He rose, and, calling Moody, took his leave.

Back at Spinner's End, the men looked at each other. 'Well, Moody, what did you think?'

'Of what?'

'Miss Gill. You'll need a wife to help you.'

'Isn't she attached to anyone?'

Snape shrugged. 'Nothing that can't be set aside. But you found her tolerable?'

'She's...very young.'

'So are you, now.'

Moody shrugged. 'I don't find her offensive, I suppose, but I've never been the marrying sort.'

'Who amongst us is?'

'And a wife is necessary?'

'No, but it would make your case easier. People like to see a married man for something like that.'

'Karkaroff was married?' Dumbledore, he wanted to point out, had not been.

'When he got the position, he was. She went back to her family after a year or so.'

'Why?'

'Because almost literally anything would be preferable to being married to Igor Karkaroff.'

Moody didn't disagree on that point. 'If she'll have me, I suppose it would be fine.'

'She will.'

Black was looking at him. Snape contrived to ignore him, but after Moody returned to his room, the dog finally spoke.

'So you're marrying that girl off to Moody?'

'Ideally.'

'And Emmeline to Rabastan?'

'Eugenia.'

'Whomever. I don't envy you.'

'Oh? The man that spends sixty percent of his time as a dog feels sorry for me?'

'Not sorry, but this whole spy thing is pretty manky, when you get down to the nitty gritty.'

'Manky?'

'You sold Trixie's little girl for what, a few thousand aurors? You're selling Moody for Durmstrang and Hetty to keep Moody sweet. And now you're selling Em for a place in Rabastan's household.'

Snape sat down and considered what Black was saying. 'We all have to do unpleasant things, Black, to end this. You have, I have, and the others have.'

'Unpleasant?'

'Be honest: have I not improved most of the lives I've manipulated? Moody gets a position and a pretty young wife, the girl is chatelaine of a castle, and Eugenia will have a part in ending this war and avenging that wool headed auror she loved for some incomprehensible reason.' He had caught part of the scene whilst rummaging through Hetty's mind.

Black nodded. 'Don't you feel like a pimp, Snape?'

'If I am, you're my spoony man. Spoony dog, rather. Speaking of which, Salazar needs to take care of those garden gnomes, they're eating my cabbages.'

'Can't have that, can we?'

Snape waved at him to go upstairs. 'Leave me.' Black did.

In Wiltshire, Hermione was surprised to see her father and uncle in the drawing room in Malfoy Manor. She put down her handkerchief and rose to greet them, feeling strangely excited.

They were both filthy. Narcissa had gone to lie down; Hermione, out of habit, spoke Bulgarian to the elf before she corrected herself and had basins of hot water and English food-bread and cheese, with thin slivers of meat-brought for the men to snack on.

'Is everything all right?'

'Fine, darling. Mother sends her love and wants you to be a good girl for your aunt.'

Hermione nodded. 'Will you be here long?'

'A few hours. Is your aunt resting?'

'Yes. She had a headache.'

'Ah. I'll go and see her, then, and shower. Rodolphus, you're welcome to use the shower in Draco's suite if you'd like.'

'Uncle? Have you eaten?'

'No, love. Would you ask the elves to make a meal for us, please? You're hostess in my wife's stead, if you would be.'

Hermione nodded and spoke to the elves, asking for beef and potatoes for the men. Her father kissed her cheek and left to shower as well, and when both men returned twenty minutes later, there was a hot meal on the table and wine in the glasses.

'How does it feel to be on British soil again, love?'

'Good, but it's strange to hear English again.'

'Is it?'

'A little.' Frankly, the house was too quiet. She missed hearing the boys getting ready to fly, and the shouts of the children, and the dogs, and the Snatchers in the yard teasing each other.

'How did Draco seem to you when you saw him last?'

Hermione smiled and thanked the elf who brought her more juice. 'Well, Uncle. He sends his greetings. He and Viktor were looking forward to a practice session when I left.'

'Wonderful. Who is lord in Viktor's absence? Once he leaves for school, I mean?'

'Uncle Rumen does the day to day, but Viktor is still technically lord.'Hermione had privately come to the conclusion that Father Krum would never take the ring back, but she didn't say it, any more than either man told her that Martin was in the field with them.

Lucius nodded and ate a bit more of the beef. After almost a week of cold rations, hot meat and tender potatoes seemed downright luxurious to him. Rodolphus had thus forth been silent, but, swallowing his mouthful, he smiled at his daughter.

'Are you excited about going back to school?'

'Yes, Father.'

'I'm sorry we didn't make it to your friend's this summer.'

Hermione shook her head. 'It was more important we do this, Father. And I'm sure they'll invite us again.'

'Have you heard from any of them, darling?'

'No, but Professor Snape said it was better not to write. It could lead the wolves to my friends' houses.'

'How cunning of Severus. I'm sure they'll understand.'

'I think so.' Hermione looked up as her aunt, looking disarrayed, came into the room. 'Gracious me, I didn't mean to fall asleep.' She smiled at her husband and took her place, sitting down near her niece.

'Are you well, Cissy?'

Narcissa nodded slowly. 'Yes.' She wished with her whole heart that Draco might have come back with them, but it did, she admitted, make more sense for him to go directly to school with Viktor, rather than doubling back, however much she might have liked having him home.

Lucius caught his wife's eye, and she nodded almost imperceptibly. 'Hermione, Rodolphus, I'm going to lie down before we go back.'

'Of course.'

Rodolphus looked at his daughter, finished his roast beef, and stood. 'Shall we walk through the gardens, sweetheart?'

'That sounds good.'

The gardens were truly lovely this time of year, with Narcissa's prize roses lining the walk, and fat white peacocks wandering about, sometimes dipping elegant heads to the lush grass and snapping up a bug.

Rodolphus watched Hermione as they walked. She was taller, and heavier, and she seemed older. Her formerly bubbly energy seemed a bit more restrained, and she walked much more sedately than she had.

'Darling? I've made an appointment for you. The day before you leave, you'll go and talk to a mind-healer. All you need do is be honest with her. Mother and I will be very, very happy with you if you'll do that. All right?'

'Yes, Father.'

'And you shan't be in trouble for what you say, love, so don't worry. Hermione? Is something the matter?'

'Just tired, Father.' She was, too, and unusually, she felt the urge to confide in him.

'Aunt Narcissa is sad. She misses Draco very much.'

'Of course she does. Did he take the news well?'

'He did. I think...it's not like it was. Hogwarts, so maybe Durmstrang will be a bit better.'

'Do you think so?'

'I like that he's not here, Father. Britain. It's dangerous.'

'Hogwarts is still very safe.'

'Not like Durmstrang.'

'Our man Feathering is the Headmaster, you know.' Rodolphus knew nothing of the man, but he was related to both Snape and Mulciber, and since he wasn't a Death Eater, it was an easier sell to the other countries.

'Yes, Father. Minister Dinev wasn't happy at first, I think. He wanted Viktor to support someone called Grubo.'

Rodolphus kept his face neutral. 'What did Viktor say?'

' I don't think he was impressed by the idea, nor his father.'

'Why not?'

'He says the Grubos have a bad reputation. They're a minor family, I think from Borev lands.' She said it all with the air of someone who took it for granted that the intricacies of Bulgarian politics were common knowledge.

'He changed his mind.'

'Yes. The Dark Lord wrote him. Probably he realised it would be better not to argue about it.'

Rodolphus's eyebrows shot up. 'What makes you say that, darling?'

Hermione's voice was matter of fact. 'Because no one will support someone that has a reputation as bad as Grubo's, so Dinev would lose. If he supported Feathering, then he could be on the winning side. And it's not like we aren't friends, Father. Our countries.'

How very astute. Rodolphus squeezed her shoulder to help her relax. 'Very true, sweetheart. The Borevs are Viktor's mother's family, are they not?'

'Yes. His great uncle is lord now, but his health isn't very good.'

Rodolphus stopped and petted one of the peacocks, who came and nudged his hand for a treat. 'These birds are your uncle's pride and joy, you know.'

'Draco's said. They're very tame.'

'Quite.'

Hermione handed her father a slightly mashed digestive from her pocket, and the bird waddled off happy, munching. 'Father? Is the war going to be over soon?'

'No, darling. Probably not.'

'And Mother is happy?'

'Happy?'

'She likes to fight, I think.'

'She does. And yes, she is. But she wishes she didn't have to be apart from you and me.'

'And the aurors are working out?'

Rodolphus's brow quirked. They were more than working out. They were brilliant, coldly efficient killing machines who were rapidly training their squadrons to be the same.

Soon they'd go to the caves and start to look for the wolves. It would be glorious. It was incredibly erotic to Rodolphus, knowing his wife had set this in motion, and their relationship was better than it had been in a very long time.

'They're very good, love.'

They sat down on a bench nearby. Hermione startled her father by nestling into him, closing her eyes. 'Sweetheart, what's the matter?'

She opened one eye. 'It feels funny not to be chatelaine anymore. I don't have anything to do.'

'You have. You can sew, or practice your dancing, or something like that.'

'I know, but it doesn't...it's not like it was.' She missed having her great aunt to visit, and the children to help, and menus to plan. She missed snuggling whomever was in bed with her, and most of all, she missed the feeling of being useful.

But she couldn't tell her father that. He had real problems.

Rodolphus rubbed her back a bit more. 'It's getting late, darling. Why don't you go and get ready for bed. Are you too old for me to tuck you in?'

Hermione shook her head no. 'I'd like that.'

'Go have your bath and I'll be up in fifteen or twenty minutes.'

Hermione nodded and took off across the lawn, calling her elf. Rodolphus watched her go. He rose and walked into the house.

The men started back for the front lines at four thirty the next morning. Neither of them said very much. What was there to say? They robed and masked themselves, and, meeting up with Bellatrix and Limpkin in Wales, went to business.

In Hogwarts, Snape was bowing himself into the Dark Lord's presence. The Dark Lord smiled and then went limp as Mippy stunned him. Snape tilted Potter's face up and opened an eyelid.

'My lord, your faithful servants are so few in number. Perhaps they should produce a new generation for you...'

The Dark Lord nodded. 'Yes. More Death Eaters.'

'And I know just the ones to start.'

The Dark Lord's mind opened like a flower, and Snape started to rearrange what he found. After the others, it was almost easy.

**Spoiler One: **

**Q: Why couldn't Snape implant Shacklebolt/Mulciber like he did Moody?**

**A: Because Mulciber was mentally still home at the time. For the implantation to work, the body and brain must be intact, but the soul (personality, memories, etc) must be totally absent. This is hard to accomplish outside a very specific set of circumstances.**

**Spoiler two: Q: Doesn't the Dark Lord know Rabastan is gay?**

**A: Probably. Wizarding people consider sexuality to be intensely private, and so never discuss it outright except with extreme intimates. That said, Wizards have no taboos against being gay.**

**Q: Then why is he making him get married?**

**A: Because the society runs on ancestor worship and primogeniture. There has to be a Lestrange male to carry on the family name. Also, he's a sociopath who has no hesitation sacrificing his followers for stupid, cruel reasons.**

**Q: So you're saying it makes sense to the characters in this one specific context, but acknowledge that modern people would find the notion uncomfortable at best and deeply offensive at worst?**

**A: YES. As a person, I am repelled by the thought of forcing an unwanted spouse on any person-it's an offense to free agency and human dignity. As an author (and WHILST BEING CLEAR I DO NOT, REPEAT, DO NOT FIND THIS ACCEPTABLE IRL), I believe it makes sense in the social and political climate of the story.**


	49. Chapter 49

**A/N: Love to reviewers and Countess Black**

**NB: From this point forth, there are likely to be sex scenes, both het and slash, intersperced in the narrative. (Well, definitely this chapter and probably a number of future chapters.)**

**They tend to be relatively brief and non-descript, as I try very hard to avert the normal tropes about these things. Those of you who have read my other work know how much I loathe Hollywood style sex in stories.**

**That said, I will only warn if the action is likely to be outside the normal pale-specially things I think might act as triggers, like non/dubcon, rape, or something similar. Standard sexual activity by consenting adults is not one of those things, regardless of the gender of the participants.**

Rabastan rose, smoothed his robes and put on his shoes. His mother, he remembered, had always hated it when he went without shoes. He felt a small, guilty pang when he recalled that, but he thought, given the other things he'd done, she'd overlook this one.

His meeting with Penko Krum was for three o'clock, at the embassy. He was five minutes early, and Krum showed him into his office with a smile and nod. '*_Good to see you, Lestrange. How goes it in your country?*'_

'_*As well as it can whilst we're at war. Your aurors have been doing splendidly.*'_

_'*We Bulgarians are a hot blooded people*.' _Krum seemed pleased to hear that the aurors were well, and he snapped his fingers and said something to an elf, who came back with yoghurt for them to drink.

'*_I wanted you to come partly so I can tell you how sorry I was about that whole thing with Stefan.*'_

'*_How did it ever turn out?*_' Rabastan hadn't asked; he'd had enough to do helping the others get safely home to dig for salacious details. And it would do well to seem not to know too much, lest the conspiracy be discovered.

_'*He picked up some filthy disease from one of the brothels he frequents.*'_

_'*Where is he now?*'_

_'*Who knows? Good riddance to bad rubbish. Never have been much for brothels, myself.*'_

_'*Nor I.*'_

Krum nodded. '*_I wonder whether you'd come over tonight? I've got some new wine from home this morning. Would you come and sample it with me?*'_

_'*I'd like that.*'_

_'*Eight o'clock, say?*'_

_'*I'll be there.*'_

Rabastan went home and found himself taking a bath without quite meaning to. He shaved, put on a little cologne and then dressed casually, not wanting to make it seem like he'd dressed for this.

In his youth, he'd often gone to friends' houses, drinking wine, playing chess, discussing literature and current events. His orientation had never been at issue, either for them or for him; Wizarding culture considered those matters private, and so had his friends.

And then Evan. He's been...twenty...? Yes, twenty, and Evan twenty three. Evan had been a potioner, like Severus, and when Rabastan had met him, he'd been bent over a cauldron, hair plastered to his head with sweat, muttering to himself about the glumbumble venom he was pouring into the cauldron.

_'Evan Rosier'_ said Augustus Rookwood, smiling brightly '_Rabastan Lestrange_.' He'd invited a few of his fellows over to get to know them better.

Evan had straightened up and started to offer a hand. Rabastan had been struck by how handsome he was, with big green eyes and skin like cream.

_'Good to meet you, Rosier. We share a great aunt_.'

_'Of course. Cunegarde, isn't it_?'

'_Yes_.'

They had not released the handshake yet. Evan's hand had been warm in his, and small, smaller than he would have thought. He'd realised heat was flooding his groin, and pulled back his hand.

Rodolphus had saved them, as he always did. _'Augustus, would you show me your library? Father says you speak Trollish, is that so?'_

And Augustus got it at once. _'Yes. Shall we go and look? I've got the epic of HJhgleQjjfjWH in the original, you know.'_

'_Fascinating_.' Rodolphus's expression implied that Rabastan owed him not one but many for this. Rabastan nodded to acknowledge his debt and turned back to Rosier-Evan-. _'Is there something I can do?_

_'Count out those glumbumble stings, would you?'_

_'Melting potion?'_

_Rosier lifted his head. 'Yes. How did you know?'_

_'I got an O on my potions O.W.L.'_

_'Ah. Perhaps some time we'll discuss it.'_

Rabastan shook himself from his reverie. He suddenly wished Evan was here. Sometimes, at these moments, he could almost conjure him, red hair falling across his forehead in a swoop, delicate hands moving like two elegant birds, smell his cologne, wake feeling his warmth along his back in bed.

Almost. It had been a very long time. He shook his head and donned his shoes, letting his grief recede. A very long time.. He felt the past on him like a vapour, like his skin, clinging to him. Krum seemed sharp to him. Might the fellow notice?

If he did, he never let on. Krum's townhouse was well appointed, private, tasteful. If he noticed Rabastan's thoughtful mood, he didn't say anything. He poured the wine and spoke of small things.

'*_My lord nephew sends it with his compliments_.*' It was a sweet red, and it was wonderful.

'*_Excellent.*'_

'*_Yes. Martin keeps a very good cellar.*' _He seemed poised to speak, but instead, stretched comfortably and motioned for the elf to hand over halva and rakhat for the men to nibble.

'*_Is there any news of how the family manse fares?*'_

Rabastan shook his head. '_*It's done externally, I should think. I worry more about the wards and things. We're getting a ward-setter from Cairo to come and do them again, but one has concerns.*'_

'*_I daresay. Damned shame how that whole thing happened.*'_

'*_I regret your people's introduction to the new Britain was so violent.*'_

Krum sipped some wine. '_*It was not your fault. I wonder if I could ask you a small favour?*'_

_'*Of course.*'_

'*_I regret that I have never been able to test my skills in battle, as you have.*'_

_'*Don't. It's hours of boredom surmounted by moments of stark terror.*'_

_'*I've gathered. Should the wolves come, of course, Castle Krum will call her sons home to her.*'_

_'*And Viktor?*'_

'*_Him most of all. He's heir to everything we own.*'_

_'*Everything?*'_

'*_Of course. The house I live in, the clothes I wear, the wine we drink-Viktor's.'_

_'Martin's, I thought.*'_

'*_Well, yes, of course. But it'll all pass to my nephew. It wouldn't surprise me if Martin gives it to him early and retires somewhere.*'_

'*_Can he do that?*'_

_'*He's lord, he can do anything he likes.*'_

'*_But Viktor is a child.*'_

'*_The boy is more than capable, and it wouldn't be until he was seventeen, at least. Don't let that get round, please, that's family business.*_'

Rabastan nodded. '*_He's my nephew too, these days.*_'

_'*Yes. He's a good kid.*'_

_'*Seems it.*'_

_'*I wonder whether you'd consent to help me practice? In case the wolves come, I mean.*_'

'*_I'd be glad to.*'_

In his bed at the embassy, Rabastan considered what had happened. He'd been invited back the next night. What was Krum playing at? He rolled on his side and scratched at his arm irritably.

Unless...he'd always been discreet in his affaires, both literally and otherwise. Aside from Evan, he'd had a flirtations, but nothing since Azkaban. There'd been no time. Was Krum feeling him out?

He rolled on his back. Damn featherbeds were too soft. He usually ended up on the divan in his study on nights like this, but he craved privacy right now. Barty, like a child, often wandered at night, and would wake him to go back to bed, worried Rabastan would get a miasma from sleeping too close to the chimney.

What if he was feeling him out? Rabastan wasn't a young man anymore. He wanted someone to spend time with, to enjoy. He'd take a wife if he had no choice, but he wanted something more than duty and pretence. Had he not earned some happiness?

He decided he'd go back and see what Krum was up to. It was probably nothing. He rolled on his side, and having decided that, fell asleep.

They fell into a pattern of sorts. They'd meet in the evenings, always at the Krum townhouse, and chat about things, and then duel. Often they'd discuss politics, or answer the other's questions about dealing with their respective countrymen.

_'*And your sister in law doesn't mind, truly, that Draco is going to Durmstrang? I would think loss of family tradition would be a serious thing to a woman from one of the oldest families in Britain.*'_

'*_Is it, but so is Draco's safety. Our country is not safe now, Krum. And Draco needs to learn about politics. Where better than an international school?*'_

'*_I suppose so. And Viktor likes him. It would be well for our families to grow together. Like vines.*'_

'*_I think so too. We'll share grandnephews and nieces before long.*'_

_'*I hope so. It would ease all of our minds, if Viktor had an heir or two. Not for a few years, naturally.*'_

'*_Hermione will come of age in four years. Five, if her parents wish to wait a bit. As much as the children like one another, I doubt they'll push too hard to delay things.*_'

'*_Not with the war , to be sure.*_'

_'*Your defence in improving.*_'

Krum nodded as thanks. '*_I confess, the idea of using it seriously is disturbing to me. How did you...?*'_

Rabastan considered. '*_I was twenty. Some aurors came and raided one of our safe houses. Walden McNair and I were there, with Evan and Galvie Goyle. We were waiting for word on a raid, and they came through the door, wands drawn. Walden threw the first hex, but then everyone was firing. I hit one in the chest with a severing hex but he kept fighting. Blood everywhere. So I hit him again. He went down. Still firing. I had to Avada him to finish the poor son of a bitch.*'_

Krum had been silent the whole time. '*_And after?*'_

_'*I...I wanted to...well, confirm that I was alive. It was my first time for that, too.*'_

'*_Which one?*'_

Rabastan looked at his glass of wine, not really sure what to say or do. It had been Evan, under the sky, love and death all together in the wet predawn grass.

_'*Evan.*_'

_'*My first was a Swede, a prefect at school. Was his name Anders? Can't recall. Good looking fellow, I remember.*'_

'*How did you know?*'

'_*About your tastes? Guesswork. Your brother married at twenty. You're in your mid-thirties and never married, as am I. I know why I've never married, so logically...*'_

'_*Yes.*'_

'*_Have I hurt you?*'_

'*_No. No, it's just been a while since I thought about all this.*_' Rabastan swallowed hard and then set down his glass.

'*_Enough about me. Shall we duel?*'_

'*_Yes.*_' said Krum, and took up his wand. The men walked to the ballroom in silence, both of them lost in dreams of other times and other flesh.

In Britain, Severus Snape was dealing with the last minute preparations for putting this stage of the plan in motion. He had found numerous photos and paintings of Featherings past, and he'd given them all to the nondescript woman whom he'd found through Black's underworld connexions.

She'd nodded without saying a word and set to work. The first step was the dual dose of sedative and bone softener that would allow her to re-make bone. She laid Eugenia back and then sat down, studying the pictures and paintings, shrunk down, in order to get a sense of what she should do.

Snape had a better understanding of facial manipulation than most people. He'd made the potions himself, and so he knew what was happening. The bone was softening, becoming plastic, and the woman, with no flourishes at all, started to mould.

Once the facial bone was re-shaped, she applied a layer of medical cream and waited so the skin could be fixed atop it. After that, she started on the body. Emmeline Vance had been a pretty woman before Azkaban. Even after, she'd been attractive, a tallish, athletic looking woman with good skin, a forthright, symmetrical face, and large eyes.

Eugenia Feathering had kept the large eyes, but they were bright blue, not blue grey, these days. The re-shaper took nearly four inches of height, and softened the bones underneath to give them a less prominent appearance. She motioned for the potions Snape had made, and with his help, dosed the sleeping woman.

As they watched, the body was rippling. The bust, once modest, was growing, as was the backside. The hips spread slightly, just enough to alter the appearance of her lower body.

The re-shaper still hadn't said a word. She motioned once more, and Snape handed her the final dose, the one that would fix the changes forever. They dosed the sleeping Eugenia, and then, as agreed, Snape paid the woman cash and obliviated her. Black immediately hustled her through the Floo, and returned five minutes later.

'Quite a find, Black.'

'She's the one who fixes muggleborns so they can leave the country.'

'Oh?'

'Oh. Is Em all right?'

'She'll be sore.'

Sirius nodded. 'That happens a lot when you're about, Snape.'

'Someone has to do it.' Eugenia was moving. Black bent and touched her arm lightly and she murmured, sinking back into sleep.

'I'll be leaving the country for a few days. Eugenia and Moody are swapping places. You don't mind, I assume?'

'No.' Black looked distant and sad and tired. Snape rose, nodding, and went to get ready to see Miss Gill. 'And Black?'

'Snape?'

'Keep those damned children out of my garden.'

'You need to go and see their father, Snape.'

'I did. He thinks it's my fault the little bastards play on my property. In my day, if I'd behaved that way...'

Black nodded and then, improbably, grinned. 'Welcome to the New Britain, Snape.'

'Pillock.'

As he stepped through, Black was laughing to himself.

Hetty was awake. She rose, smiling, and assumed that now was the time Snape would unbutton and ask for her mouth, or her cunt, or her arse. Why else would he want them to be alone, then?

'Miss Gill, Miss Feathering is suffering a small fever. She'll be in hospital a few days.'

She raised a brow. 'How terrible.'

'She sends her affectionate greetings and orders that you not worry about her.' Snape sat down and motioned that she should, as well. 'I've received an offer for your hand.'

'My...hand?'

'A marriage offer. Desmond Feathering is in need of a wife.' Snape outlined the terms of the arrangement. Hetty understood very well, and asked a few shrewd questions about things.

'Why me? Couldn't he get a woman who isn't a whore?'

'No. Mr. Feathering was involved with some dodgy schemes when he was younger. No respectable woman would have him. He's in line to inherit the Feathering estates and vaults when Erasmus Feathering dies.'

'That's Eugenia, I thought.'

'It would have been. She'd opted to give up her inheritance in toto in return for a sizable dowry and the ownership of a number of properties. She, too, is to marry.'

'Who is she marrying?'

'A gentleman.'

'What about Lem?'

'What about him? You are not married, are you?'

Hetty shook her head. 'No, but I do care about him.'

Snape dropped his voice. 'Miss Gill, the Dark Lord himself wishes this to be done. Mr. Scabior's destiny is higher than anyone might have imagined it to be, though our lord's kindness. And Mr. Feathering is the choice candidate for Durmstrang's headmastership. Your role is to be the best wife you can to him, do you see?'

Hetty nodded. Can't I be Lem's wife and help him? Or at least see him and explain?'

'Not possible. I'll do it all. Just give your consent.'

'All right. I accept the offer.'

'Excellent. I'll alert him tonight. Would early next week be acceptable to you?'

Hetty nodded in surprise. 'I, ah, yes. But what about Eugenia?'

'She will attend along with a few others. It will be a small ceremony.'

'And I can keep the clothes?'

'And more. Mr. Feathering wishes to have you fitted a complete wardrobe for your new role as the lady of Durmstrang.'

'I have to go to Durmstrang?'

'Yes.'

She nodded, quite bravely, Snape thought, and said 'All right, then.'

'Very well. I will make the arrangements.'

'Thank you, Professor. You are the author of my great happiness.'

Snape rose and bowed. 'May many children increase your great happiness, and a long life bring you joy of them.' He handed her the ring he'd got at a pawnshop and she donned it.

That done, he returned to his house. 'Moody?'

Moody came down the stairs, and Snape bowed. 'You are to be congratulated, sir. Your fiancée is willing.'

The man, looking strange with his new, young face, nodded. 'Poor child.'

'She was raised in an orphanage, Moody, and then became a whore. Being your wife is the best fate she could hope for.'

'It feels wrong to me.'

'You'll get used to it.'

'And then Durmstrang?'

'Soon.'

Now Snape had only to arrange the second part. He left Black and Eugenia alone and then quietly had an elf Apparate him to Bulgaria. Rabastan was in his study, and blinked, shocked, as Snape appeared there.

_'Severus? Is it Rodolphus_?'

_'No, they're fine. The Dark Lord is about to announce a new decree, and I wanted to offer you a choice in things before he does.'_

_'A decree?'_

_'He wants his unmarried followers to marry and have children. Your name is first on the list.'_

_'My...but...what?'_

Snape summarised the conversation he'd had with the Dark Lord. Rabastan's face went white, and he sat down hard. _'I can't.'_

_'You've no choice.'_

_'What was your offer, Snape?'_

Snape felt a moment of sadness. He liked Rabastan well enough, but needs must is needs must. If he could sell the child for a thousand aurors, he could do this.

_'I've a cousin, a third cousin on my mother's side, who needs a husband. Perhaps you'd consider marrying her?'_

_'What's wrong with her, that she'd marry me?'_

_'She's not young. And there was fiancé.'_

_'A fiancé?'_

_'Yes.'_

Not a virgin, then. Excellent. Rabastan nodded slowly. _'And the alternative?'_

_'He'll find you someone. Maybe Alecto. Maybe a cousin of the McNairs or the Mulcibers.'_

_'Is this...lady...aware of my...?'_

_'Yes.'_

_'And she makes no objections?'_

_'No.'_

It was the strangest thing. Snape could almost see the mask descend on Rabastan's features. He straightened up and nodded again. _'As He commands, I obey. Please tell the lady I am willing.'_

_'Of course.'_

Snape rose and held out a hand. The elf Apparated him, and then he was gone. Rabastan rose and went to the WC, vomited what was in his belly. He swallowed a potion to sweeten his breath and then, after a moment's hesitation, asked Krum whether he could come and visit. Perhaps a duel would help.

The men fought harder than they ever had. Rabastan spun, dodging, and fired again, nearly disarming Krum. Krum fired back, and Rabastan ducked, returning the spell and then parrying it with ease.

By the end, bleeding and bruised, they stopped, declaring it, for the first time, a draw. Krum approached, smiling gently. '*_A glass of something, and perhaps you'll tell me what's the matter?*'_

In the study, the whole story came out. Rabastan thought it sounded even worse out loud a second time.

_'*And you'll do it?*'_

_'*I've no choice.*'_

_'*No?*'_

'*_Better this random cousin of Snape's than Alecto, or some naive little virgin.*'_

'*_Quite. So what's the problem?*'_

Rabastan sighed deeply. '_*It's wrong for some innocent woman to get dragged into a sham. There's no reason I couldn't adopt one of Viktor's children as the Lestrange heir, after all.*'_

'_*Have you considered telling the Dark Lord that?*'_

'*_One doesn't...I went to Azkaban for ten years for this. I wouldn't presume to know more than He what's best for Britain.*_'

'*_And you've the comfort of knowing she'll be well treated. Perhaps you'll grow to care about her, in a sisterly fashion.*'_

'*_Perhaps. But that's...not much of a life. I am ready to live again.*'_

Krum's eyes changed. He set down his glass and suddenly kissed Rabastan on the mouth, hard. Rabastan, startled, kissed back, and after a moment, his hands found the fastening on Krum's-Penko's?-tunic.

The two of them parted long enough to undo the frogs on the tunic, and then picked up where they'd left off. It had been twelve years, and Rabastan was aching for it, and to feel another body grappling with his in love, not war.

Penko broke the kiss and threw a handful of powder into the Floo. They walked into his bedroom and then, as one, began to undress. There were piles of clothes everywhere, and nude, they crawled into the capacious feather bed.

It was awkward, at first, but the body remembers, and Rabastan eased the way with some oil he found at the bedside. It was like Evan and not like Evan. His thrusts were gentle at first, as he preferred, but Krum finally looked over his shoulder and said '*_I'm not eighty, Rabastan!*_', and he'd sped it up a bit. They finished in a panting, laughing, happy mass of limbs and fluids, worn out.

After they recovered, they looked at one another in mild shock. '_*So what should I do?*'_

Penko grinned. '_*I didn't mind that thing with your tongue.*'_

_'*No, I mean, about...*'_

_'*Honestly? Father a child with her and then tell her to do what she'd like so long as it isn't fall pregnant by another bloke. Be a brother to her and she'll love you.*'_

_'*Do you think so?*'_

_'*I do. And then spend your nights here with me.*'_

_'*I would like that.*'_

'*_It's settled. Have I ever told you I'm double-jointed?*'_

_'*Prove it.*'_

Strangely, reflected Rabastan as he fell asleep, Penko snoring beside him, this feather bed didn't feel too soft at all.

Snape reported back to Britain what had transpired. He told Eugenia first. She nodde, looking as though she'd been slapped, face still. He rose and gave her the only mercy he could, a little privacy.

She was beyond tears. John was dead. What did it matter how she felt about Rabastan? She'd retch every time his hand-stained, if not physically, with blood beyond telling-touched her, but if she wanted to help take apart the regime, this was the way to do it.

Snape went downstairs and closed the door to his study. If she needed to cry and wail, let her. There was no reason she shouldn't. He started to write the letters that were needed, and worked straight through until dawn.

Sirius waited until he heard the door close. As Padfoot, he ambled up the stairs an scratched to get in. Eugenia opened the door and he transformed. She let him without a word.

Like the other lovers, they undressed and climbed onto the bed. It had been a long time for them both. He whispered her true name into her hair as he came, and she called him the wrong thing as she dug her nails into his neck, but other than that, it was fine.

She was crying. Sirius scooted so she rest on his chest, and she did it, sniffling. 'I'm sorry.'

'Don't be.'

'Everything is...'

'All fucked up?'

'Yes.'

'Yeah. But we've got tonight, and that's nothing to turn our noses up at.'

She nodded, dried her eyes, and slept with her face against his neck. Sirius had almost forgot how sweet a woman's body could be, curled into his as they dozed. He couldn't sleep-if Snape caught them mucking with his precious plans, he'd be livid.

Just before dawn, he slipped out, transformed, and went to his attic room, having surrendered the guest room to Eugenia.

He curled up on the hard bed and slept, without dreaming, for twelve hours.


	50. Chapter 50

**A/N: Love to reviewers and Countess Black**

**NB: Things have got confusing, in that it's possible that people are using at least two languages in any given scene. From now on, italics means simply that the characters are not speaking the dominant language. This (***_this_***) still means a small scale translation charm.**

** This causes some issues as regards Durmstrang, which has students from a number of countries. Assume that the classrooms and public spaces of Durmstrang are translation charmed very strongly to make it seem that everyone is using the hearer's native language. In other words, I am writing in English but to Viktor, it wouldn't seem like Bulgarian translated from English-it would seem as though I'd written it in Bulgarian.**

**Ordinary translation charms tend to be mediocre because the casters are amateurs. I cook fairly well IRL, bt if you compared my food to that of a famous chef, it would suffer simply because I'm not a professional.**

** For this reason, most things at Durmstrang are normal text.**

Alastor Moody had once duelled Rabastan Lestrange to a standstill. He'd faced down werewolves, given chase to dangerous thieves, and dealt with the magical syndicates that ran the rougher parts of Knockturn Alley (for whom Llewellyn Rice had been an enforcer, his specialty the strangler's noose).

Still, he felt a moment of dread when he walked to talk his place on the dais. Eight hundred boys, standing at attention, facing the dais, arms behind their backs. Moody nodded to them. 'Good morning, men of Durmstrang.'

'Good morning, Headmaster.' Eight hundred voices chanted it in unison, and Moody nodded. They sat down just after he did, and the room filled with a muted sort of hum as five hundred boys dug into flavourless porridge and plain, hard black bread.

Moody had a small pitcher of golden syrup, but he didn't touch it. It seemed wrong to him to indulge when the boys went without. He drank strong coffee and thought of the strange turns his life had taken.

Beside Viktor, Draco ate his porridge. After Hogwarts' good food, this swill turned his stomach. He forced himself not to react, but to continue to eat without a word. Across from them, a few boys stared curiously, murmuring.

'Hear you had quite a summer, Krum.'

'Yes.'

'Who's this? A new friend?' A tall blond boy waggled his eyebrows in a way that made Draco's stomach clench for no reason.

Viktor's affect was flat. 'My cousin in law, Drago Malfoy.'

'Malfoy? Your father is Lucius Malfoy?' The other one was rail thin, hachet faced, eyes as black as Snape's.

Draco nodded cautiously. 'He is.'

'The Butcher's son? Better not leave your doors unlocked, lads, the Butcher's son will let Death Eaters in!' The table got quiet as eyes flicked toward them, waiting to see if Krum would hex Lofstrom or let his friend do it. Draco opened his mouth to respond and saw Viktor give his head a shake.

'Nothing to say about it, Butcher's boy?'

'Not to the likes of **you**.' Draco went back to his porridge, swearing horrible, violet revenge at some point But not now. Now he'd wait. That summer had taught him about the value of waiting until the time was right and striking, and that's what he'd do.

Moody waited until the boys seemed finished and then rose, prompting the others to do likewise. 'Dismissed to classes. Krum, Malfoy, stay.'

They students filed out in orderly lines, leaving Moody with the other two. He had never seen either boy up close. Malfoy Jr was the image of his father, hair so blond it was almost white and Lucius's narrow, angular face. He'd be tall, too, from the looks of him.

Krum was a different story. He was already tall-taller than Moody's new form, at any rate-and heavy featured, with thick brows and a large, hawkish nose. His eyes were so dark they looked black, and he carried himself with the ponderous grace of a bear. A strange study in contrasts, the two of them, and an even odder choice for a Seeker, as far as Krum went.

Moody raised his wand and swished. The spell negated the translation charms that were otherwise woven into the very stones of the school, and enabled them to speak English without fear of being overheard.

_'Good morning, gentlemen.'_

_'Good morning, Headmaster.'_

_'Krum, I understand you speak English?'_

_'I am learning, Headmaster_.'

_'Good. You're Superintendent. Malfoy is your second, I presume_?' He reached into the pocket of his robes and handed out the armband, embroidered with the crest of Durmstrang.

_'Yes, Headmaster.'_

_'Young for it. Don't muck it up, lad_.' Draco got an armband too.

_'No, Headmaster_.' Draco could feel the man's eyes boring into him. They were topaz brown, almost yellow, very strange. He stood straighter, neck itching from the neck of the unfamiliar, coarse wool tunic that was the uniform.

Moody dismissed them with a terse nod and then turned on his heel and left without a word. Draco looked up at Viktor and sighed. _'He seems all right.'_

_'Next to Karkaroff, he's vonderful.'_

_'I believe it. Father says Karkaroff was a maniac.'_

_'He vas. You vatch Ilya and Sven, they don't like me. Now they don't like you.'_

_'Why don't they like you?'_

Viktor shrugged one shouldered. _'I don't let them cheat on exam in year two. They get bad marks, blame me. And Quidditch.'_

Draco nodded. _'I almost punched them.'_

_'Don't. Headmaster beat you if you do.'_

_'They still do that here?'_

_'Yes. Be careful.'_

_'Always. And you.'_

Viktor nodded and donned his armband. _'Yes. Herm-on-knee-nee kill me if ve get hurt.'_

_'Double here_.' Draco slid the armband up and felt it tighten about his arm. This was the start of something dangerous and vital, he could feel it in his bones.

Thousands of miles, several hours and lifetimes away from Durmstrang, Hermione was stepping onto the grounds of Beauxbatons and seeing her friends. 'Alise! Yseult!'

The two other girls ran over and the three hugged. 'Oh, thank goodness! We were afraid you'd not be able to come!'

'Nothing could've stopped me. Have you met my aunt?'

Yseult had, but Alise had not. She shook hands with the woman shyly, not sure what to make of her. Narcissa smiled graciously and turned to Hermione.

_'Darling, will you be all right?'_

_'Yes, Aunt Narcissa_.' They hugged a final time, and Narcissa slid something in Hermione's pocket. _'Be a good girl. I'll forward your letters as soon as I can, all right?'_

_'Yes, Aunt Narcissa. Be careful?'_

_'I shall_.' She stepped into the carriage with a lachrymose Rinky and the two set off for home, both teary eyed.

Hermione felt sad, too, but also elated to see her friends. 'It's been forever! Come to my room?' They agreed, and trotted off still chattering excitedly. A large shadow fell over them, and all three stopped and curtsied.

'Ladies, good evening. Have you had a good holiday?'

'Yes, Madame.'

'Excellent. Madmoiselle Lestrange, I should like to see you in my office. Your friends may go ahead and wait for you in your room, if you like.'

Hermione wondered what she could have in the five minutes she'd been back. She nodded and followed silently until they were in the woman's office, door closed. The headmistress directed her to the chair across from her own.

'I wanted to express my sympathies on the difficulties you experienced this summer. I'd think it must have been quite terrible for you.'

Hermione, hands folded, shook her head. 'I was most fortunate to have so many people about me to give me the help I needed.'

Olympe nodded, wondering who had coached her to say that. Perhaps no one. The iron resolve she'd sensed in the girl, the rigid commitment to decorum, seemed harder rather softer. Perhaps this experience had acted a flame which burnt the dross away. Olympe found herself hoping not with her whole heart, lest the dross prove to be the openness and kindness she'd sensed in the child.

'Of course. But if you should wish to speak to someone, that could be arranged. We've a very good medi-wizard who helps with those things.'

Hermione nodded politely. 'I appreciate it, Madame. I met with one just before I left, actually.'

'But you're sure you're well? I don't wish you to feel that I am prying, dear girl. I simply worry about your well-being.'

The girl seemed to relax a little. 'Thank you, Madame. I hope I've not given you the impression I feel that way. I'm just a little worried.'

'Of course.' Olympe wished she could say something to alleviate the child's distress. What could she say? This wasn't a boy or a bad mark or a case of home sickness. The girl's parents were combatants in a war the outcome of which would be disastrous no matter which side won.

And there was the boy. 'And I understand you've been engaged?'

'Yes, Madame. I am to marry Viktor Krum of Bulgaria.'

'How do you find him?' Olympe she wanted very much to find an upside to this situation, if nothing else for her own peace of mind.

Miss Lestrange's eyes lit up. 'He is. He's wonderful, Madame. And his family is amazing. I even have a puppy there.'

Olympe smiled. 'A puppy?'

'Yes, Madame. Bess, her name is.'

That was something, at any rate. Olympe smiled, pleased by the genuine pleasure the girl was having at her own puppy and a kind fiancé. She thought about the card in her file cabinet, which listed Narcissa Malfoy as the girl's contact should there be a problem.

Hermione waited to be dismissed, and when she was, she curtsied and went to find her friends, both of whom half pounced her as she came in the door. She laughed, hugging back, and the three ended up sitting on her bed, legs drawn up.

'Well?'

'Well, what?'

Alise rolled her eyes. 'Well, what? she says.'

Hermione looked round her room and started to unpack, flicking her wand at her trunk to get her clothes in her wardrobe.

'It was a long summer. I'm sorry I couldn't write.'

'We understand. Now, tell us everything.' Yseult had asked an elf to bring up snacks, and the elf, who knew as well as anyone about the situation in Britain, had done so, bringing up pumpkin juice, brioche, pain au chocolate, and assorted sweetmeats.

Alise handed out the drinks and nodded. Hermione looked different to them both, they'd agreed. She seemed older, and some the innocence which had both irked and charmed was gone.

She told them, using a translation charm so no nuance would be lost. The girls listened in stunned silence, food forgot about, realising the full enormity of what had gone on.

'And so I went and spoke to the mind-healer.'

'What did she say?'

Hermione looked frustrated, huffing and balling her hands into fists to express how irritating the whole thing had been. 'Nothing useful. Just a lot of silliness about talking through my feelings and expressing myself.'

'Silliness?' Alise raised her eyebrows, and Hermione flushed and looked down.

'It's...frustrating, is all. She sat there and pretended she knew how I felt. She doesn't. She's never had to...well, it's frustrating.'

Both other girls nodded. 'So what now?'

Hermione shrugged. 'What is there? We'll work.'

Yseult handed out pastries and sweetmeats. 'And you'll talk to us about it.'

'It's not that I don't want to. But it's not happy things, you might be happier not knowing.'

'Alise, love, do you think we're being got round?'

'Yes. That is a good word for it.'

Hermione gave in, knowing when them to fold them, so to speak. 'Some. But some is...'

'Of course. Now, tell us about Viktor.'

Hermione rose and got something from her trunk. She handed it to Alise, whose face lit up. 'Oh! Hermione!'

'What? What? Let me see!' Yseult took the pictures and nodded approvingly. She couldn't approve of Hermione's clothes and hair on principle, but she thought Viktor rather handsome in his tunic and high boots (if not to her tastes).

'And did he get to kiss you?'

'Loads.'

'Was there tongue?'

'Alise! No, there wasn't any tongue!'

Yseult raised her eyebrows. 'Tongue?'

'It's a muggle thing.'

'It sounds vile.'

'It is.' Alise went pink as she suddenly realised what she'd said, and the other two sprang like cats. 'Alise, what do you know about tongue?'

'Well...'

'Alise, darling, we'll get it out of you one way or another.'

'His name's Bruno.' And, in the time honoured tradition of teenage girls, they giggled and talked until curfew, feeling light and happy and carefree.

In Britain, near midnight, Narcissa was hugging her sister, sighing with relief. 'Trixie, are you well?'

'Yes. Starved. Is Hermione at school?' Bellatrix was covered in mud, and her hair was matted with some vile, noisome mixture Narcissa didn't want to contemplate. She raised her wand and swished, and half the dirt vanished.

'I'll have a bath run, and then you'll eat something.'

Bellatrix nodded. 'It was glorious, Cissy. We've got them running.'

'You found the wolves?'

'A few of them. But these'll flush out the rest, do you see?'

Narcissa nodded. Her mouth tasted like bile. 'And my husband?'

'Sends his love. He took a stunner, but he's fine.' Bellatrix held out the parchment, smeared with mud, ink blotched. Narcissa tucked it in her pocket, desperate to read it.

Half an hour later, the sisters looked at one another across the table. 'How did it go today?'

'Hermione sent this for you.' Narcissa had an elf fetch the things Hermione had given her, a handkerchief for them both and letters telling them how she missed them, and that she wanted to make them proud.

Bellatrix nearly snatched them up. 'But she seemed all right? That medi-witch helped, you think?'

Narcissa inhaled. 'No. I don't think she harmed anything, but...'

'But what?'

'Hermione is a rather special child. I'm not sure this woman understood that right off.'

'What happened?'

'Well, she started talking about things that scare us, and Hermione told her she wasn't scared because she knew we'd protect her.'

'And that's bad?'

'I think she wanted Hermione to express her feelings a bit more...well, childishly. It was disconcerting to her, I think, that Hermione was so calm and matter of fact.'

'So what happened?'

'She kept pushing Hermione to admit she was afraid, and Hermione kept insisting she was fine.'

Bellatrix leant forward a bit in her seat. 'Don't keep me in suspense, Narcissa!' Her dinner forgot about, she listened intently, curious about what her daughter had done.

'So the woman changed tracks, and asked her to describe what she'd seen.'

'And then?'

'Hermione did. I never saw anyone get so white in the face so quickly in my life.'

'Hermione?'

'No, the medi-witch. She kept asking me whether it had really happened like that. And I kept saying yes.'

'And what did she say after that?'

'The usual about communication and emotional support. I think this was beyond her field of expertise.'

Bellatrix huffed. 'Well, what did she think Hermione would talk about, then?'

'Not that. She mentioned seeing Scabior killing the wounded at the Ministry. Has she ever said anything like that to you?'

Bellatrix nodded, trying not to seem as though it bothered her. 'Yes. Did she say anything about it to you after? The whole thing?'

'She did. We talk quite a lot. She's very afraid, Bellatrix.'

'Why did she not tell the mind-healer, then?'

'Because she thought the woman was condescending to her. She told me she thinks it fair that if she's willing to behave like an adult, that adults give her that same courtesy.'

Bellatrix snorted. 'Good luck. I've been trying to make adults act like adults for years now. But she's...all right?'

'No. But there's nothing any of us can do, I daresay. Nor Draco. When the war is over, they'll be better.'

Bellatrix nibbled reflexively at a fingernail, deep in thought. Her sister pressed on. 'Olympe Maxime Firecalled this evening. She spoke with Hermione, as well.'

'Was there some kind of trouble?'

'No. But she thinks it might benefit Hermione to have a pet. To make her feel as though there's always someone there for her.'

'She's the puppy.'

'In Bulgaria, and it's not really her dog, per se. What about a nice cat?'

'A cat?' Bellatrix wrinkled her nose. 'It'll yowl and scratch and bring us dead things as presents.'

'Beauxbatons doesn't allow dogs, and a rat is hardly fitting. But a sweet, fluffy little cat might be just the thing to help Hermione feel safer.'

'Hmmph. And I suppose it'll want to follow me and stalk the elves.'

'Her muggle family had a cat.'

Bellatrix went still a second. 'She's never told me that.'

Narcissa hoped she had violated some sort of confidence. 'It came up. It was called Buttons.'

'Well, she's not calling a proper cat that. Buttons.'

'She was five!'

'That's better. There wasn't a cat there, though, when we went.' Unless, of course, Greyback had eaten it.

'It died. Hit by one of those machines, I think a year or so before...'

'Ah. I can't talk you out of this?'

Narcissa firmly shook her head. 'It'll help, Trixie. And it does worry me a little, how calm she always is.'

'Fine. But nothing cute, understand?'

'All right, I'll find her an ugly kitten.'

'Right.' Bellatrix grinned teasingly, and Narcissa suddenly realised that her sister hadn't mentioned the Dark Lord in the whole conversation. Not once.

At roughly the same time, Scabior was climbing into a carriage, face set. He hadn't precisely loved Hetty, but the news of her marriage was hitting him rather harder than he would have thought.

Not that he didn't understand what she'd done. And really, he hadn't meant to marry any time soon, so perhaps it was meet that she found someone who was. And a wealthy gentleman, yet!

He pulled the shades and laid back, ruminating. He'd miss her. She was fun, and easy to get along with, and good in bed. But Snape had implied to him that was set to move up in the world, and perhaps it would all be for the best. He'd wake at home, and then he'd find out what his place in the world was to be.

Snape received him politely. He held out the rat and the rat came to Scabior, squeaking cutely. Scabior gave him a scratch and set him on his shoulder, where the rat commenced to peaceably gnaw his hair.

'Ow's doins, Professor?'

'Well. I've a special job for you. It shan't be for some time, but the rewards will be sizable. How do you find Bulgaria?'

'Fine, sir.' Scabior raised a brow. He could only vaguely conceive of how his life could be better. Hetty was gone, but he had a good place, friends, an elf, a flat, and a full bank account.

'Fine. When the Lestrange girl marries, you'll go with her as her head of security.'

'What about the Boss?'

'Lestrange? He likes you. It would comfort him to know that you were watching his only daughter. And I'm sure he'd be amenable to your continued training of aurors.'

'I'd like that. I likes the work ere, but mebbe a change would be good, too. Yeah?'

'You'd need a wife.'

'I would, sir, but Etty's jus gone an left me.'

'I know. I regret that was necessary, but the Dark Lord needed her service, as he yours.'

'What would you ave me do, sir?' Scabior didn't ask. If the Dark Lord needed it, then he'd give it. He owed the Dark Lord everything, after all.

'Mr. Krum wishes to resurrect the custom of noblewomen having companions to help them. To that end, a girl has been selected to serve. When the time is right, you and she will marry.'

'A girl? A friend a Miss Lestrange's?'

That was quicker than Snape might have liked. 'Yes. A Latvian national.'

Scabior looked shocked. 'Professor, Flower is a lil girl! The Latvian'll be real young too, wont she?'

Snape was tempted to remind Scabior that he'd been fucking his sister when he went to prison, but said nothing, as that would be counterproductive. Instead, he managed to find a degree of respect in the fact the man hadn't leapt on the opportunity for a child bride, and tried to find a way to finesse this a bit.

'She needs you, and Miss Lestrange needs her. You can save both of them a great deal of grief.'

Scabior nodded. 'Awright, Professor. She'll be grown we when gets married, yeah?'

'Of course. And she'll be well dowered. You'll be quite the wealthy man, Scabior.'

'An the ore ouse you promised me, sir.'

Snape rolled his eyes. 'There's more to life than one's own whore house, Scabior.'

'Not when you've seen what I ave, sir. Once a man sees that, it changes im.' Scabior sounded philosophical, and Snape controlled a laugh with great effort.

The dog, damn his eyes, came forward, tail thumping agreement. Bastard creature. Snape gave him an evil look, and the dog, damn his whore house loving soul to Hell, seemed to twinkle as he rose on his haunches and bowed to Scabior, who responded with enthusiastic pats and praise.

Flash git. Snape resolved to give him a flea dip at some point. The dog rolled on his back and Scabior obligingly scratched his belly, cooing. 'What's er name?'

'It's safer I not tell you.'

'Is she pretty?'

'I'm told.'

Scabior nodded. He still missed Hetty, but he didn't mind the idea of marrying at some point in the semi-near future. 'Ya know, sir, I'm twenny-four now. Almos twenny-five. This girl's, what, thirteen?'

'Fourteen. She'll be seventeen and you'll be twenty eight. Not as bad as some.'

'No. But young.' Scabior had, after all, been raised in a society where girls of seventeen married men of eighty, or had until the fairly recent past. His own Mam had been thirty years younger than Obed when they married, and so eleven years seemed minor, almost not worthy of mention.

He rose and bowed. 'Anythin else, sir?'

'No, Scabior, not tonight. Before you return, but...actually, one thing. What ever happened to Monroe?'

Scabior smiled. 'We decided e's not upta the demands of bein a Snatcher. E's appier now, as a guard at Azkaban.' Scabior didn't mention the brutal beating he'd given the man to help him see how much Scabior cared about his happiness.

'Ah. And Rice is your second now?'

'Y'sir, in Limpkin's absence. Good bloke, Llewellyn. Is bird jus ad a baby girl, you know.'

'Much joy to them all. Will you be taking Chum?'

'I will. Missed the lil fella, I did.' He had, too.

'I'll owl you before you return.'

'Awright, sir.' And Scabior departed with the Pettigrew rat in his pocket, whistling a jaunty tune.

Snape turned to the dog. 'You never could resist an audience, Black.'

Black rose as a man. 'You never could resist playing God, Snape.'

'I'm sorry, dog, does my attempt to save that child's life disturb your precious sense of moral superiority?'

'You know what Scabior is, Snape.'

'And it's unfortunate, but he's the girl's best chance. Too lowborn for anyone to check her credentials, and hopefully he'll see her as someone to shield, not to be exposed to his...desires.'

'And if he does?'

'You actually think Krum will permit Scabior to batter a woman under his roof?'

'No, I don't, but that doesn't change the facts. Why are you marrying the poor kid to that lunatic, anyhow?'

'She's committed the only unpardonable sin in our brave new world, Black.'

'Oh?'

'She's a muggleborn. The Dark Lord hasn't started on the Latvians, but he will. This will spare her that, at least.'

'Trixie's daughter's best friend is muggleborn?'

'She certainly is. Sweet girl, I'm told. Likes to cook.'

Sirius shook his head. 'That's fucked up.'

'Isn't it just? Now if you'll excuse me, I've other lives to re-arrange.'

'Snape?'

'Hm?'

'Em's back at Grimmauld Place. I want to join her.'

'No.'

'She's leaving forever.'

'She's marrying your cousin.'

'So let us have this.'

Snape glowered. 'It would be easier for me without your constant harping. Just don't let the elf see you.'

'Kreacher. I hate that little bastard. I technically own him now, don't I?'

'No. You're legally dead. Krum Jr owns him now. The children think him splendid.'

Sirius rose and started toward the Floo, and Snape, resigned, rose and followed him.

**A/N: 'Not to you' is a reference to a Star Wars novelisation, but I don't recall which one.**


	51. Chapter 51

**A/N: Love to reviewers and Countess Black**

**'The Paths of Glory...' is from the poem 'Elegy Written in a Country Church-Yard' by Grey. It seems appropriate to quote the stanza in full:**

**The boast of heraldry, the pomp of power,**  
**And all that beauty, all that wealth e'er gave,**  
**Awaits alike th' inevitable hour:-**  
**The paths of glory lead but to the grave.**

Barty took the news of Rabastan's marriage with excited, though confused, pleasure. _'A wife? Congratulations, Rab!'_

_'Thank you, Barty_.' Barty beamed and called for the elf to bring them both ayran to celebrate. Then, thoughtfully, he said _'Rabastan? You don't like women.'_

_'No.'_

_'Why do you have to get married, then?'_

_'The Dark Lord doesn't want my family line to end.'_

_'Oh. Why don't Rodolphus and Bella just have another baby_?'

_'Too much Dark magic, Barty, remember?'_

_'Oh. What about my house?'_

_'Your house?'_

_'Do I get a wife too_?' Barty looked at him with total sincerity, and Rabastan reflected that it was almost harder for him when he could bits of the old Barty poking through like rays of light from the childlike person he had, effectively, agreed to care for in the foreseeable future.

_'I need your help here, Barty. You'll keep Eugenia company, won't you, for me?'_

_'And protect her.'_

_'And protect her.'_

_'And then you and she will have a baby?'_

Rabastan nodded. _'Yes, someday we will.'_

_'Is Sev getting married?'_

_'Snape? I wouldn't think so.'_

_'He should. So he won't be lonely. He's got Salazar, but still_.'

Barty looked thoughtful, almost sad. _'You know, Rab, sometimes I think...if things hadn't happened...I'd be lonely_.' He frowned, dealing with thoughts and images for which he had no context. _'The aurors were screaming. She liked it when they screamed. I wanted to make her happy, so I did it again.'_

Then she shook his head and his eyes refocused. _'But I'm not. Lonely.'_ And with that, he rose, clapped his friend's shoulder by way of congratulating him, and went to find Cunegarde so he could hold her wool whilst she worked on winter scarves for deserving Pureblood orphans.

In Britain, the bride was faring little better. She was letting Gemmy comb her hair, staring warily at the stranger in the mirror. Her face was foreign to her now. She didn't dislike it, exactly-the Featherings were likely looking people, and the re-shaper had even managed a resemblance to Moody-Desmond. But it was harder to become a new person rather than simply act it. Now every trace of Emmeline, and her parents, and John, was gone forever.

The elf finished brushing her hair and smiled gummily. 'Miss is ready for bed?'

She nodded and climbed in. Sirius was in dog form beside her, and the elf frowned. 'Gemmy takes dog to kitchen.'

'No, I'll keep him. He'll soothe my fears.' She'd convinced the elves that she was afraid to be alone at night, and whilst Kreacher was sulking and muttering, they hadn't outright argued the dog's presence in her bed. She'd given strict instructions that she wasn't to be disturbed before nine every morning, and so when the elf vanished, she privacy warded everything and Sirius changed back.

'Is that what they call it now?'

She rolled her eyes and nestled against him. 'I don't want to do this.'

'I could sleep in the-'

'No, I mean, I don't want to marry Rabastan.'

'Who would?'

'Lots of women. He's handsome, wealthy, a murderous fanatic...'

Sirius snorted and gave her a light tickle on the side, prompting a yelp. 'He's not as bad as some of them. He's all right on a personal level.'

She rolled. 'Sirius, I've seen the pictures. Anyone who can do that to a bus full of elderly holiday makers is not "All right on a personal level".'

'Remember, I knew him in a different context. All of them.'

'What are they like?'

'Rabastan's quiet. A follower, I'd say. Rodolphus always ran that particular show. And then he met Bellatrix.'

'And it was oil on fiendfyre.'

'Understatement of the year, Em. But yes, you should be fine. I suspect he won't ask much of you.'

'That's a relief.'

He nodded. 'I'm sorry it had to be like this, you know. Really, deeply sorry.'

'Nothing for it, Sirius. We got a few days.'

'That's more than most people ever get.' He looked into some distant place in himself, an internal by-way she didn't inquire about.

'And the others?'

Sirius sighed. 'I was young. Bellatrix and Rodolphus used to come over every weekend so Mother and Father would get some time to themselves-daytrips and the like. But I remember, they'd read to us by the hour. Loads of things. Not fairy stories, Trixie hated fairy stories, but she'd read us all sorts of non-fiction.'

Emmeline nodded. 'And Rodolphus?'

'He'd wrestle with us, teach us things. I wanted a beard like his when I was old enough.' Sirius touched his smoothly shaven face and then shook his head. 'And they still seem fine, is the worst part. When I saw them...they seemed just like they had.'

Emmeline had known them as an auror first and foremost, and her curiosity was tickling her. 'How so?'

'They weren't...monsters. I mean, obviously they wouldn't look it, but it's disconcerting to see them all so normal. She loves that little girl very much, I think.' He could see it in the lines of her body, and the way she'd smoothed her hair and fussed with her bedclothes. Did her perfume smell like love to the girl, he wondered, as it once had him?

'Snape said so as well.' She was seguing slowly into Eugenia, but Emmeline had a final say. 'Do you suppose it could tip things? Her love for the girl?'

Sirius was silent a long moment. 'Maybe it could, at that. Because otherwise it will destroy her.'

Emmeline was fading, and Eugenia was more or less back. And they banished what they'd discussed in a tangle of limbs and panting, and let it drive out the grief and terror of the Dark Lord's brave new Britain.

At Durmstrang, Draco was discovering that the change he'd perceived was more far-reaching than an armband. The Headmaster stood after the evening meal and waited for quiet.

'Men of Durmstrang, your attention. Effective immediately, duelling club is mandatory for all students. It will run after supper, from eight to nine thirty. At the end of every week, the student with the most duels won will receive a pitcher of golden syrup for his porridge in the mornings. Your new Head Boy is Viktor Krum. His second is Draco Malfoy. The prefects will be chosen by Krum. Thank you. Dismissed to dorms. Krum and Malfoy, stay.'

The reaction was immediate. A hum rose and was quashed when the professors motioned for quiet. Krum was Head Boy? During his Fourth year? It was almost unheard of. On the other hand, his girlfriend was English, and so was the Headmaster. Most Purebloods, of any nation, could appreciate a little nepotism. And mostly they found Krum inoffensive enough not to care.

The room was empty now. The headmaster motioned the boys forward. _'We'll continue this in my quarters_.' He lead them down the passages and staircases to a patch of wall that looked no different than others. He rapped three times and said the password, and it opened.

The woman that greeted them was vaguely familiar to them both, though neither could put a name or location to the face. She smiled brightly and had the elf bring English style tea.

_'My wife, Madam Feathering_.' Both boys bowed, and the lady dimpled winsomely before she retreated to her chambers. The headmaster sat down and sighed. _'Well then. How do you both do?'_

_'Vell, Headmaster.'_

_'Yes, very well, sir.'_

'_Good_.' He seemed almost as uncomfortable as they, which, paradoxically, helped them all to find a common ground.

_'I wanted you both here to discuss some things. The Professors have submitted a list of students they feel would be appropriate to the role of monitor_.' He handed it to Viktor, who looked it over and nodded thoughtfully.

_'I am agree, if Drago is.'_

_'Of course_.' He didn't know any of the people on the list from Mordred, so if Viktor said they were all right, they were. He happened to glance down and saw a couple of names he did recognise.

_'Lofstrom? That's Sven, isn't it_?' He'd overheard some of them other boys calling him that, and it still made him seethe, what had happened.

_'Yes. I am surprise his marks are high enough, Headmaster.'_

_'His father is an important man in Sweden, an importer of foreign commodities_.'

Both boys nodded; they, after all, understood nepotism.

_'And Ilya Arbanas, as well?'_

_'Arbanas's uncle is Potioner to the Minister of Croatia. He could turn the man's mind against us if we have an insufficient number of Croat students in positions of authority.'_

The headmaster drank some tea. Scalding hot, noticed Draco, and black as ink. He had sugar and lemon in his, thank you, and sipped slowly, wondering about this odd contradiction of a man in front of them.

_'You've permission, Krum, to use my Floo for your Quidditch activities. I'd imagine you're very excited about it.'_

_'I am honoured to represent Bulgaria, Headmaster_.'

The answer pleased Moody-Feathering. He allowed himself a small smile and handed round biscuits. He could hear Hetty stirring in the other room. She would probably pounce him when he went in for bed, and he might well let her.

_'About this duelling thing-I want you both to test the new prefects and see who's good and who needs work. Find out who's actually seen combat before. A few of the Estonians have, I'd think, and some of the others whose countries got invaded last Christmas. Send them to me. I want them preparing the others, and then the real work will begin_.'

Moody stood and gestured to the seal above the fireplace. It was not the Durmstrang seal; rather, it was a skull, crowned, on a bed of roses.

_'The private seal of the Headmaster. Do you know it's meaning, Krum?'_

_'Yes, Headmaster.'_

_'Explain.'_

_'The crown is things ve do on Earth, and the skull is ...sign of vhat mean all things vhen ve have died. And the roses are the time of a human life.'_

_'And the scroll?'_

_'Is from a poem. "The...roads?...of ...bravery...leads to death. Andrei of Minsk."'_

_'"The Paths of Glory Lead but to the Grave". It's my job to see that every boy here has an understanding of those things. They will serve us all during the war to come. Your thoughts?'_

Viktor had never had a professor ask him for his opinions before. He blinked slowly. '_I think...Drago, you first_?'

Draco realised the first part of the change coming over him. Before he would have spoken first; now he knew to watch and wait. He considered. _'We need to show them that it isn't fun, Headmaster. Combat.'_

_'Yes. Not fun and not easy. What did you feel, boy, when you saw it the first time_?'

Draco sipped more tea. _'I was disgusted. And afraid. There was blood everywhere, and the smell was awful. But I didn't...I was afraid of disgracing myself and letting them get the women. Men hurt women, sometimes.'_

_'What did you do?'_

_'They'd scaled the walls and were coming through the main entrance. I started firing at them. Viktor was beside me. They fell and Uncle Penko would finish them.'_

_'And you, Krum?'_

_'The same. Afraid for Miss Lestrange. And Barty-Barty Crouch- he is child in his mind._' The Malfoy boys face was white as milk and his voice shook, but the Krum boy did neither. His voice was level and without much emotion. But Moody-Feathering noticed how his eyes softened when he mentioned the girl. Most interesting.

_'And that is what we must teach the others, first and foremost. That this is not a joke, or a game, or a thing to be used for personal advancement. This is life or death. Krum, your thoughts?'_

_'Yes. Serious. But is different-hard-to show how is different between duelling and real life_.' He wanted to describe how he meant it, the way his skin had tightened and his stomach burnt with acid.

He could teach them what he knew, and he trusted Snape when he said that the Headmaster was the best there was at defence. But for the men of Durmstrang to understand how it really was, he'd have to show them what he saw when he thought about that night; Zhivka, a fan of blood and brains on the floor, holding Hermione's hand in his whilst his mother's lungs stopped, and her heartbeat stilled forever. That was the stakes they were playing for now, and maybe for the rest of their lives.

_'Ve tell them truth, Headmaster. Not for glory. Not for honour. Because, if ve fail, they destroy. They give insult our vimen. They kill our parent's parents, niece, nephew, children. Everything, destoy. Ve stop them or no one stop them.'_

Moody-Feathering nodded. _'Yes. Exactly so. Can I trust you to communicate that to them, Krum? And Malfoy?'_

_'Yes, Headmaster.'_

_'Yes, Headmaster.'_

Moody-Feathering handed over a large basket. _'Armbands. Pass them out tonight and then call a meeting of the monitors tomorrow. You're excused from morning classes to make sure it happens.'_

Draco and Viktor walked back in thoughtful silence. When they entered the door, the room went still as the boys rose and faced them silently. 'Be seated. The monitors are as follows: 'Arbanas, Aslin, Balogh, Bellard, Bohler, Borg, Corvin...'

The seventy-five came forward and took their armbands in silence, bowing politely, and then sat down again. Viktor faced them without any discernable emotion. 'You are all excused from classes until lunch tomorrow for a meeting. We will meet here at nine o'clock The rest of you, lights out at ten.'

'Yes, Superintendent.'

The dorms at Durmstrang were essentially barracks; small, hard beds which the students were expected to claim and then see to themselves. The ones nearest the door were warmest, and so fiercely fought for.

Viktor, as Superintendent, had a tiny room he was expected to share with his second. The boys put their trunks in, and Viktor immediately set about casting warming and privacy charms. Draco cast muffiliato and charmed both their trunks to keep people out of them.

_'Vell, Drago, here ve are.'_

_'Yes. I think Lufstrom and Arbanas will be problems, though. What'll we do about them?'_

_Viktor smiled. 'Ve have to let them be monitor. Ve don't have to give them good vork. Ve keep them busy.'_

_'Who's worth knowing?'_

_'Some. I make you list.'_

_'No! Father says never write anything down.'_

_'Ve have meeting tomorrow. People I call first are good to know. Any after Sven troublemakers. Ve vatch.'_

_'Why do you call them by their given names?'_

_'Used to share sleep area vith them.'_

_'Ugh.'_

_'Vhat means "Ugh"?'_

_'That those two are loathsome swots.'_

_'Mmm hmm.'_

Draco climbed into his bed and stretched on top of the covers, swishing his wand so his current book would come to him. 'What else do we need to do?'

_'Ve make time...chart...Shed-le?...to set up vatches. Tonight professors vatch. Tomorrow monitors.'_

_' Schedule. And the meeting.'_

_'Yes.'_

_'What do we tell them?'_

_'Truth.'_

That was a tall order, thought Draco, and then decided he'd get ready for bed, still musing on the nature of truth, and trying to tell the scions of Europe's oldest and grandest Wizarding families that they'd die if they didn't learn to duel.

As Draco was contemplating his task, Hermione was writing a letter. Bent over her desk, hair in a loose braid to sleep, she was frowning as she wrote her fiance about her first day of classes.

"_My dear Viktor,_

_How are you being? And cousin Draco? Not flying in good tunics, I hope? Classes is making you happy?_

_We here are well, except it is much lonely. Very much am missing you, and family, and dogs. Aunt Narcissa sends affectionate hellos and wants both you to wear woollens when it is being cold and wetting._

_Friends send you also greetings. Alise is helping with letter. She say my words is good but grammar is bad. I am thinking you talk to her and tell her your thought? Joke, of course._

_Please to write me and tell me you are well, and Draco._

_Love,_

_Hermione."_

She hadn't mentioned what was really on her mind. Viktor and Draco had enough to worry about, and her problem was really very small. She frowned, fidgeted a bit, and finally pulled out the gift her aunt had given her, a two way hand mirror.

She tapped it with her wand, per the instructions, and within a minute, Aunt Narcissa appeared. _'Hermione? Love?'_

_'Aunt Cissy, they're staring at me.'_

_'Who is, my darling?_' Narcissa's brows creased, and Hermione felt a spike of sadness when she saw it; was she being a baby? It wasn't such a big deal. But Aunt Narcissa was giving her a look, and so, a little hesitantly, Hermione said

_'Everyone. The students, the teachers, all of them. They look at me strangely, and sometimes the girls whisper. What should I do?'_

Narcissa inhaled. _'Darling, this is going to be a persistent issue. Just try and ignore it. And if some vulgar person should address you out of turn...'_

Hermione knew the answer to this. _'Look cold and then make my excuses. I know. No one's approached me, but it makes me nervous. It's nothing, really.'_

_'No, love, it's something, and I am very glad you asked me. Is there anything else_?'

Hermione nodded. _'It's...hard, getting back to things, I suppose. But not very.'_

_'And your friends are well?'_

_'They are_.' Hermione smiled, which made Narcissa relax a bit. She had wondered how Hermione would re-adjust, and the fact that the biggest problem she was facing was the inevitable curiosity reassured her. A bit.

_'Darling, I saw your mother last night. She's very well and sends you her love.'_

_'She wasn't hurt?'_

_'Scrapes and bruises, but not very much. Your father is also well, and wants you to concentrate on doing your lessons and not worrying. You'll do that, won't you?'_

Hermione nodded. _'Yes, Aunt Narcissa. And Uncle Rabastan? Is the family in Sofia well?'_

_'They are. They miss you very much. I've some letters for you which I'll send tomorrow, all right_?'

Hermione nodded eagerly. _'Yes! And we'll see them at Christmas.'_

_'Of course. And I've another surprise for you, but this one is special.'_

Hermione looked thoughtful. _'Do I get to guess?'_

Her aunt grinned. _'Mmm, you might, but I shan't tell you. You'll like it very much_.'

Hermione grinned too. _'Wish I had one for you, but I haven't.'_

Narcissa was also looking thoughtful. _'You know, love, as Viktor becomes more famous, you'll be looked at a good deal. Do you remember how we discussed how important it is to look one's best all the time?'_

_'Yes, Aunt Narcissa.'_

_'It's doubly important now, sweetheart. So why don't we plan on getting you some new things? I'll send some magazines, and you pick what you'd like and the seamstress elves will make it up for you, hmm? And how are your uniforms?'_

_'A bit short. I've spelled them longer, but...'_

_'Hermione Bellatrix! You know to let me know these things.'_

_'I meant to say, but I got distracted.'_ She gnawed her lip thoughtfully and reflected on everything that was happening.

'I_ know, love. I'll send you everything tomorrow. And we'll talk again, hmm?'_

_'Love you, Aunt Cissy.'_

_'Love you too, Hermione. Right to bed now._' Hermione tapped to end the conversation and slid into bed. Her nightgown was also a bit too small these days, and she tugged irritably at the hem as she laid down.

The next evening, the three girls poured over the magazines. Narcissa had sent a mix of British and French publications, and they seriously debated the merits of both, discussing colour, profile and trimming on robes.

'I think this pink is very a la mode, but it doesn't suit blondes' sighed Yseult. She envied her two brunette friends, who could wear those colours without overpowering themselves.

Alise nodded thoughtfully. 'It's fashionable, but for how long? I prefer neutrals. They always look chic.'

'What do you think, Hermione?'

Hermione set down her magazine and considered. 'I like a mix. Perhaps a nice solid dark blue or green for daytime. At night, though, it's fun to have more frivolous things to wear.'

'What'll you choose?'

Before she could answer, Yseult frowned seriously at her. 'We really must get you into more modish things. You're a trend setter now, you know.'

'I know, but I'm honestly not a clothes person. As long as it's clean and neat, I'm quite satisfied.'

The other two girls exchanged looks. 'Which is why you should let us do it. We'll have you looking stunning.' They had clearly been discussing this, and Hermione, sensing she'd lost this before it began, sighed deeply. 'We'll make it a group effort.'

Alise picked up a magazine and started to determinedly flip. 'China blue robes with darker trim, for daily.'

'Yes, and that nice deep lavender with dark purple.' The girls chose out several nice things, and Hermione, with some trepidation, agreed. At their insistence, she also asked for a new nightgown and some new shoes, plus the uniforms, which came from a store.

Narcissa approved of the list and wrote back, suggesting Hermione choose some more-five outfits was, obviously, not enough. She had the house elves make up two of the choices to check fit and sizing, and the girl, terribly excited, helped Hermione into them.

Both other girls got very quiet as Hermione stripped to her slip and camisole. 'What's wrong?'

'You didn't tell us!'

'Tell you?'

'You've got...!'

'Got...oh. No, I don't.' She looked down at herself and really saw for the first time in months. Her camisole was, indeed, a bit fuller than it had been. She'd waited so long for this to happen, and now that it had, she felt only a mild annoyance.

'Do so.'

'Maybe a bit.' She finished fastening the robes over her dress and turned round for them to approve the outfit.

Yseult nodded. 'That cut works well on you.'

'I think so, too.' Alise motioned for Hermione to turn round. 'A bit more in the back, you think?'

'A tiny bit.'

Yseult checked her watch and made a face. 'I have to go and meet with Madame Girard about Defense. Don't you dare try on the other without me!' They saw her out

'Hermione, you've talked to your Professor?' Alise sat down and nervously nibbled a fingernail.

'Yes. And Viktor. We can help you.'

'How?'

Hermione inhaled and sat next to her. 'How would you like to move to Bulgaria?'

'Bulgaria? Where would my grandmother go?'

'She could come too. Not in the castle, but we'd find her somewhere.'

'Castle?'

'Castle Krum. Viktor wants me to have a companion, and I want it to be you.'

Alise nodded her understanding. 'As a servant.'

'No. You'd be married to someone-an Englishman-and live with us. More like an assistant.'

It was a bitter thing to them both, that Alise should be a servant in Hermione's house. But it would be safe there, and her grandmother would be cared for. Viktor sounded kind. He would treat her fairly and well.

But what man would she marry? Alise wanted to find someone like her Papa. But who could she find that would marry a mudblood? And where could they be safe? There was no guarantee that the war would not come to them. Latvia certainly and France possibly. At Castle Krum, she would not need to watch the world burn about her again.

She nodded. 'I trust you.'

'I'm sorry. It was all I could do.'

'I know.' Hermione rose and started to undo her fastenings. Alise stopped her, holding up a hand. 'Let me do it.'

'Alise...'

'We may as well learn our parts.' She began briskly unbuttoning the robes, and then hung them in the closet. 'You'll have your elves, of course.'

'Yes. It's not...it's not real, Alise. We aren't actually...'

Alise felt a moment of pity and anger toward her friend, who'd probably saved her and her grandmother both by selling them into servitude and forcing her into a marriage to a foreign stranger.

'We are now, Hermione. Would you teach me English?'

'Of course I will. And I've something for you.' Hermione swished, and the door to the wardrobe sprang open.

She held out the phial, exactly like hers. 'Lavender oil. I made it myself.'

Alise took it and tucked it in her pocket. 'Thank you, my lady.'

'Don't, Alise, please! I can't bear it!' Hermione's eyes filled, and then they were embracing. 'It doesn't change anything! It doesn't!'

Though, of course, it did.


	52. Chapter 52

**A/N: Love to reviewers and Countess Black**

**Viktor's example of Caesar at Alesia is true-the Gauls sent the women and children from the city to try to win the siege. They failed.**

**Also, many of you are aware that my family has a real life Crookshanks, a ginger persian called Princess. She came to us a stray who literally walked in one day and refused to leave, and rules with a paw of iron in a velvet glove.**

It took them over a month to clear the mountains and valleys of Wales and start on the towns. Bellatrix was exhausted in the best and happiest way. Her aurors were performing beautifully, very few had been killed or wounded, and, best of all, she'd a letter from her daughter and one from her son in law in her pocket.

She tromped through the command centre, boots squelching from the mud that had got in them, and nodded to Malfoy when she saw him, looking distinctly pillocky as he talked with Galvin Goyle.

'Malfoy, Goyle, good evening.'

'Trixie.'

'H'lo.' Goyle was a man of few words, but Bellatrix rather liked him. He got the job done and never fussed or whinged. And he didn't stare at her, like so many of them. Yet another reason Hermione wouldn't be joining, she thought, and went off to find her husband.

She finally found Rodolphus bent over a map with Limpkin beside him, glasses slightly bent at the arm. She sat down without a word and held out the letters. Rodolphus took them and scanned rapidly.

"Everything here is well. Classes are fine-all TBs and Es-and so are my friends. Miss you very much and hope you are well,

Love you"

The girl had a real facility for intrigue, thought Rodolphus proudly as he handed to letter to his wife. She knew better than to head or sign anything, and put in no details. He smiled at Goyle, who'd come over holding a dispatch from Nott Sr. 'And your boy?'

'Misses the Malfoy lad, but knows why he got moved. And he's getting right good marks, too.' Good marks for a Goyle was an A, but who was counting?

'Good to hear, Galvie.' It was, too. Rodolphus opened the second letter just after he'd complimented Goyle and read it aloud, too.

'Things here is good. Cousin send many wishes for luck. Please tell Uncle marks are high, doing well, is tall now. Wish you both good health and many fight-winnings.

Your respectful"

Galvin nodded. 'He a nice kid, Rodolphus?'

'Very, and Hermione adores him. And he her, thank the ancestors.'

'Good.' He handed over the dispatch and, bowing to Trixie, went off to find out more about the next day's raid. The Lestranges faced one another.

'Well, then.'

'How did it go, love?'

'We got three. You?'

Rodolphus sighed mournfully and shook his head. 'Damned hard to make this lot talk. I think they know more than they're letting on, but we need them alive to take the capital, so...'

Bellatrix gave one of her weird, grimacing smiles and clapped his shoulders. 'If anyone can do it, you can.' That, from her, was the same as effusive praise from anyone else, and he looked round and then pecked her lips.

'I'm off to try again, love. See you later?'

Bellatrix rose and went to find her men again. They spent most of the afternoon house clearing, and had she not got those two letters (dated ten days earlier, so bad was the post in the war-zone) she would have thought nothing of the cat, but as it was, the cat changed a great many things. Later; at the moment, she just saw the damned thing and thought of her sister and her little girl.

It was a squashy ginger creature with a pansy face and a cobby, broad body. It stepped from behind a coal bin in the basement of the house they'd just cleared and regarded them with eyes that were unafraid and old and wily.

A werewolf drew and Bellatrix, remembering in that split second the conversation she'd had with Narcissa, said 'Stop!' She moved forward on the feline and held out a hand. He sniffed it disinterestedly and sat on his haunches, as though challenging her to do something to amuse him.

'Ma'am?'

'My daughter needs a pet. This cat will do admirably.' No one said anything. Bellatrix stunned the creature and, tucking it under her arm like a small throw rug, headed back to base.

'You're going to give Hermione that thing?' Said Malfoy when Bellatrix laid the cat down and explained her plan. He wrinkled his nose at the snoring conglomerate of ginger fur and stubby legs on the table.

'Yes.'

'Dear God, Trixie, it's hideous. And old.' The cat did seem to be quite long in the tooth. One ear had a chunk taken out of it, and there were white hairs stippling the vestigial muzzle.

'So is Dolohov, but we keep him about.' Goyle, from the other side of the tent, snorted and tried to pretend it was a sneeze. Malfoy pressed on. 'If you can't find her a proper kitten, let me do it. Two, even, if you'd like.'

'A kitten will run about, and scratch, and make obnoxious noises. Better an older cat. Calmer that way.' And hopefully it would sleep more than anything. Goyle rose and came to look the thing over.

'A fine cat, this. Got some Caledonian silvestrus in him, from the looks of it. And kneazle. See how his hind legs bow a bit? Sure sign, that is.'

Bellatrix raised a brow at her swot of a brother in law, who sighed and muttered something about manky old cats and nieces who deserved better before walking out. She ignored it and had a Snatcher put the cat on her bed so she could send it to her daughter as soon as she had time.

As it happened, Lucius was in the midst of arranging gifts of his own. He'd sent a number of letters to Crabbe's people, and they'd established that such a thing was possible, and that, with the right tools, they could charm a piece of jewellery.

A few more letters, some threats and a bottle of expensive scotch for dear Alfie, and he had his promise that his project would be pushed through as soon as he was ready. He'd one done as a trial balloon-his signet ring was charmed now, and he'd tested it and found it good. He'd sent Draco a list of suggestions as far as what might be suitable for everyone else. He especially wanted something nice for the ladies, partly as a sort of atonement for everything that had happened in the spring.

And now there was the cat. He would have got the girl a sweet little kneazle kitten, but that was Bellatrix, always doing things that made no sense at...and then the two ideas popped into his head together, mated, and produced a failsafe that would get the children free of the castle, should it fall. Lucius Malfoy, robed and masked, laughed out loud and went to speak to his brother in law about things.

At Durmstrang, Draco was having more serious problems than jewellery. He hadn't even had time to look at the letter, honestly, because he'd never been busier than he was.

His day started at five, a full hour and a half earlier than the others. He rose and spent the time speaking to his cousin in law, discussing their goals for the day. Viktor apparently did this every day at home, and Draco's respect for him, already high, was nearly as much as it could be.

After breakfast was class from seven thirty to two, and then sports. If it wasn't duelling, it was running, field games or swimming. Very few British wizards and witches could swim, and he'd had to learn from scratch.

After that it was flying, and then dinner at eight. By then he was almost too exhausted to eat, and not unusually, he and Viktor were called to meet with the headmaster to discuss the nature of war, leading men, and other interesting if complex matters. That wasn't counting the discipline issues the monitors brought to he and Viktor, the occasional fist fight, and the mounds of lessons he had to do in between those things.

Because Durmstrang was polyglot, there was no real dominant tongue. Lessons were translation charmed, and so Draco, at least, could write in English. Viktor was using English too, as practice, and usually he asked Draco to look everything over and correct it.

Draco sat down on his bed and sighed. His shoulders ached. His neck ached. His legs ached. He was living on five or six hours of sleep and not eating much of the terrible food. But it was affecting a change in him, he thought-he felt himself sharpening, like a blade, little bits flaking off him and revealing perfectly honed steel underneath.

He slit the seal with a fingernail and spilt the letters from the large envelope in which they'd been put. One from Mother, one from Father, one from Hermione (who, for security reasons, sent the letters to Mother, who then sent them to a third party, who then passed them to him, and vice versa) to Viktor, and one from Godfather to Viktor. Draco had also got letters from the last two, so he didn't mind. Viktor also had letters with Bulgarian on the front, so clearly from his father or uncles.

He opened his and read them slowly, savouring. Father had sent word that the Portkey spell was ready, and a list of suggestions for what should be charmed for whom.

Mother sent the usual, and Draco saved hers for later, so he could enjoy the pleasure of being admonished about normal things when everything else was going to hell.

He rose, pocketing Viktor's letters, and started toward the hall. He was to meet Viktor there and, with the headmaster's supervision, duel to practice the new spells they were learning to teach the others. Draco put his head back and walked proudly through the dorm. All about him, boys stood at attention as he passed, and he nodded and smiled at the various monitors as he went by.

The headmaster was waiting in the Hall, inscrutably studying the fire, hands behind his back. Draco stood at attention, heels clicking, and Feathering finally turned round and looked at him.

_'Evening, Malfoy.'_

_'Evening, Headmaster.'_

_'How is it in the dorms?'_

_'Fine, Headmaster.'_

Feathering seemed little inclined to say anything else in the way of small talk. He motioned for Draco to sit and had an elf bring him water to sip. _'How do you find those techniques we've discussed, boy?'_

_'Challenging, Headmaster, but with practice I'm confident it can be mastered. Tomorrow, though, the elves will be on hand with water, won't they, Headmaster?'_

Feathering nodded. _'Yes. And they've freshened the charms in the practice rooms_.'

Draco nodded as Viktor came through the door, face raw with windburn. He was smiling, though, and he had a bit of frozen blood under his nose. An elf came for his outside things, and he shucked them and handed them over. _'Good evening, Headmaster, Drago.'_

_'Evening, Krum. Are you ready for the match?'_

_'Yes. Ve beat Malta, I think_.' His hands were a mottle of bruising and small cuts, which led Draco to think there'd been some ugly skirmishing, but they'd won, and that always put Viktor in a good mood.

_'Glad to hear. I've had the elves install a radio in the dorm so everyone can listen_.' Viktor nodded and looked slightly worried, but only for a moment. Draco grinned and mouthed 'Letters from home' and his face lit up again.

_'Shall we, gentlemen_?' They both turned and followed the headmaster into the basement, where a practice room had been set up. Feathering motioned the boys forward, and they plunged into the darkened room, wands up, as Draco checked one set of corners and Viktor the others, and lit the torches as soon as the room was secure. At the back of the long, low-ceilinged room, there was a door open. That had never happened before.

_'Room is clear, Headmaster. Request permission to go and check open door. Drago, guard entrance_?'

_'Yes_' said Draco, and watched the door, monitoring their points of entry and exit in case they should have to fight for them. Feathering nodded once and watched as Viktor walked slowly and confidently toward the door, scanning for signs of movement.

He stood a good five feet from the door and flicked delicately, in case it was booby-trapped to spew some noxious liquid at whomever opened it.

The door creaked open and revealed...nothing. Viktor moved a bit closer and illuminated his wand. '_Come out and I don't hurt you._' Nothing. He moved closer, trusting Draco to watch his back for him, and then, very slowly, eased his arm into the closet to see what was inside.

It was a box. Just a small, plain wooden box, banded with iron. As he got closer, it moved, jerking left and right. Viktor summoned it, and levitated it behind himself as he brought it back.

_'Found box, Headmaster. Permission to open it?'_

_'Malfoy, take the box from Krum and set it down. What do you fear most?'_

_'Sir?'_

_'What do you fear?'_

Draco swallowed, mouth suddenly dry. _'If the wolves besieged the castle, and we couldn't get the women out, we'd have to kill them to spare them...pain. My mother...'_

Feathering nodded. _'Yes. Krum?'_

_'Same thing, Headmaster. Miss Lestrange.'_

Feathering flicked and three chairs appeared. _'Malfoy, were you ever taught about boggarts?'_

_'No, Headmaster.'_

_'But you've heard of them? And you, Krum?'_

_'Yes, Headmaster_.' They spoke at the same time, and Feathering nodded without smiling.

_'When the fear is a childish one-mummies or trolls-banishing the boggart is simple, because they're stupid creatures. But with more adult fears, stronger magic is needed_.' He rose and so did the others, and the chairs vanished.

_'Open the box, Malfoy_.'

Draco swished at it and the lid flew open, and an amorphous mass flew out and resolved itself into a shadowy form which coloured and took shape. Narcissa, eyes glazing, sprawled bonelessly on her side, a little blood leaking from her mouth, and beside her, Yana raised her hands as thought to ward off a final, killing blow-

The headmaster moved almost too fast to be seen. Flame shot from the tip of his wand and the image melted as the thing jerked, making a thin mewling, almost too high for them to hear and then reformed on the other side of the room.

Hermione, now, fell, eyes dull, and outside the shrieks and cries of those being killed by the wolves rose to nightmare pitch. Draco could taste bile in his mouth, it was so real, the cries of the wounded and dying mingled with the obscene exultation of the wolves as the door shivered under their blows, splintering, opening-

Viktor's wand snapped sharply, and a whip of flame emerged and twisted round the thing, pulling it closer. It made that hideous, almost soundless cry of rage and pain, and Draco added his own efforts, pulling the thing toward them counter all logic. It held out a moment longer and then seemingly melted away. The lid flew back on the box and it was still, aside from a horrific smell of charred and burning paper, ancient and corrupt.

Feathering nodded. _'Well done, boys. Well done indeed_.'

Draco's legs were shaking. He wanted to sit down, or maybe faint a while, but dignity demanded he not, so he murmured his thanks and then waited for the next thing.

_'It would be pandemonium, trying to teach them all these things at the same time. We'll do it in small groups over the weekend. Now, let's have a duel.'_

The two boys took their steps, bowed, and started. Draco immediately shielded himself-experience had taught him that Viktor would attack his unguarded sides like a mastiff, and he knew to be careful.

Viktor ducked a hex and sent one straight back, watching it clip his cousin in law's side, seeing his face contort and feeling a real pride when he ignored it to fire back again.

Alastor Moody watched his two young star pupils, sometimes nodding with satisfaction when one of them used an especially inventive hex or curse to attack the other with. Nothing too vicious, of course-even Moody understood the value of family-but he felt sure that, with some help, they'd be quite formidable.

That said, there were limits to what we could, and would, teach children. He would drill them until they feet bled and their fingertips blistered, but he wasn't about to teach them the Darker hexes he knew. If Snape wanted that, he'd have to get Bellatrix to teach them, or one of the others. Lucius Malfoy, even, thought Moody perceived he did more speaking than fighting these days.

The fight ended, as it almost always did, with Viktor helping Draco off the floor and both of them shaking hands, ribbing each other about the duel. The headmaster let them burn off some energy and then held up a hand.

_'And if that was an enemy, Krum, what would you have done?'_

_'Headmaster?'_

_'Had that been an enemy, what would you have done?'_

_'If he stop?'_

_'Yielded. Yes.'_

_'I take his vand and bind him. He is prisoner now. Trade him back vith promise to no more fight.'_

_'And if he would not yield?'_

_'I kill him.'_

_'And if he yielded, but you had reason to believe he would not be honourable? What if you could not take prisoners?'_

Viktor pursed his lips for a second but answered firmly. _'Then he die, and I hope God forgive me.'_

_'Exactly. And you, Malfoy, what would you do if you'd actually lost the duel?'_

_'It depends, Headmaster.'_

_'On what?'_

_'Would they let me yield? Would they use me for information? What would be of better use to my family?_'

Moody smothered a laugh at the last one, but because he was fundamentally a kind man, refused to show he found it funny. Instead, he paused for effect and then said _'And that is the third lesson, lads. In war, sometimes we must make hard choices. You are both in excellent shape to command men in battle. Someday it will come to you to make these choices.'_

Viktor was nodding slowly. _'Vhen Vercingetorix fight Caesar at Alesia, he send vimen and children to enemy because can't keep them in city_.'

_'Precisely. Would you be prepared to do that?'_

_'No. I yield castle, I give them all I have, but the vimen stay vith us, or go to safe place.'_

_'What about you, Malfoy?'_

_'No. Better we do it than trust the honour of those wolves_.'

_'You'll be called on to make those choices. Be prepared for that_.' Moody hoped sincerely that it didn't come to that, because he thought the boys had the right of it. The wolves would not show them any mercy.

In their room in the dorm, Draco gave Viktor his letters. They both read silently, absorbing the comfort of lines of familiar handwriting. _'Ivan sends us letter._

_"Dear Viktor and Drago, how is school? Soon I am big boy and I come there. Is cold here. Yana has sore throat, but says hello. Bess miss you. I miss you. Come home soon._

_Ivan."'_

Draco chuckled. _'Father's sent word those personal Portkeys are ready. Would you like to choose Hermione's?'_

_'May I_?' Draco had been hammering can versus may hard, and Viktor had picked it up at once. He nodded, aching all over, and laid back on the bed for a few moments, muscles tense and hot.

_'The goblins can make anything. Did you have something in mind?'_

_Viktor looked a little abashed. 'You don't laugh?'_

_'I shan't.'_

_'Traditional design. Birds in tree?'_

_'Love birds_?' Draco hadn't pictured the otherwise phlegmatic Viktor as a romantic, but he supposed virtually anything could happen, and, apparently, did. Viktor was flushing a little.

_'Yes. Is traditional, vith...hanging tree plants?'_

_'Vines. We've something similar. And the children?'_

_Viktor looked thoughtful. 'Let me give some thought. Maybe your picture, for Yana?'_

_Draco huffed. 'It's not that funny.'_

_'Oh, vas funny. She love you.'_

_'And I her, in a little sister sort of way_.' Draco laid back and put his hands under his head. Tomorrow was Saturday, and it would be busy, but Sunday, hopefully, he could sleep a little. When did Viktor sleep? He never seemed tired or grumpy. Draco rolled to look at his friend, who had the handkerchief Hermione had given him in his hand. Draco averted his eyes-this was private, he sensed, whatever Viktor was thinking about.

_'Drago?'_

_'Hmm?'_

Viktor's voice was very soft. _'I think sometimes vould be better we don't vin match. I vorry it make problems.'_

_'Do you think so?'_

_'Don't you?_' Viktor was picturing all those innocent people in a single place, civilians, helpless, tempting...

Draco wished he didn't have to answer. _'I think it could.'_

Viktor nodded. _'There is letters in my trunk if bad thing happen. You give them?'_

_'I will.'_

_'All right_.' Viktor laid his head back and closed his eyes, knowing it was out of his hands.

In Britain, Bellatrix handed the still sleeping cat to a house elf. 'If this cat doesn't get to my daughter intact, I will have your guts for suspenders, understand?'

The elf wailed. 'Tetty understands, Madam!'

'Go on, then, and see my daughter gets the note.'

Hermione was sitting on her bed in her nightgown when the elf came. It popped in, bowing, and handed Hermione a snoring, suetty bag of fur.

'Tetty, what's this about?' Hermione rose to greet the elf, who was a maid at her house. The elf bowed low. 'Madam is sending for Miss! Is cat! Ginger tom cat! Madam is sending letter for Miss.'

She opened the letter and read what Mother had sent.

"We didn't do anything for your birthday. Figured you'd rather a proper cat than some fluffy little show animal. If you don't like it, tell me.

Miss you. Be good.

Love, "

Hermione wiped her eyes, which were damp, and then stroked the cat's velvet head, seeing the chewed ear and grey stippling. A tough old man, a veteran of a thousand scrapes and battles. Her heart, which opened best to misfits, creatures like herself who were not quite one thing or another, opened to it, and she found herself preparing a nest of love for the cat.

'Tell her I love him. He's brilliant. And I-are they all right, Tetty? Honestly?'

'Well, Miss. Missing Miss very much.' Tetty would have to punish herself very severely for being so presumptuous, but it was worth it, seeing how Miss's face lit up even more.

'Oh, thank goodness. I'll send a letter tomorrow, but...' Hermione summoned her lap desk and plucked the report she'd written last week about the properties of the Confundus charm, which she'd got an E on. She scribbled a few lines on the back and sent it with the elf, along with her heartfelt thanks.

The cat finally woke just after the elf left, and he rolled and stretched lazily. There was a Girl looking at him. He sat on his haunches and sniffed the air. Yes, a human, quite young, and as curious about him as he felt about her.

He approached slowly, tail quirked into a question mark, and permitted her to stroke his back. His vertebrae were clearly visible, and Hermione made a mental note to feed him up.

'Hello, boy. You're very handsome, aren't you?'

As though in answer, a tufty ear flicked lazily, and the cat stepped closer. A low, rusty purr came from his chest, and Hermione laid back, letting the cat sniff about, exploring.

'What shall we call you?'

The cat wanted to explain that he had a human name already, but of course, she didn't understand the subtle scent trail he provided. He sighed and resigned himself to another human name.

'Something English.' She cast about and then nibbled her lip until she got an inspiration. 'I know! We'll call you George, like St. George and the dragon.'

The cat sneezed disdainfully. Hermione nodded and thought more. 'All right, how about...what's English, would you say?'

The cat was actually Welsh, but he understood she was trying. He nuzzled her hand to reward her, and Hermione's mind flashed on the first book she and parents had ever read together. Sitting in Bellatrix's lap, sore but reasonably relaxed, and content as she could have been. Had it really only been a year and some? She felt decades older.

_The Mystery of the Cave_. Her mind cast about and then it came to her. 'Crookshanks. He was my favourite character, after all.'

The cat gave an approving grunt and settled down, rubbing her hair with his scent so everyone would know who owned her. Hermione beamed, and snuffed the candles, eager for sleep.


	53. Chapter 53

**A/N: Love to reviewers and Countess Black**

**This chapter reminds me of something CB said of Barty: 'I'd like to hug him and then point him at my enemies.' **

The marriage of Rabastan Lestrange and Eugenia Feathering was a quiet affaire, as nearly the groom's whole family was fighting overseas and the bride's either dead or unable to leave to attend.

The sole witnesses, aside from Barty Crouch and Cunegarde, were the groom's friend and in-law, Penko Krum, and Severus Snape, who'd escorted his beloved cousin to her husband to be.

They married in the parlour of the embassy house. A Bulgarian ministry employee married them, using a translation spell, and then joined the small group for cake and wine.

After, Snape took his leave, and Penko loaded Barty and Cunegarde into a carriage to spend a few days at Castle Krum so the newly-weds could have a little time to themselves.

Rabastan looked uncomfortably at his new wife. _'Madam, I hope the journey did not over-tax you?'_

_'No, sir, thank you. If you'd not mind, I should like to take my maid and freshen up a bit before...'_

_'Please, take all the time you need.'_

Trailed by Gemmy, Eugenia made her way up the stairs and entered the room which was hers. She sat down as the elf quickly put away her few things ('Uncle' Erasmus was sending a trousseau for her, having insisted, all on his own, that she represent them as fashionably as possibly) and took a few deep breaths.

Gemmy took out the new lawn nightgown and dressed her in it, unpinned her hair and sprinkled a little perfume on her neck. She laid in the bed and waited, and Gemmy left and returned with her new husband.

Rabastan sat down on the bed. He silently let the elf take off his boots and then turned to look at her. He was not, objectively, an unattractive man, with big brown eyes and good bones, and a smile almost as charming as his brother's.

_'Snape assures you that you are aware of my proclivities. Is that true?'_

_'It is.'_

_'And so you shan't take my lack of interest in your bed as a personal slight, I hope?'_

_'Not at all.'_

_'Good. The Dark Lord commands I father an heir. Once that has occurred, you are free to do as you'd like. I hope, Eugenia, we might be friends, if we can never be more than that_.'

Eugenia nodded. '_I hope so too, Rabastan.'_

_'I'm sorry we couldn't have had a proper wedding. Once this war is won, we'll take a bridal trip. Paris, or Rome, or wherever.'_

She nodded again. _'I would like that. And I'll need to meet with your elves at some point to coordinate things.'_

_'Change whatever you'd like. I'm typically gone at night, so don't fret overmuch about that.'_

He had someone, then. Eugenia nodded. _'Of course.'_

_'And the elves will tell you about Cunegarde and Barty's routines. Both of them are largely harmless.'_

_'I look forward to getting to know them.'_

_'Once you've spoken to Cunegarde, you won't. Trixie calls her Medusa.'_

Bellatrix Lestrange called the old woman Medusa? Eugenia laughed, startled, and then laid back.

_'If you're ready, Rabastan_...'

He rose without a response and stepped behind the dressing screen. The new elf helped him off with his clothes and into a nightshirt and then doused the lights. Rabastan climbed into the bed.

_'I assume you've...?'_

_'Yes. Have you?'_

He sighed. _'With a woman? No.'_

_'All right. Should I remove my nightgown, or just pull it up_?'

_'Pull it up, if you would_.' She did, and since it wasn't Arithmancy, soon they had melded together. Rabastan found it neither pleasant nor unpleasant-it was a duty, like paperwork.

He did feel a little sorry that he had no idea how to make it enjoyable, or at least not actively unpleasant, for her. He'd talk to Penko about it. Penko had a mysterious knowledge of many things, and perhaps he'd have some ideas.

Thoughts of Penko, and their time together, finished him, and he rolled off, scared his greater body weight might crush her or cause her pain.

_'Eugenia? Are you all right?'_

_'Fine. You?'_

_'Well. Should I step out so you might wash?'_

_'Would you?'_

He, too, bathed, and freshly attired, found her likewise an hour later. _'Shall we open our wedding gifts_?'

There were letters from everyone. The Lestranges and Malfoys ( and the senior and junior branches of both), Mulciber, Goyle, Crabbe, Gibbon, Rookwood, Jugson, Dolohov, everyone had sent letters of congratulations and best wishes, and that wasn't to mention the various politicians and other favour seekers. There were letters and boxes everywhere.

The first one they opened was from, of all people, Barty. It was a small box, with two letters, one to each of them. Rabastan handed his wife hers and waited as she unfolded it and read.

"_Dere Eugenia,_

_Welcome to our famly! Snape helped me by something so you wont miss England. I hope you like it. Pleese let me no how I can help you when we come bak._

_Bartimeus Crouch Jr."_

Eugenia noticed that Rabastan's eyes were bright. He inhaled and smiled. _'I'm sorry. He was such a bright boy when I first knew him. It kills me to see him this way.'_

Eugenia patted his arm. _'He's got you to care for him, at least.'_

_'That's true. Let's see what he wrote to me.'_

_"Dere Rab,_

_Congradulatons! Plees find in-clozed some thing to mak you remeber England. When the war is over, we'll all go home and yor wife can stay with us at Lestrange Hous. Until then, dont werry, I'll tak gud care of her._

_Yor freind,_

_Barty Crouch"_

They raised their eyebrows at one another and then slit the twine on the package. It expanded to twice it's size, and to their shock, Barty had been totally correct. It did remind them of England.

_'A Honeydukes sampler pack_.' Barty had always been so eager to please, and he still was. The sweets brought that to them both in a way nothing else could have.

Rabastan grinned and offered her first choice from the brimming box. Eugenia selected a chocolate cauldron and bit in, smiling. _'They do taste like home.'_

_'Don't they? When I got out of Azkaban, I made myself sick on Bertie Bott's, I'd had a terrible craving for the blueberry ones.'_

The other gifts were nearly as interesting, if not as poignant. Desmond, the bride's brother, sent them a beautiful burnt wood box, which Rabastan insisted his wife take to put her things in.

The elder Malfoys sent a goblin made silver vase, which Eugenia ordered an elf to keep filled and on the mantelpiece so guests could see. The elder Krums sent a case of wine and their best wishes.

Draco and Viktor had pooled their money and sent the couple a mirror, with the frame elaborately carved and painted in traditional designs. The letter was signed simply "Draco and Viktor".

More surprising was the one enclosed, marked with the Krum seal, that gave them permission to use the Krum summer home in the rose valley for a get-away. Draco had written in English on Viktor's behalf, and it was signed "Viktor, Lord Krum", a first, so far as Rabastan knew.

_'We'll leave tomorrow, if that suits you_.'

Eugenia spoke to the elf, and it returned with pumpkin juice. _'Will the Krums keep Cunegarde and Barty?'_

_'I should think_.' The two sat in silence for a few moments and then silently started to look over the other letters, keeping them straight so they could respond to them.

The news had taken the family quite by surprise. The children had no especial reaction to it, and the adults, whilst a little dubious, accepted the Dark Lord's command as law and were glad Rab was marrying someone Snape assured them was very pleasant.

Eugenia herself had been philosophical about the whole thing. The night before her wedding, she laid in the darkness next to Sirius and silently held his hand until dawn. Neither of them said anything.

When the elf came to wake her, Eugenia, still silent, let herself be bathed and dressed, and, in a sober dark blue travelling hat and matching robes, gave the dog a final pat and left without looking back.

And now here she was. She made notes on whom was owed a thank you note, and, when Rabastan went out, she sat and down and started her first letter, to Snape, and managed to get through nearly all of it before she burst into tears.

Rabastan was faring little better. He took off his cloak and followed his lover to the bedroom but seemed ill-inclined to undress further, aside from his boots. Penko sensed this was a good time not to push.

_'*Some wine?*'_

_'*That would be wonderful, love. How did it go, dropping them off?*'_

_'*Well. Lyudmilla always like to have Barty there. She found him teaching Ivan how to escort a lady the last time, did she tell you?*'_

_'*No, but that's something he'd do.*'_

_'*And the old lady isn't so bad. Will she go back with your brother?*'_

_'*Yes.'_ Rabastan leaned back on an elbow. _'What good is being second son if I can't foist the old bat off on Rodolphus when he's home?*'_

Penko snorted and laid back as well. _'*Interesting news from Varna.*'_

_'*Oh?*'_

_'*Stefan is trying to get passage out of country without any of us finding out_.*'

Rabastan's eyebrows shot up. '_*I see. Any concrete word as to where?*'_

'*_I'll keep digging.*'_

_'*I'd bet a thousand galleons it's Romania.*'_

_'*No bet. If it is, and he tries to come back, I fully intend to have a word with him about his conduct_.*' His tone implied he had more than talking on his mind, and Rabastan wriggled closer and rested his head on his lover's chest.

'*_I suppose I could come and evaluate your progress.*'_

_'*Do I get a reward if I do well?*'_

_'*No, but I think I'll punish you if you do poorly.*'_

'*_In a fun way, would you say?*'_ Penko waggled his eyebrows, and Rabastan laughed softly and rolled his eyes.

_'*That depends.*'_

_'*Perhaps I need a preview.*'_

After, Rabastan rose and stretched. '_*In the mood for a duel?*'_

'_*Do we need to get out of bed?*'_

_'*It's your choice, but I prefer to have trousers on when there's hexes flying.*'_ He donned the aforementioned trousers and his shirt, and Penko, reluctantly, did likewise.

'*_Was it all right? After I left?*'_

'_*It was...strange. It didn't feel...well, it was unfamiliar, but Eugenia seems nice enough.*'_

_'*And she knows about me?*'_

'*_She knows about me. I assume she's made the connexion. Would you rather I told her who you are?*'_ Rabastan hadn't wanted to spread the identity of his lover about without his permission.

Penko was fastening the frogs on his tunic. '*_Whatever's easier for you. You'd never had a woman?*'_

_'*Never had the urge. I played kissing games at parties when I was young, but that was it.*'_

_'*Oh.*'_

'*_Have you?*'_

'*_Every so often, the desire overtakes me. Not in a few years. Does it bother you?*'_

_'*No. We both knew the other had a past.*'_

Penko finished tugging on his boots and then rose, giving Rabastan a kiss in passing. _'*Shall we?*'_

At Spinner's End, Snape and Black were listening to the match on the radio. 'And Levski with the quaffle, and Borg moves to block, moves to block and, oh! Volkov from the left and it's a goal for Bulgaria!'

The crowd roared dully in the background, and Black, who was in dog form, wagged approvingly, rumbling with pleasure. Snape listened to what was happening and bent over his letters, reading and thinking.

'And it's-yes! Krum diving, he's turning, turning, corkscrewing left, and he's-he's got it! Krum has taken the snitch! The match is over! Bulgaria has won, 200 to 21!'

Snape blinked, a bit startled, and the dog leapt up and barked. Snape turned, annoyed. 'Really, do be quiet.'

The dog ignored him. Bristling, he barked louder, his voice deepening, his fur standing up, and he lunged for the back door, snarling. Snape spelled it open and he ran out, the dog's voice a hard, deep bass bark of anger, and Snape drew and took off after.

'If it's that's little bastard from next door, I'll skin you alive if you dare trample my beds again. Your father ought to be-' He stopped and spun in time to see a small, dark-haired man standing there. The man raised his hands slowly.

'It's Llewellyn Rice, sir. I need a word.' Snape slowly lowered his wand and turned to the dog. 'Salazar, watch him.'

In the living room, Rice accepted a glass of ale from the elf. 'Sorry to come up on you. Scabior didn't want anyone to see.'

'Of course.

'He sent me to tell you that he's reason to believe that Stefan is sniffing about, trying to find a way out of the country.'

'Reason to believe?'

Rice nodded. 'Yes. Dinev wants all his aurors trained like Madam Lestrange's, and Scabs is the liason on that, so he's there in Sofia a lot. He hears things from the aurors and such.'

'What did he hear, Rice?'

'Fellow from some little city said they picked Stefan up for drunkenness. He was trying to get passage on an international carriage bound north.'

'Romania?'

'That'd be my guess, sir, and Scabs'. He wanted me to tell you in person so that it wasn't written down anywhere.'

'Very cunning.'

'Do you want something done about it?' Rice had been a hit man for a Knockturn Alley syndicate, and he would cheerfully remove the problem if it Snape gave the word.

Snape nodded slowly. He couldn't let Borev slip them, because he'd hightail it to the Romanians, or the Germans, or even the Americans, and sell everything he knew to the highest bidder.

'You understand, Rice, I am not ordering you to kill Stefan Borev. That would be highly illegal, and the Dark Lord disdains such underhanded tactics as unworthy of a Pureblooded society.'

Rice knew what that meant. He rose and silently withdrew a length of knotted silken cord from his waistcoat and looped it easily about his hands. Snape nodded again.

'Your family is living in a flat, are they not? In Cardiff?'

Rice nodded. 'My wife and little girl.'

'I'd imagine it gets cramped there. Perhaps a house would suit your needs better. And might your wife like some help?'

Rice nodded right back. His wife would love a house, and an elf would be icing on that particular cake, to his mind. Snape clearly knew how this game was played. Time was he'd got a thousand galleons a head for every one he did for; this would be worth much more.

'Of course, if you were to discuss this issue with Borev, you'd want to make sure there was no evidence of it.'

'Him being a foreign national and all.'

'Quite so. I shall arrange everything you need. Come here three nights from now, by the back. Salazar shan't bother you.'

'Rather a nice dog. Scabs speaks highly of him.'

'He's good at what he does.'

Rice extended a hand and the dog lapped it, sniffing him. Rice smiled, his handsome, vaguely leonine face changing entirely. 'Good boy, Salazar.' Rice bowed and then was gone.

Snape made sure he was clear of the garden before he locked and warded the doors and nodded to Black, who changed back.

'Well?'

'Well, what?' Black drank the rest of the man's ale and made a face. 'Ugh. What is this, porter?'

'Indeed. No comments about Rice? No moral outrage?'

Black shook his head. 'Only about the beer. He clearly means to sell them all, why should I defend him?'

'Perversity?'

'Send me.'

'Sorry?'

'I'm bored. Send me after him. If he goes to ground, I can find him.'

'And if he doesn't?'

Black shrugged. 'I'll leave him for Rice. And it might be useful to see who's bidding on what he's got. What does he have, come to think of it?'

Snape pursed his lips briefly but elected to answer. 'Nothing, that we know of. But if someone should want to, he could help them through the wards and then it would be easy to breach the walls.'

Black nodded. 'He's a wound waiting to fester.'

'Exactly. Tomorrow night, dog, be ready. I want you to find him before Rice.' Rice, consummate a professional as he was, would kill him and vanish the body before they could figure out who was trying to scout Stefan.

Sirius and Rinky left eighteen hours later. Sirius had papers stating him to be the medi-wizard, Dint, and he'd submitted to a haircut and donned his spectacles again. The elf was with him, holding his carpet bag, and they Portkeyed to Varna.

In keeping with his cover, Sirius checked into a small, clean hotel with the elf. Snape had given him a generous amount of money this time, and he went and found a good cafe to eat a late lunch in. Stomach full, he stepped into a bathroom and downed a sip from the flask he'd been given. Now he could drink without feeling the effects.

And drink he did, but Stefan seemed to have vanished like a cloud on a hot day. No one claimed to know anything about him, or his goals, or where he might have gone. Sirius spent nearly two weeks looking for the fellow in all sorts of out of the way places, but had to return home empty handed in the end.

Comfortingly, so did Rice. He returned ten days after he'd been sent, shaking his head. 'Someone tipped the bastard and he did a runner.'

Snape nodded. He had no reason to believe that both of his... problem solvers... had not done their utmost. He suspected that Stefan was in Romania now. He wondered whether it would be worth his time to have the mother watched. Surely he was still writing her?

Snape took pen in hand to write his unknowing apprentice. Could Viktor write his grandmother and see what she had to say about this? Did she know where Stefan was, and could she reach him?

Viktor did, and then spent most of a week answering increasingly desperate letters. No, she had not seen Stefan. Did he know where his uncle was? She was lonely and afraid with just the elves to guard her. Surely Viktor would find her son and restore him to her?

Draco came in just as Viktor set down his pen and used some Bulgarian words he refused to translate no matter how often Draco asked. Draco went to his trunk and pulled out the emergency chocolate frogs he kept for these moments.

_'Something wrong?'_

_'Grandmama vant Stefan. Stefan ran avay. Is gone.'_

Draco thought that sounded like the ideal situation, but he didn't say it aloud. _'Gone like on holiday, or gone forever?'_

Viktor looked grim. _'Vord is maybe defective? He go to Romania?'_

_'Defected? Stefan's defected?' _Draco literally couldn't conceive of that, not at an emotional level. If Stefan had not been irrevocably damned in his mind before, he certainly was now. Flee the protection of the family and go to the enemy? Unthinkable.

_'Looks that vay.'_

Draco inhaled deeply. If Godfather knew, he'd find a way to minimise the damage, but he still felt like this was very, very bad. He wasn't sure what Stefan could do, but didn't that make him more dangerous?

_'What does your father say?'_

_'Haven't asked. Father is in field vith Mother and Father Lestrange.'_

_'He is?'_

_'Yes, and Rumen runs castle. Is up to us.'_

_'Write Hermione and ask, then.'_

_'I might. She is good at things like this.'_

Draco nodded. 'I_ thought your father is a diplomat, like mine.'_

_'Yes. He is there to show Bulgaria is part of things too. Verevolves see us, they know ve fight them.'_ He looked both sad and worried, so Draco handed him a chocolate frog.

'I_ miss the summer. We could've figured all this out in a trice then.'_

_'I know, but vhat can ve do? Ve ask Her-mon-nee-knee, she have ideas, ve make it vork.'_

Hermione got the letter just before she went to sleep. She got into bed and spelled her wand up so she could read it to Crookshanks, who was dozing on the end of the bed.

_'What do you think, Crooks_?'

Crookshanks yawned and rolled on his side, indicating he thought they should all have a nap. Hermione settled back, frowning darkly. Grandmama wanted Stefan, and so did the others, for wildly disparate reasons.

She finally hit on it just before she fell asleep, and, when she woke, she wrote the letter at once. Would Viktor, as lord of Castle Krum, ask his grandmother to honour them by moving in?

If she did, they could then use the villa as a trap. They'd put it out that the villa was empty, and, Stefan, she thought, would probably come back to rob it, or else to hide. What did Viktor think of that plan?

It took the best part of another week, but finally Grandmama agreed to move in for a while, so long as it was understood that she'd be moving back as soon as Stefan was found and prevailed upon to come home.

The Krums accepted the decision with the understanding that Elisaveta was old and scared, and had lost much. It was better to have her with family, they agreed, and they certainly had the room. And she and Lyudmilla got on well together.

_'It is ready. Now ve vait.'_

Draco sighed. _'We're doing loads of that lately, do you think?'_

Viktor nodded and dropped his head into his hands, hoping and not hoping his uncle would return to his home so they could...what?

In Romania, Stefan sat across from a thin, red-haired man who was about forty but looked sixty five. He smiled and sipped the terrible English tea he was served.

'*_And you can use what I have?*'_

The man shook his head tiredly. '_*Mr. Borev, we appreciate your efforts, but frankly, our government in exile is not ready to move on You Know Who's government, and even if we were, we wouldn't consider a civilian target.*'_

Stefan set down his cup and leant forward. '*_You understand I came here at great personal risk?*'_

'*_We appreciate it, honestly. But again, civilian targets are not an option. Castle Krum is full of women and children, is it not?*'_

'_*You needn't kill them. It would be easy to simply use them for leverage.*'_

Arthur Weasley struggled to control the moue of distaste which twitched his mouth. It was obvious what he was after, and if Arthur had his way about it, he'd have thrown him straight out.

But he could be a valuable resource, and that had to trump his own disgust at what the man was suggesting they do.

'*_The girl will come at Christmas, and that means the others, too. Malfoy's wife and son, possibly the Lestranges, Barty Crouch.*'_

'*_None of whom, except the Lestranges, are combatants.*'_

Stefan wanted to throttle this stupid Englishman. Did he not care he would live the rest of his life in Romania?

_'*How did she seem to you? The girl?*'_

Stefan blinked. '_*Looks just like the mother. My nephew's very fond of her.*'_

Arthur nodded. They'd seen the papers and heard the gossip, after all. He'd hoped...what? That Ron's friend was the same little girl they'd heard so much about? Not bloody likely. She was as corrupt as the rest of them by now, he suspected.

'*_Thank you for your time, Mr. Borev. We'll contact you if we should change our minds.*'_

Stefan rose, bowed, and left without looking back. He was low on cash. He'd keep an ear out. Maybe he'd find a buyer for his information yet. Or something else could come up, he supposed, and walked with as spring in his step, whistling.


	54. Chapter 54

**A/N: Love to reviewers and Countess Black**

**There's semi-graphic talk of sexual activity, but I think it's consistent with the age of the characters. And some archaic beliefs about the same-no advocacy, and so forth.**

** We've skipped about two months. As before, most of what we skipped is the day to day grind-unless it isn't. :)**

**Christmas Eve:**

Alise rolled on her side when she heard Hermione groan. She sat up and leant over to shake her friend, who mumbled something in English and cringed into the bed.

'Hermione, wake up!'

'Alise? Wh' happened?'

'Nightmare. What did you see?'

Hermione sat up and rubbed her eyes. 'Bad things. What time is it?'

Alise lit her wand and looked at the clock on the opposite side of the wall. 'Five forty five AM. We have another two hours to sleep.' It had become a tradition of sorts for them to spend the night before holidays in Hermione's room, enjoying being pampered and entertained by Rinky, who was only too pleased to oblige with both.

Hermione shook her head no and wriggled so she wouldn't jar Yseult. It was too late; her blonde friend also sat up and put an arm round her. 'Bad dreams?'

'It wasn't too bad.'

'Liar. You were shaking and talking.' Alise gave her a stern look and Hermione, wisely, changed the subject.

'What did I say?'

Alise understood exactly enough to have repeated it, but also understood Hermione probably didn't really want to know. She shook her head and spelled the candles up.

'Don't know. What did you dream?' She wasn't going to let it go, even if Hermione got grumpy with her. She never did, which in some ways was much more disturbing. It wasn't natural.

'Werewolves.' She said it with a flat finality that was a sort of code that meant it wasn't a good subject. Both girls nodded and Rinky, who'd been under strict orders not to wake the others if Miss should have a bad dream, appeared with cold water.

They drank silently, and then Yseult laid back and closed her eyes, spelling the lights back down. 'Even if you aren't going to sleep, you need to rest a little, both of you.' They obeyed and then, as Yseult's breathing slowed and deepened, started to talk.

'What did you really dream?'

Hermione cast a quick privacy spell. 'Hogwarts. I could hear them eating people.'

Alise nodded and squeezed her friend's hand. 'And then?'

'I'm worried. It seems like something bad happens every time Viktor and I get together.'

'Odds are against it, Hermione.'

'I know. And Mother and Father are fighting them. That's the worst of all.'

Alise was torn between sympathy for her friend's love for her parents and the sure and certain knowledge of who and what her friend's parents were. She hated werewolves, certainly, but in this case, the enemy of her enemy was just something else to worry about.

'It's almost Christmas.'

'I know. A year ago, I was so excited to go home and meet Viktor, remember?'

'I do. And I barely spoke French.'

'And now you're fluent.'

'And you still want to see Viktor.'

Hermione nodded. 'More than almost anything. He writes me, but it's not the same.'

'Maybe you'll let him have tongue this time when you kiss?'

Hermione shook her head. 'No, I don't think we're at tongue.'

'Mmm hmm.'

'What? We aren't.'

'All right.'

Hermione made a face. 'You just don't want to be the only one, is all.'

'It's a life experience.'

'It's nasty.'

'That, too.' Alise thought about Bruno, who was very nice but tried to touch her sometimes. She wasn't ready for that, and had told him as much quite loudly and clearly.

'Alise are you ever...I mean, does it ever make you nervous, thinking about it?'

'Tongue?'

'No, **it**.'

'Oh. Sometimes. It hurts, my cousin says.'

'My Mum said that, too. I don't think Viktor would ever hurt me, but it...you bleed. That sounds...'

Alise nodded. 'Not like in the movies?'

'No. But he'll be a virgin too, I think, so it shouldn't be too bad.'

Alise giggled in the darkness. 'Mine won't, I hope. It would be terrible, both trying to figure it out in the dark.'

'What's to figure out? He just...you know.'

'More to it than that, my cousin says. She says sometimes they want you to do things to them first.'

'Viktor's not the type.' Hermione hoped, anyway, because she'd heard jokes and things, and it all sounded wretched.

'All men are the type. Or don't wizards do that?'

'I don't know. I can't exactly ask my aunt.' She giggled at the very thought of how flustered Aunt Narcissa would be to know she knew about those things, and then considered something else.

'Do you think it hurts when they lay on you?'

'Didn't ask. Maybe if they're much heavier.'

'He is. And what if it's too big?'

'We have time to grow.'

'I know, but I mean...it just seems like it wouldn't work, is all.'

'It must. We're both here.'

Hermione rolled over and faced her friend. 'When you get married, I'm reminding you about this.'

Alise sobered a bit. 'That'll be a year before you.'

'I know.' Had she said the wrong thing? She and Alise had avoided the issue thus far, but they had to talk about it someday. Was this that time?

'My grandmother's making my things. Not the dress, because I'm not done growing, but the headdress and all.'

'Is she upset? About the whole thing?'

Alise shook her head. 'She remembers the war. It's better to live and fight another day.'

Hermione felt a sudden, terrible guilt. Alise was her friend-couldn't she find something better for her than being a servant? Except that no, she couldn't. She realised it like a lightning bolt. She was lucky she could do even this much, and it was only because both Snape and Viktor were so good to her.

'And it's a good place, Alise. A safe place.'

No place was safe, but neither of them said it aloud. Each let the other think they believed it because it was too painful to face how powerless they really were.

Narcissa came for Hermione at nine o'clock. Dressed in her uniform, she was waiting with her trunk and her elf and the snoring cat tucked under an arm, shedding gingery fur on everything in sight.

'Goodness, Hermione, who is this?'

'Crookshanks. Isn't he gorgeous?' The cat deigned to open one bright yellow eye and give Narcissa a stately once over before he pressed his head into his Girl's neck and resumed his rest.

'He's very handsome, certainly. Are you ready to go?' Hermione let Rinky hand her up and grinned as the carriage took off, toward Bulgaria. She set the cat down on the seat and went to sit next to her aunt.

'It's been forever. How are you?'

'Well, darling. I miss you all very much.' Narcissa had been going insane, to tell the truth. She couldn't leave the house except under armed guard, and most of her friends had long since fled to less hostile climes.

Hermione looked a little tired. She nodded and snuggled against her aunt. 'Mother and Father? And Uncle?'

'Hopefully they'll be home in time supper tonight.' Narcissa half wanted to lie and tell the girl that they'd definitely be there, because the truth was that it wasn't looking good.

'Oh. Are the boys at the castle already?'

'They are. Hermione, darling, you're quite a young lady these days. So you understand that sometimes you might have some...well, some new feelings.'

'New feelings?'

'Yes. Sort of... special feelings. Especially if Viktor should want to spend time with you alone. It's important that you not, sweetheart, because those feelings can be very powerful.'

'You mean feelings like' Hermione cast about for the words Mother had used so long before 'the bee and the flower?'

'Yes, precisely. You said your muggle foster mother taught you about that. Are you very sure? Perhaps you've confused it with something else?'

'I don't think so, Aunt Narcissa. Why do wizards call it the bee and the flower?'

Narcissa took the girl's hand. 'Because men are like bees. They're busy, and they work very hard. Ladies are like flowers. They're beautiful and delicate, and they stay in one place.'

'Bees take care of flowers. They visit them, and buzz for them, and give them lots of attention. In return, sometimes the bee wants some pollen to make sure the hive survives. And so the flower gives the bee it's pollen, even though it might not be the flower's favourite thing-because it likes to make the bee happy, and because the bee wouldn't do such a thing if it weren't necessary. Do you see?'

Hermione nodded slowly. 'That's not how muggles think of it.'

'No?'

The girl shook her head. 'No. My Mum-muggle mother-was a dentist. A kind of medi-witch, and we talked about it in those terms.'

'What did she say, sweetheart?'

'Are you going to be upset with me?' Or upset, full stop. Narcissa shook her head and gave her niece a peck on the cheek. 'No, love. Privacy, remember?'

Hermione nodded. 'Well, Mum said...' She gave Narcissa basically the same talk she had the boys, and she reacted the same way. Eyebrows at her hairline, she was literally speechless for close to five minutes, swallowing hard.

'Are you angry?'

'No, not at you.'

Hermione was looking at her hands, biting her lip like she did whenever she was distressed. Narcissa forced herself to store her shock and horror and attend her niece. 'Darling, that's not...incorrect, in the basics. But we...there's more to it than that.'

'Like what?'

Narcissa smiled as gently as she could. 'When you love someone, precious, you want to make them happy, is that right?' Hermione nodded instantly, and Narcissa mentally castigated herself. The poor child was confused and afraid, and she needed to remember that her niece had a very real fear of being abandoned that needed to be indulged a bit.

'Gentlemen want sons to carry on the name. And so they ask that activity of their wives in order to make sure they have them. Because sons care for their mothers and fathers in their old age, and keep the family name. It makes them very happy.'

'But doesn't it feel good?'

'Sometimes. But at first, it's usually a little-well, unpleasant. And most gentlemen wouldn't want...well, they expect their wives to behave with restraint in all things.'

'They don't want us to like it?'

'They want us to know they love us very much, and that it would be unbearable for them if they thought we would ever do that with some other man, and so it's better to be discreet about how much one enjoys it.'

'Why do they get to enjoy it?'

'Because they work very hard, and do so much for us.'

'Is that why some men have bad women?'

'Where did you hear that?'

'Uncle Allard Wilkes got a disease from a bad woman called Eugenia Mink. Father says I'm not to ask Aunt Cunegarde about it.'

'He's quite right, it would break her heart.'

'Aunt Cunegarde loved Allard very much.' Hermione sounded sad, and Narcissa stroked her cheek lightly, wondering if she ought to have let Bellatrix do this. Except that she wanted to make absolutely sure that Hermione knew what could happen when her humours rose, and why she must not give in.

'Yes, she did. Your great aunt was devastated when she found out.'

Hermione nodded. 'Was Eugenia Mink a bad woman because she liked doing that?'

'Not precisely, darling. She was bad because she charged men money for it.'

'And she made him very sick, and the children as well.'

'Allard and Aethelfred. Ermentrude didn't die of the disease.'

'Why not?'

'Women don't get it, sweetheart. We're only carriers for it.'

'What happened to her?'

'Ermentrude married very poorly. A bad man named Worthington McNair.'

'Like Mr. McNair?'

'His great uncle. He was a rake-like Stefan. He married her for her money, because she had quite a lot of it, and she needed a husband with an old name. They conceived-made a baby-but it was born diseased. He publicly accused Ermentrude of adultery -doing that with another man, because he didn't have it.'

'And then she died?'

Narcissa shook her head. 'No. She ran away to France. She had no money, because Worthington had spent it all, so she...well, she did some bad things. She ended up catching Hierophant's chorea from someone and it killed her.'

Hermione took all this in. Was it a warning? Did her aunt just think her old enough to know now? 'Do you suppose she's grumpy all the time because she's afraid we'll leave her?'

'Yes. I think that's why.' Narcissa wondered if she'd scared the child, but Hermione merely looked thoughtful.

'It's a shame she didn't have anyone to help her feel better.'

'It is, isn't it?' And they spoke of small things until the carriage touched down on Bulgarian soil some hours later.

Viktor had waited to go into the courtyard as long as he could. His relatives couldn't actually tease the lord, but they could tease their nephew, and they would, if they saw him skulking about hours before the carriage was due.

And the priest, too, would have something to say. He'd already cornered Viktor twice and hinted he should command Hermione to convert. Viktor had managed to put the old man off, but he wasn't confident he could do it a third time without some sort of distraction.

Draco was smiling, cheerful, excited. He was longing to see Mother, and Hermione, who, he sometimes thought, was more a sister than a cousin. He was terribly excited by the gifts he had for them, too. Father's gift for the ladies had been their Portkeys, but Draco had secretly saved his pocket money and got them something really nice. Viktor too, which he was pleased and proud of. It was a good moment to be Draco.

He cocked his head and grinned at Viktor. _'My cousin'll be here any minute.'_

_'Mmm hmm.'_

_'I suppose the two of you will want to go and take a walk?'_

_'Yes.'_

Draco wiggled his eyebrows archly. _'In the moon viewing room, I don't doubt, with the stars glittering above you and the new fallen snow.'_

_'Sound good, yes.'_

_'What a shame I've chosen tonight to take up epic poetry. I shall have to recite it for both of you, quite loudly_.' Draco was absolutely deadpan, and Viktor stared at him for thirty seconds without motion before he gave up the ghost and started to laugh.

_'You better not!'_

_'Why, Viktor, here I am, just trying to make things enjoyable for you both, and this is the thanks I get?'_

_'No. Thanks is I roll you in snow and put dogs on you.' _Viktor knew Draco didn't like most dogs, but had observed that he seemed comfortable with the Karakachans, and so would see the threat as a verbal poke in the ribs and not as something hostile or scary.

_'And a guest, yet_!' Draco did, and looked mock offended, grinning. Viktor gave him an encouraging smile. _'No, Drago, not guest, family. Like brother to me._' And, because of that, he felt pretty good about giving him a playful cuff to the back of the head.

_'Oi!'_

_'Something about epic poems, I think_?'

Draco nodded slowly. '_Touché_.' He might have said more, but the carriage came into view and instead he waved, and smiled, and felt deeply, fully happy to have the people he loved-nearly all of them, except Father, and he'd come soon-in the same place again.

In Sofia, the Lestranges were getting ready to get in their own carriage for the trip. Cunegarde, well rugged in a heavy cloak and matching hood to contain her giant wig, was waiting with Barty.

_'Do you need your muff, Madam Lestrange?'_

_'Thank you, Barty, I don't. Is your wife nearly ready, Rabastan?'_

_'Eugenia is coming directly, Aunt. She just wanted to make sure the elves are squared away.'_

_'If she'd let me run the house, as is proper, she'd be expecting already. The baby can't take root in her womb because she's always bustling about_.' Had Cunegarde had her way, Eugenia would have been propped on a divan, layered with furs and eiderdowns to keep her body temperature high until she fell pregnant in self-defence.

Rabastan rolled his eyes but tried to do discreetly. _'Aunt, when the ancestors are ready, they'll send a baby for us.'_

_'I'm merely saying that this behaviour hardly indicates to them that she's ready for a baby. A Pureblood infant wouldn't take root in a womb that's situated in a body more suited to a mudblood's routine, now would it?'_

_'Surely not. Barty, have you got the things?'_

_'I do, Rab._' He held up his valise, where he'd carefully packed the gifts for everyone, which had been his job. He felt very proud of the things he'd helped Rabastan choose for everyone, and he thought everyone would like their gifts.

Eugenia came down, well got up in dark brown travelling robes and a matching hat. Gemmy was carrying her valise and she smiled dutifully at Rabastan as the men rose.

_'I apologise, gentlemen, Aunt Cunegarde. I'm ready if you are_.'

_'We are! Will you come and see the puppies with me, Eugenia? They're so big now_!' Eugenia tried to suppress the flash of pity, laced with sadness, she felt whenever she interacted with Barty. He was a vicious bastard, but it was easy to forget that whilst dealing with the bubbly mental child he was now. So much intelligence, and ability, thrown away, and for what?

He bounded forward and gave her a hug. _'It's all right, Gennie, we'll have a good time. And Desmond's to come, isn't he_?' He'd nicknamed her the day they met, and she hugged him back, reminding herself that he was, for all intents and purposes, a child, and it would be inexcusable to mistreat a child in her care, whatever the adult version had done.

_'He is. And Draco and Hermione will be there.'_

_'And the Lestranges, and Lucius, and Snape, and the Krums. And Salazar_!' Barty was delighted that his favourite people would all be there, and he could spend time with them.

_'That's right, Barty. Would you help Aunt into the carriage for me_?' Rabastan saved his wife from his friend's sincere, taxing attentions, and in five minutes all of them were flying toward Varna, and then to Castle Krum.

In Britain, Snape was also preparing to travel. To avoid awkwardness, he'd had Scabior recalled to Britain during the time that Hetty would be there with Moody-Feathering.

He was leaving the Dark Lord in the care of Gibbon and his false Mulciber. False Mulciber had his instructions, and Snape thought the man inside, Shacklebolt, would do very well.

In some ways, Shacklebolt's job was the easiest and hardest of all of Snape's people. He lived as Mulciber, a quiet widower's life, but he had to do it perfectly. He had to reminiscence exactly the correct way about Mulciber's long dead wife and nearly as long dead nephew, who'd been a schoolmate of Snape's, and see the man's ugly daughter and uglier grandchildren frequently.

Aside from the occasional radio address, Mulciber was a boon companion of the Dark Lord's, and he was often Summoned to keep him company, which was a field filled with pits of stakes and bear traps. And so far, he'd been splendid.

Snape whistled and the dog appeared in human form. He silently changed and allowed himself to be collared and leashed, and then carefully ascended the stairs, settling on the seat across from Snape.

Snape sat down as well. The dog claimed the floor made him bilious, and he'd decided he'd rather not clean dog sick, even magically, and so he said nothing when the dog settled on the seat, closed his eyes and put his head on his paws.

The ride was a long one, and Snape, planning as he always did, stretched out on the seat, having had the elf pack a pillow and blanket, and was asleep in five minutes.

When he arrived, the courtyard was a jumble of people, dogs, and a large gingery cat who brooded over all like some sort of pint sized idol, squashy face looking cool and disdainful.

The children first, of course. Miss Lestrange had donned Bulgarian dress, and looked taller, he thought, as he bowed and made the usual courtesies to the lord and lady. Then he greeted the others, suffered the various hugs and questions, and then settled back to study the players in this chapter of the drama.

Viktor said something to an elf and it started to herd the various dogs into the kennelyard, including Salazar. The two small children calmed a little, and, to Snape's amusement, circled Draco, clamouring for his attention. He bent to pick up the little girl, and, clearly resigned, came to speak to his godfather.

_'*Hello, Godfather.*'_

_'*Draco, Miss Krum, young Mister Krum*._' The children looked shyly at him, and Yana finally held out her arms so she could study him up close. If he was Draco's godfather, he had to be all right.

Snape, looking like he'd just swallowed a hinkypunk, bent to take her from Draco. The little girl looked at him, a miniature Lyudmilla, and said solemnly '*_You're Draco's godfather, like Uncle Boris is mine?*'_

_'*Yes'*_ said Snape, who would not have known Boris from Mordred. The girl nodded thoughtfully and rested her head against his shoulder. '*_Draco and I are going to get married, like Viktor and Hermione. Isn't that nice?*_'

Snape forced himself not to laugh, but seeing the boy's face made that difficult. '*Oh?*'

'_*Yes. We're going to get married and live here. You can come and stay whenever you like, all right? If Hermione says, I mean. She's chatelaine.*_'

'*_I will certainly speak to her about it.*_' Snape gave his eyebrows a sardonic quirk and Draco, who was scarlet already, actually managed to gain a shade. Snape set the little girl down and she happily went to talk to Narcissa, whose face implied she was getting the same invitation. Finally Elisaveta came and saved her, taking the little girl to help her supervise the setting of the table.

_'Godfather! Don't encourage this!'_

_'Why not? It is ever so much fun._' Snape grinned malevolently, and Draco huffed pointedly and pretended not to see. Snape loved Draco dearly, so he couldn't resist the urge to toy with him a bit'.

_'And you know, I remember someone else I used to carry about exactly like that.'_

_'Don't know who you mean.'_

_'Little blond boy, liked to be told stories about things. Wanted to be a potions master just like me when he was old enough.'_

_'I do like potions.'_

_'You used to want to help me. Broke a whole beaker of Dreamless Sleep that time.'_

_'I was five!'_

_'So is Yana.'_

_'I wasn't telling everyone we were getting married!'_

_'We've all got our crosses to bear, Draco. And at least you know she likes you for you.'_

Draco huffed and said nothing else for a moment. _'Any news of home, Godfather?'_

_'Your father sends his affection and bides you help Viktor.'_

_'Of course. How are Greg and Vince?'_

_'Fine. Do you like Durmstrang?'_

Draco looked pensive. _'It's a hard place, Godfather. But I'm learning, and so is everyone else.'_

_'And Viktor?'_

_'He's good to me. Like a brother_.' Draco looked to where the lord and lady, arm in arm, were chatting with Barty and Cunegarde. He suddenly realised how old they looked.

Had he and Hermione really once sat in her bedroom and played games until time to go to sleep? It didn't seem like it. Life had always been about fighting and eating bad food and sleeping when there was time.

As though feeling his eyes, they turned, and Viktor bent and said something to Hermione that made her laugh. She looked like her mother, and it sort of hurt his heart, to see how she'd changed. And him? Was he the same? He reached up to scratch his nose and felt his fingers swipe his cheek. They rasped. He was starting to grow a beard.

Snape was thinking the same thing. _'Draco?'_

_'Godfather_?' His godson's voice had dropped, and when he turned, he reminded Snape so strongly of Lucius for a second that he almost couldn't talk. But then he realised it was Draco, who'd liked stories and once broken a phial of Dreamless Sleep.

_'Do you remember what I told you last summer?'_

_'About what?'_

_'Your cousin and her fiancée. Now you may watch them.'_

Draco turned his eyes back. Hermione was looking up at Viktor, eyes bright, and Viktor looked relaxed. More than relaxed; Draco hadn't seem him smile this much in months.

_'They won't, Godfather.'_

_'Not maliciously. But these things are hard to control in the moment, Draco.'_

Draco allowed as he knew nothing of those matters, and nodded. He couldn't exactly tell Snape that he'd accidentally left them alone in the past, and nothing had happened. He understood, better than anyone besides the other two, what their lives were like, and how rare happiness and pleasure were now, and would probably be forever.

In the course of his watching and musing, Snape didn't miss the look that passed between Penko and Rabastan, and realised he'd failed to account for the possibility that Rabastan might have someone all on his own.

He remembered a muggle song he recalled from his youth, and a small, bitter smile creased his face. _'Dust in the wind.'_

Draco raised an eyebrow. _'Godfather?'_

_'Nothing, Draco. Go and rescue Penko from Barty, won't you?'_

Draco nodded and went to obey. After he'd disentangled the two, Viktor caught his arm in passing. _'Ve go and valk now, Drago. You come?'_

He nodded. A few discreet words were passed to various people and the three children set out in silence, all of them lost in their own thoughts.


	55. Chapter 55

**A/N: Love to reviewers and to Countess Black.**

**'Cyprian' is an archaic word for a woman of loose virtue. The term comes from the story of Venus, goddess of love, who first came ashore on Cyprus. Hetty insists I use the word 'whore', so, in deference to that-and because I love plainspeaking-I have done.**

**PSA from Madea: Rodolphus didn't have any slivov because he'd had pain potion. It's not a good idea to drink after taking pain meds. Just sayin'.**

Christmas Eve was a good day to be Salazar. Standing orders as regarded the dogs left them all well fed, and so he was stuffed with rich offal and the marrows of long bones, which he'd cracked and shared with Bess and two of her siblings.

The Krum dogs were friendly, and as dogs no more have national boundaries than cats do, they often laid in a pile and communicated in that silent way dogs have. Bess was most curious about the strange trick she'd once seen Salazar do; would she, when she was as old as he, have a Man form, as he had?

Salazar rumbled with amusement and explained that no, she was a dog through and through. She accepted this cheerfully, as it seemed to Bess that a dog was a fine thing to be, and then, when the elf came for her, leapt up and invited him along with a yark that was growing in depth and richness every day.

The two dogs followed the elf to the moon viewing room. The children were there, and the cat, and the dogs spread out between them, to protect this small pack and because Sirius wanted to hear what was being said.

The girl closed her eyes and rested against the boy's chest, and the blond one (Narcissa's son, he sometimes remembered, thinking how bizarre that was) made a pointed noise that the other two pretended not to hear.

_'Aunt Eugenia seems nice.'_

_'Very nice. Maybe now Yana stop asking us to have baby.'_

Draco snorted. _'Fat chance. She's absolutely Slytherin when she wants something.'_

_'A good match, then.'_ Hermione grinned and Viktor nodded sagely. _'And both light haired. Good strong Bulgarian vife vould give Drago many blonde children.'_

_'Daughters. Loads of daughters.'_

_'And son, just like him.'_

_'You're both terrible, and I've decided to learn Trollish so I can recite the Fall of EgkyJSyeD at your wedding.'_

They all laughed, and but Viktor noticed that Hermione seemed slightly subdued. His hand crept into hers and squeezed. 'Something the matter?'

She shook her head no. 'I am tired, is all.'

'And?'

She blushed lightly and looked away. 'Another time? It's Christmas eve.'

'What other time?'

Hermione shook her head. 'After everyone's here, and we have party.'

Viktor knew he was being got round, but he also didn't want her upset on Christmas eve. He turned to Draco. _'Drago, I make private spell for a few minutes. I vant give Herm-on-nee-knee gift.'_

Draco nodded and called the dogs, and for his book. He settled down and opened to the page he'd marked, Salazar's head on his knee, deciding it was a good half-way between watching them and leaving them alone.

Hermione raised a brow as Viktor reached into his tunic and pulled out a box. He held it in his hand and pretended not to notice how curious she was. He grinned and handed it to her.

'Open it?'

She did, and couldn't believe what she was seeing. 'Oh, my.' It was a pendant on a fine chain, and what a pendant it was. Scrolled elaborately with swirls and stylised flowers, the pendant was a marvel of detailed metalwork, all done in yellow gold as fine as light as a spiderweb.

As she looked closer, her wonder only grew. At the centre of the scrolls, the little flowers bloomed and then turned back to buds. In a small, curved tree, two birds perched together. One of them flew a little ways and then returned to the other, beaks touching. Hermione adored it at once. She turned so Viktor could put it on her, and he did, letting his fingers graze the nape of her neck.

Hermione turned back and nestled against him. _'It's incredible. How did you...'_

He raised a brow. _'I have vays. Drago's father came up vith idea for Portkey.'_

_'Portkey?'_

Viktor nodded. _'Is Portkey. Ve have someone help us set, and then you choose vord. If ve are attacked, you tap with vand, say vord, and it Portkey you. If in England, it bring you here. If here, back to England. Ve make..._' he checked the paper he'd been sent which explained what the charm makers had devised _'master point, one here, one there. It bring you to master point, yes?'_

Hermione's eyes widened. _'That's brilliant.'_

_'Drago's father makes idea. He get one for all of us. Is good.'_

_'It is. And it's beautiful. Thank you_.' It **was **beautiful, the most beautiful thing she'd ever owned, because it reminded her of the person who gave it, and how much they cared about one another.

She sent Rinky for Viktor's gift, and the elf returned holding it like it was gold. She felt deeply bad that it wasn't as special as what he'd given her, but she hoped he'd like it.

It was actually two gifts. The first one was the outside, which was a cover. She'd embroidered it with the family crest, and it had taken over a month of hard work. Viktor stroked it and then reverently opened the pages. The parchment felt creamy and expensive under his fingers, but it was what was written that mattered most. His eyes filled and he closed it and held her against him, saying nothing.

_'You make stories?_'

She shook her head. _'They're English fairy stories. If you notice, half of the pages are blank. I translated them into Bulgarian-Alise helped-and you can translate them into English_.'

Viktor hugged her again and said nothing. Like the lovebirds, it showed how their families had become one, a group in and of itself, and how both existed together now, like a tree which needs both roots and leaves to survive.

Draco huffed, obliged to register that this was not, strictly, right, however much Draco thought it was fine. Bess leapt up and seized the sleeve of his tunic, tugging gently to suggest he should lie down so they could nap a bit. On his other side, Salazar seemed to grin, and Draco cocked his head at the dog and said _'You're a smart one, aren't you_?'

The dog chuffed agreement. Draco scratched his ears and, gently shooing Bess away from his sleeve again, started to read.

An elf popped in and bowed. 'Master Martin Krum, Master and Madam Lestrange and Master Lucius Malfoy is being here.' They two leapt up, and ended the privacy spell.

_'Drago, Uncle is here.'_

_'Is he_?' Draco leapt up and handed his book back to the elf. The dogs rose too, and all of them took off for the door, and then down to the hall.

Lucius Malfoy wasn't sure what expected, but it wasn't the small group that came into the room. His niece and nephew in law swept in, pink cheeked, followed by Draco, who was at least two inches taller, dressed in a woollen tunic and high boots.

Lucius gave his son a wink and waited whilst his brother and sister in law unmasked and stepped forward. _'My lord and lady, thank you for receiving us in your home.'_

_'Be velcome, Father. Mother, you look vell_.' The children's mask of solemnity dropped and they stepped forward to embrace Hermione's parents. Bellatrix almost couldn't believe how tall her daughter looked, and how grown up, even with her hair in braids.

Lucius, likewise, stepped forward and was duly greeted. He could finally see to his wife and child, and the three Malfoys were soon ensconced in a corner as they soaked up one another's presence.

Martin waited until last. He watched his son accept the courtesy of the other men and realised, with a pang, that his son's total naturalness at it was part of him now, like his bones.

'Father!' Viktor's face split into a grin and he said something to the girl, who patted her mother's arm and then walked with his son to greet him. They moved naturally together, sharing little jokes, faces turned to each other's like sunflowers.

Martin bowed. 'My lord...my son...I am so very, very proud of you both.' Viktor looked away, blushing, and then went to hug his father. Martin felt thinner to his son, less present. His hair was more silver than black now, or even salt and pepper, now, and his side-whiskers were pure white.

It had been a hard few months for Martin. He had never been a warrior, and he had seen-and done-things now that made him shudder when he thought too hard about them.

Worse, he knew that Zhivka would not have approved. She'd always been the rock, and he'd had the luxury of being the dreamer, the one who could let his mind explore, knowing she would ground him.

Even so, she'd been a kind woman, and he sometimes, deep in his heart, feared she would never forgive some of what he'd been party to. It wouldn't bring her back, but he had waded through so much mud-red with blood, reeking of vomit, or thick with an unmentionable slurry of organic matter, bones and burnt flesh and sharp pieces which might have been teeth or fingernails or who knew what else-to be able to stop now.

And his arms were about his son now, his brave strong son he loved more than anyone on earth. The boy was taller than he now, he noticed, and where was the little boy who'd ridden Martin's shoulders? Was he with Zhivka too, replaced by this young lord with his lady beside him?

Martin stepped back and the girl traded places with Viktor. He embraced her as well, feeling how small she was, how delicate compared to his son. He stepped back and the girl looked up gravely at him. 'Father, you would like to have a bath?'

Martin reached up and touched her cheek. 'That would be wonderful.'

'And then we eat?'

'Please.' It was strange to have these things again, he thought, and was reminded again of his wife. She would have done just the same things, left her own parents and seen to her guests and thought of these small, homely things to make their lives better.

Hermione turned to the elf and started to order things for people, clean clothes, baths and pain potion for her father, who'd broken his ankle three days previous and still hurt, despite being healed.

Viktor said nothing, just listening, and Martin noticed that his son's eyes stayed on the girl, and that his hand rested on her arm openly, a declaration as strong as a vow in a society where a bare female knee was a proposition. The girl's hand kept straying to the chain at her throat, and she sometimes gently tugged at it, taking comfort. Her eyes seemed troubled, though, and he wondered whether his son noticed.

The elves announced that the baths were ready, and the four exhausted warriors headed upstairs to freshen up before the family meal. It was Christmas eve, and they would celebrate it by pretending, for a few hours, that everything was normal.

The elves had outdone themselves. All twelve dishes were consumed with zeal by the family, and Ivan found the coin baked into the bread, which guaranteed him wealth for the year to come. Being seven, he decided that meant lots of sweets, and no one corrected him.

After the meal, it was time for another tradition. The children sat wiggling in their seats until Viktor winked at Rumen and rose. 'Well, I suppose we should all retire now. Is that right?'

'No! We haven't done the tree yet!'

'And then go to bed after?'

'No! Then we have a snowball fight!'

'Then bed?'

'Presents!'

'And then bed?'

'Do we have to?' Everyone laughed and the elves, leaving the table uncleared so there would be food for the whole year, opened the door where the huge pine had been set. The adults went to work making fake snow and spraying it carefully on the tree, and Viktor and Draco lifted the children to hang gilded nuts and sweetmeats on the branches.

Hermione circulated, chatting with her guests, hoping Cunegarde and Barty would behave themselves, secretly a little glad that Eugenia was there to take up much of the energy of both.

The Death Eaters relaxed together, Rodolphus slightly logy from the pain relief. Hermione called for hot punch to be brought, and they sipped it quietly. Finally Lucius rose to spell his son, and take Ivan on his shoulders to put decorations on the highest branches.

Draco sat down, legs stiff from swimming so much the day previously, and Hermione joined him a moment. _'Do you want something for that?'_

He shook his head. _'I'm all right, Hermione. They'll loosen.'_

_'If they still hurt in an hour, Draco, promise you'll take something?_'

'_If_.' She grinned at him and then stood up again to speak to Eugenia about what time she wanted her bath in the morning. The Floo flared and everyone with a wand drew it, tensing, until Desmond Feathering's handsome, roguish face came through, followed by the rest of him, and then by Hetty.

_'*Evening, all. I regret we were detained_.*' He bowed and immediately made his manners to Viktor and Hermione, who accepted them and called for food for the headmaster.

Eugenia came and greeted her brother, offering a powdered cheek for kisses, and Hetty as well. Snape had briefed Hetty well, and she gave no sign that she knew Eugenia, though she was pleased to have a new sister, and said as much, dimpling.

Desmond, too, embraced her, and thought how strange it was that they were here, with Snape to blame, or thank, for it. His former protégé, now his sister, stepped back, and the watchers were struck by alike they looked, and how handsome they both were. Fine additions to the family, the lot.

_'*Eugenia, darling, you look well.*'_

_'*And yourself, brother. Have you met my husband_?*'

_'*Honoured, sir'.*_ said Rabastan, how bowed and then hugged his new brother. Inside Feathering, Moody was cynically amused and more than a little horrified; he was hugging a man who'd helped to torture the Longbottoms, and the others were two metres away, watching.

_'*And yourself. I have heard much of your prowess in battle_.*'

Rabastan shrugged modestly. '*_Exaggerated, no doubt. May I introduce my sister in law and brother?*'_

Introductions were made, and Moody-Feathering soon found himself sitting with a cup of hot milk punch, a child perched on his lap, and the most dangerous people in Europe celebrating all round him.

The tree was finally finished, and the children, with enormous seriousness, brought down their gifts for everyone and set them under the tree. Then the elves brought cloaks and hats and coats and gloves, and everyone dressed for the freezing, starlit cold of the courtyard.

Even Cunegarde was not exempt, and, well rugged in her selkie furs and promised that no one would throw snow at her, was sat on a cushioned, heat charmed bench and then warded carefully so nothing untoward would happen.

The dogs had been invited too, and even Bear gambolled slowly in the white drifts, enjoying the atmosphere and having the whole human pack home. He finally made his way to Cunegarde and sat next to her, tail wagging, tongue lolling from his toothless mouth.

The cat, too, had settled near the old woman, and when Hermione turned, she saw something that she remembered with diamond clarity for the rest of her life; the old woman, geriatric dog resting a huge head on her tiny leg, and the cat at her elbow, all of them soaking the heat into their bones, watching the young people play with looks of inscrutable contentment.

Then a snow ball hit the side of her head, and she retaliated in kind. Even the adults were participating, and by the time they were done, everyone, even Mother, was mussed and laughing. Lucius, his usually flawless hair soaked with snow and flying every which-way, ended the fight by cleverly forging an alliance with Rodolphus and Penko that ended with the others being doused in a thick cloud of soft powder.

After it settled, and the dogs were still attempting to catch mouthfuls, everyone agreed it had been very clever, and that cocoa was needed before anything else. The group tramped back inside, leaving the dogs to play until they wore themselves out, and then got ready for presents.

The Portkeys, noticed Lucius, went over wonderfully. He'd chosen simple necklaces for his wife and sister in law, and he thought he'd done just the right thing. For Narcissa, he'd chosen a miniature of Draco as a toddler, set with tiny diamonds. For his sister in law, he'd had one done of Hermione as she had been the night of the party at the Bulgarian Embassy, all white velvet and smiles.

Both women had been delighted. Narcissa, like normal people, expressed it with thanks and eyes which promised him something better as soon as they were in private. Bellatrix said nothing; she just cradled it, looking at it silently, and then slipped it on without another word.

He opened to mouth to prompt her to say something but the look in her eyes stopped him. They were damp, and that was enough for him. They were even now, so far as he was concerned.

The other gifts went over quite as well. Barty had written Snape with his Gringott's account number and a list of presents he wished to buy for his friends and family,(and the sweets for Rab and his wife) and Snape had obligingly sent the elf for everything, telling himself it was because he didn't want the fuss of not doing it and not because he felt bound to help his one time good friend.

Everyone was delighted by his gifts, horn combs and matching mirrors (designed to be worn at the waist in a small pouch) for the ladies and little leather bound notebooks for the gentlemen. He'd even got one for Snape, much to the man's surprise.

Snape also received a fine woollen cloak with a wolf's fur collar from the children. He'd given them all boring books of moralising sermons that, if a person knew how to do it, could turn into useful advice about how to make a number of potions to make the lives of those who'd oppose one more interesting.

Lucius had got Viktor the house elf he'd promised, and, in the interests of fairness, one for Draco as well. _'*You're young men now, you need valets to help you_.*' He still very much meant to get Hermione a proper maid, but that was for her birthday.

Instead, he gave her a small box. _'What is it, Uncle?'_

_'Open it, darling.'_

_'A collar for Crookshanks_.' She beamed and the manky old elf brought her the cat, who snorted his displeasure but permitted the collar to be attached. _'It's lovely, Uncle, thank you_.'

Lucius showed her the silver plate on the back of the collar. _'Tap it three times with your wand and say his name, and it will engrave it_.' She did, and the letters carved themselves into the plate as he'd promised.

He'd not told her it was also Portkeyed. No one, not even Draco, knew that. The only one who knew that was the elves, and the elves would never say anything, not until they used to evacuate Castle Krum by force.

After gifts, the younger children were sent to bed, and the older people (the older children occupied an uncomfortable niche between the two groups) drank more hot punch. Hermione gave orders that slivov be added to the goblets of those who'd have it, and many of the gentlemen accepted eagerly.

By the time group was ready to start heading upstairs, Snape was anticipating a good chat with his spies. The first to go was Martin, who indicated he'd a headache, followed closely by Penko and Barty. Rabastan went next, and gave his wife his blessing for her to sit with her brother and sister in law as long as she liked; Snape suspected Rabastan was planning to meet Penko.

The dog came in and laid down at Hetty's feet, charming her with his tricks. She cooed, and the dog lifted his chin for scratches, smirking at Snape in the single most swot-like manner possible, until Moody-Feathering silently put her to sleep with a spell. She slumped against him and he arranged her so she'd be comfortable.

Snape warded and silenced the room and then heard status reports. _'And it's working out, at Durmstrang?'_

_'It is.'_

_'Miss G-Madam Feathering?'_

_'She's working out, too. Perfectly nice girl_.' He gave her an absent pat and Snape mentally swore at his luck; of all the men in the world, he'd found the one who was unmoved by having a pretty, willing and professionally entertaining woman in his bed.

Still, it was obvious she was being well treated, and that, at least, was a plus. Eugenia had nothing of any note for him, either: she rarely saw her husband and spent most of her time with Barty and Cunegarde.

Snape sat back and sipped his punch, which had no brandy in it. _'I'd like you to talk to Rabastan, Feathering. Or Rodolphus, whichever. The girl needs to be taught what you've been teaching the boys.'_

_'Defence, you mean?'_

_'No, cake baking. Yes, defence. Beauxbatons is a good school, but they can't prepare her like you can. And Madam Lestrange, for that.'_

Eugenia would never be used to being called that. _'Why don't we ask Bellatrix? She'd probably want to help.'_

_'Perhaps she would. Some sort of female bonding thing_.' Snape gestured to indicate he knew nothing of that, but assumed it would be pink and fluffy in nature. Eugenia skewered him with a look; perhaps he shouldn't encourage her to spend time with dear Trixie. Otherwise there would be two of them.

_'I'll get on that. Em, you up for a bit of a fight_?' Moody-Feathering's eyes were gleaming, and Eugenia's face split in a winsome smile. _'I'd like that, Des. It'll be like the old days.'_

_The dog looked round and transformed. 'Ask the boy first.'_

_'Krum, you mean?'_

_'Yes. Ask him and he'll move heaven and earth to see that this happens.'_

_'And if we don't?'_

_'He'll go along, but I doubt he'd like it much. He's probably not keen on the idea like it is.'_

_'How do you figure, Black?'_

Black rose from the floor and stretched. He liked being Salazar, but it did cramp his legs something awful these days. Surely Sirius Black couldn't be getting older, could he?

_'From what I've observed, he's very into protecting her and making sure she feels safe. He's fifteen. Don't make think you doubt he can do it._'

That was actually sort of astute, from the dog. The others were nodding. Snape turned to Moody-Feathering. _'Feathering?'_

_'Might be a good idea. If nothing else, it'll make him feel like he's part of the process.'_

_'Can the boys be relied on to help her? Are they good enough?'_

The new face Snape had selected for Alastor Moody was the antithesis of his old one. Handsome, narrow, boyish, a bit piratical, the sort of face that makes women's heart beat faster and their pulses flutter a little.

It looked strange, yanked into the hard lines of Moody's old face, but there it was. For a moment, none of them could see Feathering at all; he was Moody, and said _'Yes. Yes, they're very good. In time, I think they could rival Bellatrix in skill.'_

_'You hardly seem very happy, Feathering.'_

_'I've trained two more Death Eaters, how would you be?'_

Snape raised a brow. _'Is that what you think?'_

_'Should I think different?'_

_'Yes'_ said Snape, and would elaborate no more.

Eugenia followed Salazar into the cold courtyard, and from there to a disused room that had been for falcons but now sat empty. She laid down on the floor, cushioning it first, and heat charming it, and Sirius transformed and silently laid down beside her.

_'Is it very bad, Em?'_

_'No. He's...you're right. He seems so very normal.'_

_'Are you and he...?'_

_'Once or twice a week. He apologises after and asks me if there's something he can do to help me feel better.'_

_'It hurts you?'_

_'No, but he thinks it does for some reason.' She rolled and rested her head on his chest. 'You?'_

_'Not doing that, to be sure.'_

_'That's soothing.'_

_'No, it isn't. I've nearly sprained my wrist._' He held up a hand and groaned theatrically to demonstrate, and Eugenia smiled. _'Shall I fix it?'_

_'Would you?'_

Rabastan returned just before dawn to find his wife awake, thoughtfully studying the canopy of the bed, where some Krum woman had woven a scene that would have made a Cyprian (Hetty, say) blush.

_'Sweetheart? Are you all right?_' He slid under in his nightshirt, feeling a tinge of guilt. She knew about his tastes, but he felt she deserved better than to smell Penko's cologne on him.

_'Fine, Rab. You?'_

He shrugged. _'More or less. Not as young as I used to be.'_

_'Who is?'_

He nodded and pressed a gentle kiss to the side of her head. _'Something wrong?'_

_'Just thinking. My parents loved Christmas.'_

He nodded, not wanting to press on the scab of her grief for them. _'It must have surprised you, your first white Christmas.'_

_'It did. I thought tonight was nice.'_

_'It was.'_

She sat up. _'We do need to watch the children, though. Hermione and Viktor.'_

Rabastan nodded. _'They're half married already.'_

_'We just want to be sure they aren't all married.'_

_'I think she knows better. Narcissa would skin her alive, for one.'_

_'I know. If you wouldn't mind...since the Krums have hosted Barty and Cunegarde, why don't we offer to take the children sometime?'_

_'I'd not mind a bit. Is there something you want to tell me?_' He raised an eyebrow coyly and Eugenia went white and shook her head. She hoped not, she hoped not, she prayed every night that she wasn't.

_'It'll happen, love. Don't feel bad, all right_?' He put an arm about her and she forced herself to relax.

_'I know.'_

_'And I'll make extra offerings. Perhaps with the children there. The ancestors just want to give us a really strong son.'_

Eugenia nodded. '_I think so, too. It'll all work out.'_

_'Yes, of course._' He snuffed the single candle, and feeling like he'd actually done the right thing by his wife, went to sleep.


	56. Chapter 56

**A/N: Love to reviewers and Countess Black.**

**Heart of a Wolf helped to bring this chapter into being. We got talking about her observations about Hermione and Viktor's interactions whilst Zhivka was dying, and this was the result. My thanks for the motivation and ideas that exchange spawned.**

**Spoiler A/N at the bottom.**

Christmas afternoon, Viktor sought out Hermione and found her in the lady's solar, bent over a pile of mending, muttering to herself as she inspected the sleeve of a tunic. 'Viktor? Is torn again.'

'What is torn?'

She held up the tunic and raised an eyebrow at her fiancé. 'Arm back.'

'Elbow.'

'Elbow.' He bent down, and looking about, kissed her as a distraction. She kissed back and relaxed against him, feeling his chest through the rasp of his tunic and smelling the smell she'd always associate with Viktor: fresh air and rosemary cologne, soap and a faint, pleasant tinge of clean sweat and broom grease.

He reached up to stroked her cheek. 'Do you remember last night? You said we could talk about what was bothering you.'

Hermione nodded and slowly set down the tunic, where the cat promptly colonised it, patting it into shape and giving it a friendly chewing on, shivering with delight at the sheepy taste of the wool.

'I do.'

'Is this a good time?'

'I don't like to.'

'I know.' He sat down and waited. His father had approached him after Mass and asked if something was the matter with Hermione. He was bound to find out, and this was the first and most obvious step.

Hermione took up her basket of mending and sat down, pulling out one of Yana's little aprons to fix. 'Christmas is hard. You feel it too?'

'Yes.' It was the first Christmas without Zhivka, after all. He wondered what she was thinking about, and nearly asked her, until she said 'We went to my Nan's at Christmas.'

'_Nan_?'

'Baba.'

'Oh.'

'We went three days before and spent time with her. On Christmas we would go to Mass and then have big meal. She died the year before I went to school.' Hermione's voice was neutral and calm, but she'd stopped sewing, and was holding the apron with panicky tightness.

'Sounds nice.'

'It was. I am glad, you know, that she die before...before. Is horrible_?'_

'No. She was your father's mother?'

'Yes. Her name was Rose Granger.'

Hermione would never know that the woman had actually been a Squib, set by the Order to watch her family; but it didn't matter much in the end, as the woman had fallen in love with the precocious, happy little girl, and if she'd ever given anyone the slightest reason to believe she wasn't her actual grandmother, it wasn't because she hadn't loved her, which she had, very much.

Hermione was holding the apron so tightly her hands were white. 'I cry for a week when she died, but at least we know what happen to her. She was dead. That makes sense. It make no sense when people go away. My muggle parents go away.'

Viktor tried to find an appropriate response.He certainly liked her increasing fluency in Bulgarian, but this was clearly not the time to press the issue. He swished a translation spell and waited for her to explain.

'*_Disappeared_._ We don't know what became of them. They just...weren't there anymore_.*'

He'd never heard this. She'd only said, once, that they'd been killed. '*_The Order_?*'

'_*We think so. We think they killed them when the Dark Lord came back. They weren't needed anymore_.*'

Viktor's feelings hit like a punch in the stomach. He wished she'd told him ages earlier; a lot of her quiet fears made a good deal more sense now. He gently took the apron before she tore it, she was twisting it so hard.

'*_I did not know.*'_

_'*I know. I don't...I can't stand to think of it.*'_

_'*There is nowhere you can go?*'_ He sometimes went to Zhivka's tomb when he missed her, to rest a while in her presence.

'*_No. No graves. We don't...they might not even be dead, you know, but far away_.*'

Hermione's voice was still calm and soft.'*_I'd rather they were. Dead. Then it's over. It's never over like this. Never.*'_

'*_Is that what you see when you have bad dreams?*_'

'*_No. Werewolves. But...I'm afraid. If we have children, the same thing could happen to us, couldn't it_?*' She nestled closer and rested her head on his shoulder, feeling nearly safe again.

'_*You did not tell me.*'_

_'*It was a bad time, Viktor. You had enough to deal with.*'_

He reached up to cup her cheek. '*_I would have wanted to know.*'_

She was very still. '*_I'm sorry_.*' He heard a strange sound and gently brushed his roughened fingers over her cheekbone. Dry, but he could tell she was trying not to cry by the way she was breathing.

'*_Would you...would it be easier if I took this for a while, Hermione_?*' She shrank against him and nodded before she could help herself. He put his arms round her and said nothing, did nothing.

Nor did she. She finally squirmed a little. '*_I'm all right.*'_

_'*Aren't*.'_

_'*Are.*'_

_'*What would make you feel better?*'_

_'*I'll be fine.*'_

_'*Not if you keep this up.*'_

_'*Please? I don't want to... don't want to.*'_

He knew she didn't, and he wanted to give in, but the conversation had changed everything. He couldn't let this go, now. It could fester inside her and make her sick, or worse. He spent a moment stroking her face and then rose, helping her to her feet and then cancelled the spell.

'Do you trust me?'

'Yes.' And she followed him, trusting he would not lead her astray.

The priest was in his room. When the knock came, he slowly rose and made his way to the door on shaking, tired legs. He was 124 and had seen much in his day. Still, he didn't expect to see the lord and lady standing there, looking flustered and upset, and his mind jumped to the first logical conclusion.

'My lord, we are commanded to abstain before the holy sacrament of marriage is celebrated!'

'What? No, Father, we haven't...we need spiritual council.'

'And you've not been sinning?'

'No, Father. We're trying to right a sin, not commit one.' The priest allowed them entrance, not wholly convinced. The girl sat down at once and the boy he'd baptised and taught his prayers to sat next to her.

Viktor outlined what he'd been told without giving names or details. The priest nodded along, sometimes asking questions. 'And you say these worthy people were denied the consolation of burial?'

'As far as we know, Father.'

'I am sorry to hear that, but how might I help?'

Viktor wasn't quite sure himself. He'd been hoping the priest would know. Still, needs must is needs must. 'Would you say the service for them? Some Englishmen believe that a spirit can never rest until the service had been sung for their souls.'

The priest considered. It was rather a strange request but he was inclined to trust Viktor; the boy took things seriously, and if nothing else, it recommended him that, after six months at it, he still hadn't cottoned that he could simply command certain things (not that it applied to the priest or what he did, but still). He bent his head forward and said softly 'There are limits to what I can do, my lord.'

'Of course.'

And so it was that the strangest non-funeral in the history of Castle Krum, and perhaps in Bulgaria, and England, was celebrated. There were only two mourners, and the priest, constrained by traditional and religious law, could not perform many of the usual rites.

But it was better than nothing, and Hermione found a knot within herself loosening as they intoned the words which would free the Grangers' souls and allow them to rest, and, perhaps, herself as well.

When the priest had finished, he approached them with solemnity. 'I will leave you now to do your own devotions. Remember where you are and what you ought to do.' He turned and left them, bones screaming, feeling he'd done the best he could with a situation that was strange and troubling. He would take it to the grave; he was a priest, and would not, under threat of death, violate the sacredness of another's confidence.

Viktor turned to Hermione. 'May I have your keys?' She handed them over, and he took her hand and led them to the door which opened onto the family crypt. She followed him down, realising they were totally alone-no elves were allowed in the chapel.

The crypts were cold. They stayed close to one another, shivering even in the cloaks the elves had pressed on them when they left the keep proper. He led her unerringly to Zhivka's tomb, the rawness of the stone striking against the other, more ancient ones. After a moment's pause, they went a little deeper into the tomb and he stopped before a blank wall.

'Here' he said, and Hermione blinked.

'Sorry?'

He reached out and gently touched the wall. 'When we are married, and I am lord in fact as well as name, Hermione, I will have the elves carve their names here, and the priest will bless it.'

Hermione touched the place he was indicating. 'A place for them.'

'Yes. A home, with us.' Viktor's hand dropped gently onto hers and he held it a moment. It was such a small hand, he thought, and knew he should move his own away, and didn't.

Then she was moving. Her face was pressed to his chest and her arms were about him with startling force. She said nothing, but he could feel her shaking in his grip, and finally knelt down so they could embrace, kneeling on the cold floor.

Had things been slightly different-had the stars moved in a slightly different alignment, had the snow not fallen an hour before, had either of them forgot, for a second, who they were and what they were about, and had Hermione been a little older, the odds he would have taken her on the floor of the family tomb are astronomical.

None of those things happened, and so, rather than initiating one another to mankind's oldest mystery, the lord of Castle Krum, fifteen years old, sat against the wall and gently tugged the thirteen year old chatelaine into his lap so she wouldn't be cold. She curled into him, closed her eyes, and let him take it for a little while.

'It hurts.'

'Yes.'

'It **hurts.**' Hermione felt hot tears welling in her eyes and did nothing to check them. Viktor nodded, hoping he'd done the right thing. What would Zhivka say to all this? He thought-hoped with his whole heart-she would approve, or at least understand why he had to do this.

They spent over an hour in that position, and then rose silently, legs stiff and sore, backs aching. Hermione's face was streaked with tears, but she seemed to move more easily, and her head was high.

Draco had been looking for them. Like the priest, he saw them coming from the chapel, his cousin's face red with weeping, and made the logical deduction. Drawing his wand, he advanced on Viktor.

_'What have you done?'_

_'Vhat?'_

_'Hermione, did he prevail upon you?'_

_She stepped in between them. 'No! We went and visited Mother Krum!'_

Draco dropped his wand hand down but didn't wholly relax. _'I've been looking for an hour.'_

_'It's Christmas, Draco. We spent some time.'_

_'And you're sure that's all that happened?'_

_'Yes_.' She made a sour face. _'Why is everyone asking us that today? The priest was lecturing us, too.'_

Draco finally holstered his wand. '_Sorry, Viktor.'_

_'Is fine. You just vant be sure_.' He felt slightly rankled, but, he reminded himself, Drago was worried about Hermione because he knew what had happened to her. Now Viktor did too, and if he'd felt protective of her before, it was nothing to what he felt now.

_'Drago, maybe ve talk?'_

_'All right. Hermione, do you want to go and rest_?' Hermione shook her head. 'I'm going to find the dogs. Meet me, both of you?'

_'All right. Say to Bess hello, Her-mon-nee-knee_.' He smiled and she smiled back at him, still looking slightly swollen, and went to find the dogs and soothe herself with their presence.

The boys' feet crunched in the newly fallen snow. The world was white and soft, and above them, the wind played softly on the drifts that sat on the bastions and portculli of the Castle Krum.

_'I didn't mean anything by...'_

_' I know.'_

He said nothing else for a long time. Draco wished he would; his skin itched like sweat was dripping down his back. He felt guilt poking him sharply in the ribs and tried to ignore it.

Viktor watched the sea for quite some time. _'Drago?'_

_'Yes?'_

_'She tell you about muggles?'_

_'What about them?'_

_'They vanish. Means to go avay and not come back, yes?'_

Draco nodded. _'She's never said very much.'_

_'Ve talk about that a bit. It make her sad.'_

_'I really didn't...'_ Draco decided to be direct. _'It's not that I think you would. But she's very...*vulnerable*? I worry.'_

Viktor nodded. _'She kill us for talking about her vhen she is not here.'_

_'I know.'_ She would, too. Draco tugged his school hat over his ears and said nothing else, watching the sea advance and retreat far below them.

_'If we were a few years older_...'

_'Yes_.' Viktor nodded agreement but then shrugged, trying to show that there was nothing that could be done. He wished he could adjust things so that he could promise his fiancée that nothing like that would ever happen again, but he couldn't.

The Portkeys would help. Ideally, if something were to happen, they could at least identify him by the Portkey. He and Draco both had small family crests. And he had the ring which made him lord. There was always that. But what were the odds that his corpse would not be looted if he were killed? He shook his head. No way to fix this. They'd just have to wait and hope things found a holding pattern.

Footsteps. They both spun, wands raised, and found Snape behind them, Salazar trotting at his side. The man looked like an ink stain on rice paper, wearing his new cloak, face studiedly blank.

_'My lord, Malfoy. How goes it_?'

Both boys exchanged a look. _'Complicated, Godfather.'_

_'Easy lives are boring lives. I wanted to ask you something_.'

'_Oh_?' Viktor rested against a stone and cocked his head curiously, feeling very old. This time last year, they'd been playing in the snow at Malfoy Manor. Now he was lord of the castle they were standing in, a spy for a foreign spymaster, and worrying about how best to care for a girl who was his wife in all but name.

_'You're both aware that Beauxbatons doesn't teach Dark Arts?'_

They nodded. Snape pressed onward. _'We'd like to work with Miss Lestrange whilst she is here. Would you want to help?'_

_'Ve?'_

_'Madam Eugenia Lestrange was quite a good dueller. And it would help to make her feel like she was being of help. And Feathering, of course, does like to practice._' That was an understatement, he thought, snorting mentally.

Both boys nodded. _'Of course. Ve use room near dungeon?'_

_'That should be fine. Does tomorrow suit?'_

_'Yes. Drago?'_

_'Father might like to sit in.'_

_'I thought we could make it open to whomever would come, if that was all right.'_

_'Maybe ve ask Grandmama to vatch Barty and children?'_

_'I'll make arrangements._' Snape had sent for a number of Wizaring colouring books and crayons, and he'd see the children (and Barty) were safely ensconced in an upstairs room, colouring and enjoying themselves. Cunegarde would be there as well, complaining happily about something stupid.

Snape nodded and bowed, meaning to go. _'I shall go and ask Miss Lestrange how she feels, perhaps_.'

Salazar woofed and sat down at Viktor's feet. _'Maybe ve keep Salazar?'_

_'If you'd like._' And Snape went off to find the girl, tugging his new cloak's lush collar tighter about his thin neck.

The girl was sitting on a bench, Bess half in her lap, studying her with big, sad brown eyes. She had all the makings of a truly beautiful dog, Snape thought, and sat beside his little spy.

_'Miss Lestrange.'_

_'Professor?'_

_'How are you?'_

Hermione considered. _'It's a hard time of year.'_

_'I'd imagine it is. Something specific?'_

_'My muggle parents_.' He was startled by the baldness of the statement, and saw that her face was a little swollen. The sharp prick of concern shocked and dismayed him a little; she was his spy, not his child.

_'Oh. And did you discuss it with Mr. Krum?'_

_'We did.'_ She outlined what had happened, and Snape was pleased by the elegance and thought it showed, and the favourable way the girl had reacted, or apparently reacted.

He told her about his conversation with the boys, and to his utter lack of surprise, she agreed with enthusiasm. _'I would like that.'_

_'I rather thought you might. Your mother might well join in. Would you like that?'_

_'Yes!'_ Hermione wanted to spend time with her family before they had to go back again, and she thought Mother would have fun, and that they could talk about what they did.

_'How do you find the instruction at Beauxbatons?_'

Hermione shrugged one shouldered. _'All right. I wish they worked us a little harder, I get bored.'_

_'Have you been looking for ways to amuse yourself?'_

_'I read a book a week, usually.'_

_'Excellent. About what?'_

_'Defence, mainly, but also potions and sometimes charms. Viktor's book of history, when Alise can spare some time to help me.'_

Snape nodded slowly. _'Your professors?'_

_'All right. They give me advanced work, sometimes.'_

_'Do you practice your defence?'_

_'Not enough. I try, but it's hard to find practice partners. Yseult's not interested, and Alise is usually working on her lessons or her embroidery. Her grandmother sells some of her pieces now, you know.'_

_'Her future husband is willing, by the way.'_

Hermione didn't know how she felt about that. _'You won't tell me who that is?'_

_'Correct.'_

_'Is he kind?'_

_'To her? I think he will be.'_

_'Do I know him?'_

_'Miss Lestrange.'_

_'Professor_?' She had a look of touching, clearly fake sadness on her face, all big eyes and downturned mouth, but he could see from her body language that she was having him on.

He forced himself not to smile at her cheek. Really, it was unthinkable, the way she teased him sometimes. It was actually sort of endearing, though he'd have bitten out his tongue before he admitted that.

_'Your aunt Lestrange could use your support. She's feeling a bit lost.'_

_'She's an orphan, isn't she?'_

_'She is.'_

Hermione made a sympathetic noise. _'At least she's her brother to comfort her. And Uncle Rab.'_

_'Indeed.'_

_'What can I do?'_

_'Write her. She's in a foreign land and spends most of her time with Cunegarde and Barty_.'

Hermione grimaced. _'Did no one warn her?'_

_'And risk scaring her off?_' Hermione giggled, and Snape allowed himself a small, stiff smile. He didn't want her hugging him again, God knew.

She didn't, but she did beam up at him, face younger and less strained now. _'Why don't I teach her some embroidery?'_

_'Ask her, surely. Female bonding and so forth.'_

Snape could detect something different in the girl's demeanour. He finally decided to face the bludger directly. '_Miss Lestrange, am I to understand this thing with your muggle family has been weighing on your mind?_'

Hermione got quiet. _'Yes.'_

_'For how long?'_

_'A while.'_

_'Miss Lestrange.'_

_'How would you feel, if it were you?'_

A fair question, he decided, and thought. _'My mother died when I was roughly your age, Miss Lestrange. Believe it or not, I do have a degree of insight into your struggle.'_

_'No, you don't. She died. She didn't vanish.'_

_'No? There's more than one sort of vanishing, Miss Lestrange. A wise man once said that of all the ways to lose someone, death is the kindest.'_

_'That's true, I think. It's better to know.'_

_'Indeed, it is.'_

_'Does it hurt too much to say, Professor?_' Her eyes were big and soft, and it hurt to see, picturing her mother this way without the corrosive insanity of the Dark Lord's Cause.

_'My mother was mentally ill, Miss Lestrange. She did away with herself. Arsenic from the apothecary down the street. I was sixteen.'_

Hermione swallowed hard. Abruptly, her arms were about her old professor, hugging him. _'I'm so sorry, Professor! I wouldn't have asked.'_

_'It has ceased to rankle, Miss Lestrange, after all this time._' He couldn't exactly pry her off without causing some kind of scene, he suspected, and anyway, perhaps, if Eileen's sad and wandering ghost heard them, it would soothe her, knowing she was remembered, no matter how emotionlessly, by her only son.

_'Why did...was something the matter with her?'_

Snape nodded. _'She had severe melancholy. It got worse as she aged. One day she couldn't take it anymore.'_

_'Then she vanished, too.'_

'_Yes_.' And she had. Bit by bit, day by day, she had faded like sand through an hourglass, until all that had been left had been a shell, speaking in a monotone, not eating, not sleeping, and then she'd finally taken that last dose, grasped the only out she could.

Hermione said nothing. She wished she could find something to say that might help, some words that would mean something in the face of what she understood must have been unendurable.

Snape banished all thoughts of Eileen Snape's pathetic end and reminded himself of his purpose. _'You told no one.'_

_'No.'_

_'Why?'_

_'There's a war on, Professor. That's more important.'_

_'Not if you've tormented yourself to ill health with your worries.'_

_'It's hard to explain.'_

_'All the more reason not to do it, then_.' Snape gave her a withering look to show how he felt about it, and she, in turn, pulled herself up straighter.

_'People need me to be strong for them, Professor. You do it too.'_

_'Do I?'_

_'You're strong for us, and for the Dark Lord.'_

His little spy was such a clever girl. Snape felt a disturbing mixture of pride and annoyance that she had read him. The dog whined and Miss Lestrange bent down and let her put her head in the girl's lap for an ear scratch.

_'It's hardly the same. I am not a child.'_

The girl's voice was totally without reproach. _'Nor am I, or Viktor, or Draco, now.'_

_'You're thirteen.'_

_'I am chatelaine._' She gently pushed Bess down and rose to stretch a bit, stiff from the cold floor.

_'There are plenty of adults eager to help you.'_

_'I know_.' Hermione looked distant, sadly contemplating the truth of that statement. _'But they really don't get it.'_

_'No?'_

_'My best friend is going to be a servant here, Professor, because if she doesn't, the wolves will get her. Viktor and Draco and I have poisoned two people to keep them from hurting our family. Someday, we might have to send our children away so we can spare them being eaten when the castle falls_.' She sat back down.

_'How do I start to explain that to Aunt Cissy, again_?'

Snape inclined his head. _'Fair enough. How will you find a happy medium_?' He wouldn't let her self destruct, no matter how determined she was. Where had she got this? He'd strangle whomever did it, to say the least.

'_I don't know_.'

He nodded. _'Do you trust me, Miss Lestrange?'_

_'I do.'_

_'Then I want you to start talking to your parents about it. They'll do what they can for you.'_

_'Won't it upset them?'_

_'More than having something else to be worried about? I doubt it.'_

He'd hit a nerve. Hermione winced and looked down. _'Didn't think of it like that.'_

_'You're loved, Miss Lestrange.'_

_'Love is really rather frightening, isn't it, Professor?'_

He wondered whether she was seeing her parents in her mind's eye. Which set? What were they doing? He made himself do the next part.

_'And I am happy to help you with these issues.'_

_'You are?'_

_'Your well-being is a concern of mine_.'

The girl's face lit up as Salazar padded into the courtyard. Bess leapt up with a yark of pleasure, and soon the two were tussling in the powder, sending plumes of white into the air.

_'Really?'_

_'Would I lie to you?'_

_'No.'_

_'Then do me that same courtesy.'_

_'I shan't. I'm sorry I didn't.'_

_'At your age, I suppose it is an inevitable function of your inexperience_.' Snape wouldn't have her getting the idea that he was soft, after all. And it was, he thought, true. His little spy had small malice inside her, if any; he'd rather it stay that way.

_'Father said that, too.'_

_'Do you believe it?'_

Hermione thought hard for perhaps thirty seconds. _'I...I want to. Is it enough?'_

The dog came and looked at Snape with big, accusing eyes. _'I think it is, Miss Lestrange_.'

She rose and, of all things, pecked his cheek. _'All right, Professor. Is there anything you need?'_

_'Need?'_

_'You've clean laundry and everything?'_

_'I do_.' They heard footprints and caught sight of the boys, apple cheeked, coming toward them. Snape would take his leave, perhaps having the dog stay behind to listen and amuse the children.

_'Your cloak looks nice._'

_'It's very warm_.' Strangely, as he went back into the castle, so was Snape. He would almost certainly never marry or father his own child, but in these three, he had, perhaps, found something that would serve nearly as well. They would be his posterity, and that seemed fine to him, on Christmas day, in Bulgaria, in the castle of Viktor, lord Krum, and his chatelaine.

**Spoiler A/N:**

**Q: You are a heartless tease.**

**A: I know. One the whole, though, I feel this was the right choice for the story at this time.**

**Q: Elaborate.**

**A: They know they're not ready yet, and even if they felt they were, they both understand that the tomb is a terribly inappropriate place. And both are keenly aware of the considerations of state and personal honour which argue for waiting.**

**Q:That's not realistic. Everyone knows teenagers are impulsive and selfish.**

**A: I wasn't, and plenty of people weren't/aren't. We've established that both Hermione and Viktor love their families and want to please them, and both have a strong sense of duty, which would influnce their choice in this. If nothing else, they promised the priest that they wouldn't defile where they were, and both of them take that sort of thing very seriously.**


	57. Chapter 57

**A/N: Love to reviewers and Countess Black**

**A perpera is the largest denomination of Wizarding Bulgarian money. It's worth about 70% of a galleon. The other denomination is the asen (worth 30 sickles) and the takh (worth 50 knuts).**

** In real life, the lev is the currency of Bulgaria.**

**Also, Viktor quotes Henry V. 'What a man causes to be done...' is directly taken from the Bard.**

**Roza is a drink made of barley.**

On the floor of the falconry, the woman was very quiet. She rolled to her lover and shook his shoulder. He grunted, curling more tightly round her, and she hissed _'Sirius!'_

_'Mghph.'_

_'Wake up. It's important.'_

He opened an eye. _'Em? You going to leave?'_

_'Soon. I wanted to tell you...you know I duelled today.'_

_'Helped the girl.'_

_'I did. . And then I...'_

_'Are you hurt?'_

She shook her head in the darkness. _'No. But there's something I should tell you_.'

He knew it in his bones. _'Mine?'_

_'I wouldn't...if I could give anything in the world, Sirius, it would be. It would be yours.'_

_'You don't think it is?'_

_'It's about a month, maybe a little more.'_ The timing was wrong. Sirius nodded and opened his arms. Eugenia crawled in and rested against him. Neither of them said anything.

_'For what it's worth to you, I think he'll be a good father. Rabastan.'_

_'I think he will too. And Penko. It's sort of his too, I'd say.'_

_'God, Em. I am so sorry.'_

She shook her head. _'Don't be. We both knew...what an awful thing to bring a child into_.' She closed her eyes and tears started to seep from under her lids. Sirius rolled and gently kissed at them, wanting her to calm down, wanting her to be happy.

_'It's a fresh start, Em. You'll love it just as you would if the father weren't...'_

_'It's not right! Bringing a baby into this, and then he'll want it to join!_'

_'We don't think it'll last that long, remember_?' He was as much as product of his environment as anyone, and he worried that distress might hurt the child sleeping safely in her womb.

_'Why? Because Snape said so? Damn him and his plans. I wish I was dead.'_

_'Emmeline!_' Sirius rolled and lightly put a finger to her lips. _'Don't!'_

She sniffled and found her courage again. _'I'm sorry, Sirius. It's hormones.'_

_'Course it is. Anyways, I don't care. Even if it isn't mine, I still want the best for it.'_

_'You do?'_

Sirius nodded. _'We couldn't save Trixie's little girl or the Malfoy lad, but maybe this one won't get sold for aurors or made into a little Death Eater.'_

_'How?'_

_'Snape might be a swot, but he knows what he's doing.'_

_'I thought you hated him.'_

'_I did. Now, though...I hate what I sense in him, but the man himself? No, not anymore_.' He wasn't sure how he felt, but he wanted Emmeline feeling good about her baby. Poor little thing never asked to be born, after all.

Eugenia nodded and touched her stomach. _'I've not told him.'_

_'Do. He'll be over the moon.'_

_'I know.'_

_'How did you find out?'_

She sighed deeply. _'We were duelling in the room they set up..._'

**Earlier:**

Hermione dodged sharply to the left and adjusted her aim without being aware she was doing it, volleying back the spell. Eugenia ducked and shielded herself, pleased by how fast the girl was learning.

From the sidelines, Bellatrix and Narcissa were sitting on a bench, wearing similar looks of pride as Hermione showed what she knew. She hadn't received nearly enough formal training to please any of them, but she had an aptitude, and her natural eagerness to please made her learn quickly from her mistakes.

The duel ended, and Eugenia smiled brightly at her new niece. _'Well done, Hermione! Remember not to fire too high, though. Fire low, your wand tends to move slightly upward with the force of the spell_.'

Hermione nodded and went to sit beside her mother and aunt, snuggling into Bellatrix. Bellatrix blinked and put her arms about the child without self consciousness. Her child was expressing a need and she was filling it, was all.

Eugenia took the pumpkin juice she was offered and sat down as well. _'I like those shoes, Narcissa.'_

_'Thank you. I get them from Sabot's, in Diagon Alley. Do let me send you a catalogue.'_

_'I'd enjoy that_.' The ladies chatted about small matters for some moments, until Eugenia's stomach gave a hard rachet. She excused herself and went as quickly as possible to the WC, where everything she'd eaten for breakfast made a re-appearance.

_'Well_' said Bellatrix, still cuddling her daughter _'I suppose we shan't have to arrange those sacrifices now.'_

_'Trixie!'_

_'What?'_

_'Is Aunt Eugenia pregnant?_' Hermione looked upward at her mother, tipping her head back, and Bellatrix startled all of them by kissing her daughter's forehead.

_'We can't know that for sure. And that's not a nice word, sweetheart, remember?'_

_'She's vomiting and recently married. What do you think?'_

_'Bellatrix Druella Black, really! Hermione is too innocent to hear these things.'_

_'She knows where babies come from.'_

Hermione wondered why Aunt Narcissa seemed upset. _'It's all right, Aunt Cissy. Why don't you and Mother duel_?'

Narcissa gave her big sister a doleful glare but rose. _'Hermione, darling, pay attention to how one shields oneself. It's vitally important.'_

The sisters faced one another and did the usual, and then, without fanfare, the duel started. Narcissa tended to defend herself and let the other person come to her. Bellatrix did the opposite, and it was a very good duel. Bellatrix won, but Narcissa gave her a spirited fight, and they were both giggling by the end.

As the women were instructing Hermione, Eugenia called for something to sweeten her breath and then for Snape, who came so quickly she suspected the elf must have Apparated him. He swished a diagnostic spell and pointed to the runes which flashed by. _'Congratulations, Madam Lestrange, you're brim full. I'd estimate a month to six weeks.'_

_'I bled three weeks ago.'_

_'How much? An actual course, or spotting?'_

_'It wasn't very heavy, but it wasn't just spotting.'_

_'Shall I show you again?'_

She shook her head and sank down onto a bench. _'Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.'_

_'Stop that, Eugenia.'_

_'Get stuffed.'_

_'Stop it, I said.'_

_'You don't have a baby in you.'_

_'No, but you do, and if you're serious about this, you'll need to do your duty. Stand up and go to your room. I'll tell the ladies you are not well. Spend today in bed and then have some time with the dog. You'll be fine.'_

She was shaking her head. _'I didn't even suspect.'_

_'That's the way of things, sometimes. Good afternoon, cousin.'_

_'And yourself_.' And Gemmy appeared and led her upstairs, and tucked her in without a word.

**Now:**

They parted just after midnight, and Eugenia slipped silently through the deserted corridors, trusting Gemmy to make sure she met no one. Rabastan was out, probably with Penko, and she slipped into her nightgown and under the covers, feeling resentful that she had to come back here after she'd spent most of the day lying on her back, wallowing.

Rabastan came in before two, smelling of soap, and crawled in after. _'Sweetheart? What's wrong?'_

_'I'm expecting.'_

_'What?'_

_'Snape confirmed it today.'_

_'And you said you didn't have anything to tell me_!' Rabasan sounded more amused than irked, and she rolled on her side. _'I didn't know, honestly. I got sick this morning, and asked Snape to check me over, and then...'_

_'That's wonderful news.'_ He beamed and snuggled closer. _'Are you happy, love?'_

_'I...it's quite a lot._' Her voice was shaking slightly, and Rabastan supposed she was thinking about her poor dead parents, or something similar.

_'Of course. Is there anything I might get you?'_

_'No. Do you...do you want to go and tell him_?'

Rabastan's face went still, but only for a second. _'You know?'_

_'Of course.'_

He rose and donned his dressing gown. _'I truly regret, Eugenia, that I cannot be the sort of husband you deserve.'_

She shook her head. 'We are what we are, Rabastan.'

He sat on the side of the bed and stroked hair from her eyes. _'Someday you'll find someone, love, I promise you._' And, kissing her cheek, he rose, tucked the blankets about her shoulders more snugly, and went to tell his lover that his wife was pregnant.

An elf confirmed that Penko was awake, and he was startled when Rodolphus, in his nightshirt and dressing gown, came in, visibly excited. _'It's happened!'_

_'Sorry?'_

_'Eugenia's expecting!'_

_'What? Oh, Rab!'_ Penko opened his arms and they embraced, both of them happy beyond words. _'I can't believe it.'_

Rabastan sat down. _'She's guessed, by the way_.'

_'There wasn't some horrible scene, was there_?' Penko hoped not. It might hurt the baby, and he didn't want that. Wizarding people love children, and he was very excited to have a little Rabastan to spoil and pretend was his child, as he often did with Viktor.

_'Not at all. She suggested I come and tell you forewith.'_

_'Have I mentioned your wife is an exemplary lady recently?'_

_'I wish she was happier. She seems very subdued.'_

Penko sat on the bed. _'This fiancé must have been quite a bloke.'_

_'I think so, too. It's too bad, but she swears she's not unhappy.'_

_'Once she'd had the baby, she'll find a lover and everything will be fine. Do you want me to find a mid-witch in Sofia?'_

_'Would you?'_

_'I'll ask Lyudmilla whom she used. And you'll want a nanny elf, I suppose_.'

'Yes.'

Penko nodded. _'Let me talk to some people, all right_?'

_'That would be lovely_.' He leant over and kissed his lover gently but rose. _'I should spend tonight with my wife.'_

_'Rabastan?'_

_'Hmm?'_

_'Perhaps get her a gift? Something sparkly.'_

_'Good idea. I don't suppose you'd know something about that?'_

Penko wriggled his eyebrows. _'You'd be surprised what I know._' And he decided to send an elf the next morning to find Eugenia something pretty to take the sting out of the situation.

Rabastan returned to his wife, and was relieved to notice that she'd finally drifted off. He slipped under the covers and gently cupped her hard stomach. _'Hello, darling. It's Daddy_.' He could almost imagine that her stomach fluttered under his hand. Smiling, Rabastan fell asleep.

The news was like a late Christmas gift for the family. Rabastan, at Eugenia's request, told people individually, starting with Viktor and Hermione as lord and lady. They both embraced the parents to be and then asked what they could do.

_'Nothing, I'm sure. But thank you_.'

_'Aunt, maybe I send Grandmama to you_? _She know much about baby things_.' Viktor wanted Elisaveta's mind on anything that wasn't her children, and this might help. Eugenia nodded; it would be good to have a stranger attend her, someone she didn't know.

Rabastan watched her go with the others and then clapped the boy's shoulder. _'Is she all right, Viktor? Your grandmama?'_

He shook his head. _'No. She is...old_.' Elisaveta, once the spriest of women, seemed frail now, gray and sad, and she asked at least once a day about Stefan. Viktor loved her and dreaded her presence; could he tell her the truth? Could he afford not to?

Rabastan understood. _'We'll find him, lad. Might take us some time, is all.'_

_'I know. I offer 100 perpera for news of him after holiday_.'

Rabastan nodded. That was a good sum, equal to about 30 galleons, a rich windfall for a peasant or a small person in Britain. His eyes flicked to Hermione and then to Viktor; did the boy want his fiancée to hear all this?

Viktor nodded imperceptibly. Hermione was chatelaine, and more important, he cared about her, and that meant she was part of this as well. Hermione seemed deep in thought. _'If the reward doesn't do it...suppose we asked Dinev for a pardon for whomever turns him in?'_

Both men got quiet. _'A pardon, darling_?' Rabastan wondered what she meant. It was surprising to him Viktor seemed to encourage the girl's acumen, but he didn't disapprove-it would be a stupid man who'd stifle a woman as bright as Hermione, especially given that she seemed to have an especial flare for politics.

Hermione nodded. _'Yes, Uncle. Sometimes, people who've done something bad don't want to come forward if they think they'll be in trouble_. If they've done something minor, perhaps they'd give him up for money and a clean slate.'

Viktor took a moment to translate what she'd said and then nodded. _'And then they lead him into trap.'_

_'Yes, that might work.'_

Rabastan was more than a little startled, to say the least. His brow furrowed a little, and he half wanted to...what? Remind them they were thirteen and fifteen? Scold them for being cunning and ruthless?

He nodded as well, a bit more slowly than Viktor had. Like his older brother, he recognised that their relationship was unusual. They didn't act like teenagers together; they had the air of people who'd been together much longer, and could finish one another's sentences, almost like two halves of the same person.

It pleased and displeased him. He wanted his niece and nephew in law to be happy together, to be married in heart as well as law when the time came, and to have the sort of easy, cheerful report he and Penko were fortunate enough to have.

And they were, and did. Except he wondered where, exactly, the adults fit into this? What did they need from them, when they succoured one another so fully? And Draco, he thought. Draco was the third point of the triangle, for which he was certainly grateful-it kept his nephew safe, and it would give Viktor a friend and contact in Britain.

On the other hand, the three of them could easily use that for other things, too. They were smart, and serious, and Draco had proved already that he had a facility for intrigue. Rabastan considered all this in the blink of an eye and then decided, as rapidly, that the children seemed to be good hearted and responsible, and so he'd just have to trust that they were well.

_'Shall I call Penko and see what he says_?'

Viktor nodded. _'Please do, Uncle. Uncle Rumen already approve of reward_.' The lord and lady's hands brushed gently, and Rabastan pretended not to see, hiding a smile. At least they didn't need to worry that the children wouldn't want to do their duty when the time came. If anything, Eugenia was absolutely correct; the danger was the opposite.

Penko appeared at once. He came in, embraced both children, gave Rabastan a polite nod, and then sat down and listened whilst they explained to him. His eyebrow peaked but he made no comment until the end.

'_*Would Dinev be willing*?'_

Viktor could sense this was a test. '*_I think so. If he didn't want to, I could always put out word that anyone with news would be welcome here. He'd have a hard time extracting them if they were a tenant in one of the houses on our lands.*'_

_'*You could be inviting in a criminal.*'_

'_*The village heads watch new people. As soon as they committed a crime, we'd know. And if they sincerely wanted a fresh start, they wouldn't muck it up, Uncle.*_'

Penko cocked his head at Hermione. '*_And you, niece?*'_

Hermione gnawed her lip. '_*We should make clear that some things are not eligible. No murderers, no child abusers, people like that.*'_

_'*Crimes against property?*'_

_'*Small ones. No arsonists, no house breakers.*'_

Penko looked to Rabastan. '*_Lestrange? You're ambassador here. Would your people support this?*'_

'*_Officially? No, it's an internal matter. Unofficially? Something can be arranged.*'_ Strangely, he and Snape had a moment of mental serendipity, in that Rabastan's first thought was Rice and his loop of cord.

'_*We can't kill him.*'_ Viktor finally said the thing no one else had wanted to say. Both older men paused and looked at him. Was he lord now, or Viktor? Did they level with the lord or reassure the boy?

'_*Explain.*'_

'_*What a man causes to be done, he does himself. It's a poor lord who'd send another man to act as kinslayer for him.*'_

_'*My lord, this man would gladly sell us all for the cost of a good whore and some champagne.*_' Penko settled it. Viktor was lord now. There had been no epic sea change, no sense that shy, diffident Viktor had gone in a burst of light. Just the dry fact of the thing, which made it worse. In a day, in an hour, in a minute, he'd be Viktor again, but now?

_'*I know.*'_ Viktor looked resolute and still hopelessly, terribly hurt at having to do this. He took a deep breath. _'*He got some disease from a...well, a disease last summer.*'_

_'*Yes, he did.*'_ Rabastan didn't follow, but he could tell the boy was building up to something, and another thought shot across his brain like a lightening strike. It had been a strange rash, a rash that came seemingly from nowhere...could Viktor have done it? Or Hermione? Draco? All three?

'*_It would be terrible if it infected his brain. That happens sometimes.*'_

Both men were nodding, and Hermione, bright eyed as an owl, was gnawing harder than ever. '*_What do you think, Hermione?*'_

She gnawed another minute and then stopped. '*_That should make people think he's a liar, or mad. But what do we do then?*'_

'_*It would be our duty to see he's taken care of, if he isn't in his right mind.*_'

Penko was nodding. '*_We could confine him somewhere.*'_ A sanatorium, somewhere private, where he could be left indefinitely, alive and yet removed as a threat, without the risk of branding themselves kinslayers.

'*_What about Elisaveta? She'll never agree.*'_

Hermione looked as sad as her fiancé. '*_What if we gave him something to make him seem delirious and then let them talk? Would it convince her?*'_

'*_It might.*'_ Viktor looked distressed, and the children joined hands automatically, saying nothing. Penko sat and clapped the boy's shoulder gently for a moment. Ever since the boy had been born, his uncle had been there, and now, in this ugly business, Penko would not shy from giving his council.

'*_Have you asked Martin, Viktor?*'_

Viktor shook his head. '*_No. Father is...distracted.*'_ He didn't know how to say what he meant, that something in his father was not like it had been and he suspected it would never be like it was.

He wasn't the only one who'd picked up on it. The man seemed like a ghost himself, as though some vital part of Martin had travelled with Zhivka on her journey to the stars. It was known to happen. Like Eurydice in reverse, the living spouse's anima followed the dead one, and what remained was only a fragment of the whole.

Hermione squeezed his hand and another of those strange looks passed between them. At her word, an elf appeared and returned a second later with a tray of roza and banitsa, and Hermione's work basket, which she took up with a pointed look at her fiancé. The first thing in the basket was a tunic with a huge rip on the back of the sleeve.

Viktor looked at Rabastan. _'*Uncle, have you told Uncle Rumen and his family the good news yet?*'_

_'*I have not. Perhaps Yana will be satisfied now.'*_

Viktor grinned._ '*No, she'll want a matched set. I'll pray for twins_.*'

_'*I'll transfigure you into a newt_.*' And with that, Rabastan rose and bowed, having been dismissed as politely as possible from the presence of the lord. Penko rose as well.

'Do you mind, nephew?'

'Not at all.'

'Is the elf here?'

Hermione looked up. 'Rinky?' The elf made himself visible, bowing. Penko nodded and took off after his lover, leaving the lord and lady in the high hopes they'd behave themselves.

Alone, the two children faced one another, Hermione still sewing. 'Viktor?'

'Hmm?'

'Not your fault.'

'What do you mean?'

'You did right thing. Stefan is bad man. We don't do what he never deserve.'

He couldn't start to correct her grammar at the moment and so nodded. 'I know. It's hard.'

'Yes. You want to be alone?'

'No.' He reached over and gently tugged her into his lap again. He had liked it very much, the feeling of her warm, soft body pressed into his. And it was a sort of reminder to him, he thought, of what was at stake.

Hermione thought as much too. She snuggled back. For her, it was a reminder of how safe she was, and that he wouldn't disappear. Couldn't, with her sitting on him. She closed her eyes for a moment and just relaxed, wanting him to feel as safe as she did before she took up her mending again.

'You know, at school the headmaster told us to teach them that war is not fun.'

Hermione had fixed the tunic and started on one of Penko's shirts. 'How?'

'Tell them the truth. How **ugly** things can be Should I tell them this, do you suppose? That war means figuring out who to sell and for what price?' He didn't really mean to tell them, of course; but it weighed on his mind, the thing they were planning to do.

Hermione kept mending. 'Tell them war is being person who must make choices.'

He dropped his head to the back on her neck. She smelt divine, like roses and clean clothes and a little sweat, and he dropped his head and inhaled deeply.

He wrapped his arms round her, careful not to jar her hands as she worked. Hermione smiled and nestled closer, still sewing. His muscles were hard under her, but it was a good hard. He was hard, too, and so was she, now. It was what it took to keep everyone else safe, and so she would do it.

'Does talking about this make you afraid?' He wanted to kiss her neck, and then her shoulders. He was desperately trying not to think about how it would be to be in the bedroom with her on their wedding night, and open her chemise and then kiss her as he undid the drawstring and tugged down the thing off her shoulders.

'No. It comfort me to have plan.'

He nodded. 'War is having something to fight for, the headmaster says. Find something to remind them of what they'd be losing and they'll fight to the end.'

'Do you think that?'

'Yes.' He said, and yielded to the urge to press his lips to her skin. She was warm, and soft, and if he didn't stop he'd have a problem he couldn't take care of. Honour demanded he not ask something of her that she could not give, and so, regretfully, he stopped himself.

He wasn't the only one who didn't want to stop. Hermione's belly felt warm and soft and nice, and her limbs were hot and shivery. Her skin felt funny, prickling, sensitive, and she sort of wondered what it would be like if he touched her. Would she like it? Would it hurt?

He set her to her feet almost too hard, catching her before she could fall. 'Sorry!' He half wanted to bolt from the room. The torment of having her so close and being unable to show her with his body how much he cared about her was bitter, bitter to him. Was it to her as well?

Hermione wondered what she'd done wrong. Had she offended him? What happened? Viktor's cheeks were pink, and he wouldn't look at her. Hermione's heart was in her throat, and she tasted bile. What was wrong? 'Was it what I did?'

He shook his head, taken from his humiliation by her voice, which was soft and sounded raw and shy. He stood up too, and she pressed against him, seeking reassurance.

'No. My fault. I shouldn't have touched you that way.'

'You didn't hurt me. I like it.'

'You do?'

'Don't you want me to?' She tipped back her head and studied him. Was Aunt Narcissa right? Had she done the wrong thing by admitting that?

'Yes. Yes, very much. I didn't want to scare you, or cause you offence.' He hugged her hard, conscious of not wanting her to brush against him below; their touching had given him an aching erection, and he was afraid stimulation might cause a loss of control.

'I know you wouldn't do something bad on purpose.' She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, telling her heartbeat to still and her stomach to unlock. He wouldn't leave her. The promise was round her neck, and under her feet, and in the faces of his-their-family, and in his touch. She was safe here.

'Not to you.'

She giggled and stepped back. 'No, but maybe next week Belgium does not agree.'

'No?'

'You win the match. Ghent team is not as good as Bulgaria. Weak beater, they said.'

Viktor nodded, relieved to have something else to talk about. 'Yes. Their coach tends to choose flash over substance.'

'How did they get so far?'

Viktor looked philosophical. 'They **are** good, but I think Dubois is a glory seeker. That might be their undoing.' He wasn't wholly sure he wanted to win, still, but he didn't want to lose to Dubois' showboats, at any rate. After Belgium, there were three more countries and then, assuming they won, Bulgaria would be in the Cup.

Hermione nodded solemnly. 'If you feel well, why don't we ask Draco and see if he want to duel?'

Viktor thought that sounded a very good idea. 'Snetzka, find Master Drago, please, and ask if he'd like to duel.'

He would, as it turned out, and they filled him in on the plan whilst they went over some of the new hexes with Hermione, who was getting good at a frightening rate. He said very little-there was nothing he could do or say that would add to this, he felt.

It was a very good duel. As Viktor was resting, they heard a polite clearing of the throat which made them turn. _'Hello, Mother_.'

Bellatrix stepped into the room and looked round. _'Don't stop on my account, children. Draco, remember not to swing too wide, or else you'll hit your comrade beside you. Hermione, keep moving and watch your opponent's face, not his wand. Well, go to_.' She sat down on the bench next to her son in law and watched as her daughter and nephew squared off.

Draco threw the first hex (had to remember to tell Hermione not to wait but to strike first) and then shielded himself as Hermione retaliated, dodging the hex. Draco swished and her daughter was laughing hard, but still managed to fire off a jelly legs jinx that came within a hair's breath of Hermione. He spun and flicked and Hermione jerked hard to the side to avoid the binding curse he'd sent her way. It was getting more serious, and both Viktor and Bellatrix nodded, watching as they used the new hexes and spells to fight one another.

It ended with something like a draw, though Draco would have been victor had he pressed his advantage. He helped his cousin up and checked her visually for wounds as she did the same for him.

_'Draco, what a bruise! Why didn't you ask for salve_?' She frowned sternly and pointed at the place on his arm that was purple and blue.

_'Games. It's fine.'_

_'It's not either. I've got half a mind to tell Aunt Narcissa.'_

_'Now, Hermione, that's not necessary_.'

_'What do you think, Mother_?' Hermione turned to her mother and motioned to the black and blue on her cousin's arm. Bellatrix knew the boy would hardly die of it, but her sister would be upset, to be sure.

_'You put some salve on that, and next time it's Cissy_.'

Draco rolled his eyes but said nothing, secretly enjoying the feminine fussing and scolding. One thing he missed about school was girls; their soft voices, their pretty hair, their perfume, their laughter.

He wondered how it was for Viktor, to be so close to an actual girl but having to restrain himself. It was, he wagered, unpleasant to have urges one could act on, but not now.

More accurately, he could, if he chose, act on them. He could order Hermione's things moved to his room, and as lord, no one could gainsay him. Viktor wouldn't, of course, because he was a good bloke who didn't want to make everyone angry, but it must have occurred to him at least once or twice.

He sat down on the bench and looked hopefully at his aunt. _'Aunt Trixie, could you teach us_?'

She didn't even ask. Instead she rose and rolled back her sleeves, Mark flashing. She stepped to the middle of the room and nodded at Viktor. _'Well, come on, then.'_

Hermione had the interesting experience of watching two of the people she most loved fighting, and hoping they'd both win, and hoping they wouldn't get carried away.

Both of the younger teens liked to duel and were good at it, but this was a whole new level. The fighters ducked and wove, firing increasingly dangerous spells, shielding themselves, advancing, retreating. It was a foregone conclusion that Bellatrix would win the duel; Viktor was merely determined to give her a fight worthy of his training.

When it was over, Bellatrix helped him up and checked him visually. _'You aren't hurt?'_

_'No, Mother.'_

_'Well done. Draco, you next_.' Hermione grinned at Viktor and moved down so he could sit next to her. He slid a hand into hers and they watched the fight play out, sitting close.

Last of all was Hermione. Bellatrix gave her daughter a nod and then hurled the first spell. Hermione had been paying attention during the first duels, and she used what she'd observed to advantage, dancing away and returning fire.

Bellatrix was hard on her daughter because she cared about her, and wanted Hermione to be the best dueller in her year, the best she knew. She flung hexes, she moved like a snake, and the girl seemed to take most of it in stride.

The final hex took her in the chest and the girl dropped, stunned by the collision, and then got shakily to her feet, yielding. Bellatrix stopped and went to check her daughter, patting her down, squinting deeply to show that she'd liked that her daughter had done so well.

Hermione was battered but delighted by the approval. She beamed as her mother's hands squeezed her arms and checked her neck and shoulders for injury. Hermione snuggled into the touch, and Bellatrix decided some female bonding was in order.

_'I should like to work with Hermione, boys. Do you mind?'_

_'No. Ve go and fly, maybe.'_

_'Sounds brilliant_.' Draco wasn't exactly unhappy at the idea of getting tips from the greatest Seeker in Europe, and they took off with the energy of the young, speaking excitedly about where they would fly.

Bellatrix waited until they were gone to hug her daughter. _'Good girl, Hermione_!'

Hermione's face lit up. _'Was I all right_?'

Bellatrix nodded tersely, not one for praise. But she was pleased by what she saw, and rewarded her girl with another squint.

_'But you could use some practice. Now, pay attention to where I move, because_...' And together, they spent an afternoon working on Hermione's defence, and enjoying another, and not worrying about anything. It was very pleasant.


	58. Chapter 58

**A/N: Love to reviewers and Countess Black**

**I realised I forgot to give credit where credit is due: Many chapters ago, Viktor and Lucius talk about ley lines and feudal lordships. My friend A helped me enormously in that regard. So, A, sorry I forgot, and thanks again.**

**Heart of a Wolf helped me with the idea for some of this chapter as well. **

**Happy 4th of July!**

Much though Penko would have liked to spend time celebrating with Rabastan, he had something beside spending time with his lover on his mind. He straightened up and went to his brother's room, knocking on the door with a singular combination of hope and dread oozing through his veins.

'Enter.' Martin was sitting at his desk, poised over a blank parchment. He smiled to see his brother but made no other move. Penko sat on the small stool indicated and waited for his brother to speak. After a minute of silence, Penko finally started things moving by outlining the things he'd just talked about with his nephew.

Martin said nothing. He looked blankly at his younger brother as he recounted events. 'Oh.'

'**Oh**? Martin, you understand that I've just told you your fifteen year old had to make a choice about having his uncle assassinated, don't you?'

Martin nodded slowly. 'I know. He chose well.'

Penko was ten years younger than Martin, and eight years younger than Rumen. He'd grown up idolising his handsome, funny, smart brothers. He'd been fourteen when Viktor was born, and even then, knowing he'd never marry, Penko had decided his tiny nephew would be the son he'd never have.

Because of that, because he wouldn't watch Viktor made to decide horrifying things and because he liked the girl and cared about her uncle very much, he'd make a last ditch effort to stop this, to bring Martin back.

'Is that all your can say, brother?'

'What would you have me say?'

Penko breathed deeply. 'Martin, I would have you take the ring back. Viktor is fifteen, and he needs you.'

'That is not an option, Penko, and you know that. I will return to the war soon and Viktor is my heir.'

'And a child. What will it do to him if he has to order us to do it after all?'

'It won't come to that.' Martin was looking aside again, and Penko was at that strange intersection of love and anger that can sour into hate if it isn't stopped. He dug his nails into his palms and counted to ten.

'The way Stefan would never steal from Rodolphus? The way nothing would come of the offer from Britain? The way that party at the Ministry was perfectly safe?'

Martin went pale under his side whiskers. 'Don't, Penko.'

'Then do something about this before it's too late.'

'It already is.' Martin rose and called for ayran for both of them. He handed Penko his and sipped from his glass without expression.

'How do you mean?' Penko's stomach dropped. It felt tight, like it was full of burning rocks, and he thought of Rabastan and his family, and the girl, and how it would go for them if this undertaking failed.

'Even if I took the ring again, the damage is done. If we don't defeat the werewolves, they'll come for us. Maybe not for a few years, but someday. Can you live with that?'

Penko set down his goblet. 'Can you, knowing your son has a contingency plan for killing the women to spare them if the castle is overrun?' Rabastan had confided that one night and it bothered Penko, even as he felt pride in his nephews that they'd bravely faced that part of things.

Martin swallowed hard. 'Do you think I like it, brother? That I wanted this for him? I don't. But what is there for it? At least Viktor has a chance to getting out of this alive if we should fail. I don't-everyone knows who brokered the deal that started this.' Martin seemed unfazed by the admission, as though his own death were an abstraction for him.

'He won't without the girl, and probably the lad as well.'

'I wouldn't expect him to. They're as blameless as my son is.'

For how long? Penko thought about their duelling, the way Viktor and the girl's hands touched. He'd never seen his nephew as happy as when the girl was there, and could he blame him? He remembered what it was to be young and heady with affection and humours.

That wasn't what worried him. It was that Viktor was being slowly and inexorably drawn deeper every day into a course of action which made his survival, should they fail with the wolves, should the Romanians finally declare war, should the Germans and Americans join with them, an open question.

How long would it take for the Malfoy boy to take the Mark? How long after the wedding until the girl had a Krum in her belly? He liked her, he liked the Malfoy lad, but if nothing else, they meant Viktor's choice was made, had been made when he saw the girl and was hit by the coup de foudre, the lightning bolt, and perhaps even before that.

'If nothing else, tell him that. He was afraid to ask your council.'

Martin finished his drink. 'He needn't be. He knows I'll help.'

'He doesn't want to add to your burden, Martin.'

'He's a very good lord, Viktor. I think he'll do wonderfully. And I would do anything to see he has his chance at doing it in peace and prosperity, Penko. **Anything**.'

'He is. As good as yourself, in time, but you were twenty two when you became lord. Viktor was fourteen. And if you're correct, and the war comes, how will he control the bannerman?'

'If we succeed, we'll need never answer that question.'

'If.'

Martin looked ancient, suddenly, badly used. 'God help me, it's not in my hands anymore, Penko. I've seen things which have convinced me that this is our only course. Trust me.'

Penko wanted to, very much, but he'd seen the look on his nephew's face, and heard Rabastan's voice in the dark beside him, detailing the plan the two boys had made.

He rose and clapped his brother's shoulder. He'd find a way, even if it killed him. And maybe someday, Martin would return to them. Maybe. He walked out, boots clicking on the hard floor, and then left to consider how to do this thing.

He was not the only one. Moody-Feathering found himself in the strangest position he'd been in for years, maybe ever. He was with Draco Malfoy, and he was trying to reassure the lad that he was not doomed to failure as a teacher.

_'Because they don't like me, Headmaster.'_

_'They don't need to. They need to respect you, and I think they do.'_

_'They call me the Butcher's boy.'_

_'I know. Use it to your advantage, lad. They know your family and they fear them.'_

Draco nodded distantly, swallowing hard. _'I wish they'd stop it. They don't know...'_

Moody-Feathering suspected the other boys knew better than Draco himself, in that they had access to foreign news and he didn't. Most of them would have heard the stories about the Butcher of Britain, not to mention the other Death Eaters spread about the castle.

_'Your father as you do? No, they don't, and they never will. Concentrate on making them hear you_.'

Draco nodded. He'd gone flying with Viktor, but they'd had to cut it short when two trolls had been spotted, trundling toward the sheep pens down below. They'd sped back to raise the hew and cry, and three villages worth of men had been dispatched to drive them back into the hills, armed with crossbows and dogs.

_'And how do you do that, lad?'_

_'I don't know, Headmaster.'_

_'You do. Think about it. How will make them listen to you whilst Krum is playing in the matches this spring?'_

Draco obediently considered. _'I'm good at this.'_

_'You are.'_

_'And some of the monitors have fought. Maybe get them together before hand and ask them to help me?'_

_'That's a start. Some of them won't go along with that. What will you do then?'_

_'I'll show them why I'm worthy of teaching them.'_

_'How?'_

Draco looked determined. _'I'll fight them.'_

Moody-Feathering allowed himself a small smile. _'Tomorrow at nine, boy, you and I will duel.'_

_'Yes, Headmaster_.' Draco bowed and went out, clearly chewing this over in his mind. He was walking aimlessly, thinking vaguely he would see the dogs, when a small hand slipped into his.

_'*Hello, Ivan.*'_

_'*Hello, Drago. Are you sad?*'_

Draco looked sideways at the blond boy who was holding his hand so trustingly. _'*Not sad, Ivan. Why, are you?*'_

_'*No. There trolls near one of our villages, though.*'_

_'*I saw them.*'_

_'*Really? Were they very big?*'_

Draco had his first experience of being forced to choose between lying to a child and telling a honest but potentially scary truth. He thought fast. _'*Nothing the dogs can't handle, Ivan.*'_

_'*All right, then. Someday they'll be my dogs, you know.*'_

_'*Really?*'_

_'*Viktor gets the castle and I get the dogs. I'll be his steward, like Father is Uncle's. Well, Viktor's, now.*'_

_'*Will you?*'_

_'*Yes. And I'll get to tend the books and help the tenants and go to landholder's meetings to represent House Krum.*'_ Ivan seemed very excited at the prospect of being steward, and Draco found himself touched by the sincerity of Ivan's goals, and how solemnly he took them.

_'*That sounds very nice.*'_

_'*What'll you do?*'_

_'*Me? Be a diplomat like my father, probably.'*_

_'*Does your family have a castle?*'_

_'*No, a manor house.*'_

_'*Will you be lord of it?*'_

_'*Something like that.*'_

Ivan looked up at Draco, whom he thought was the most interesting person he knew, except Viktor and his Grandpapa. _'*Drago? Are you going to marry my sister?*'_

_'*I don't know who I'll marry, Ivan.*'_

_'*Viktor does. He's marrying Hermione.*'_

_'*That was sort of a special case.*'_

_'*Why?*'_

Draco remembered how weird and creepy the whole thing had been, and shuddered a bit to himself. _'*It's hard to explain. I probably won't get married for a while.*'_

_'*Why not?*'_

_'*I'm thirteen.*'_

That seemed quite old to Ivan, but he nodded out of defence to Draco's apparent belief it was not. _'*If you had a sister, I could marry her.*'_

_'*That's right.*'_

_'*Why don't you?*'_

_'*I don't know.*'_

They stepped into the kennelyard and the dogs came to sniff and pounce and tug. Ivan sat down on the bench and got to the heart of the matter. _'*Drago, are you going back to England someday_?*'

Draco sat down too. _'*I hope so. I miss it_.*'

_'*Don't you like it here?*_' Ivan hoped the answer was yes. He liked having everyone here, and he wanted them to stay. So did Yana; they'd talked about it quite a lot.

_'*I do. But I haven't seen my own room in six months.*'_

_'*Because there's a war.*'_

_'*Yes.*_' Draco found himself feeling a little better as he talked to the younger boy; if he could do this, he could teach the extra sessions of defence without Viktor. He could do this. He was a Malfoy, damn it, and that **counted** for something.

_'*Why can't people talk about it?*'_

_'*Talk about what?*'_

Ivan knew all about talking rather than hitting. _'*Their feelings. If they're angry, they should talk about it. It's not nice to hurt people.*'_

_'*No. But it's harder when it's politics. There's a lot at stake.*'_

_'*Like what?*'_

Draco sighed. How could he explain about ideology and economics and international politics? He couldn't, clearly. He decided on a modified truth.

_'*There's some people that don't like what we believe, so they're trying to hurt us.*'_

_'*Are they the bad people who hurt Aunt Zhivka?'_

_'*Some of them.*'_

_'*And Uncle Martin and your father and Uncle Rodolphus and Aunt Bellatrix are stopping them_?*' Ivan frowned and tilted his head, Viktor like. Draco nodded, feeling like he had to leaven this somehow for the younger boy.

_'*Yes. When it's safe, my family will go get to go home again, and you can visit us in Britain.*'_

Ivan shook his head at once. _'*There's werewolves there. Can't you move here?*'_

_'*Move here?'*_

_'*You could talk to your Papa about it. Bulgaria is very safe, and there aren't any werewolves here_.*' Ivan looked totally serious, and Draco had two realisations at once. The first was that his father's insistence that being an adult wasn't all that fun was true, and the second that he was getting a taste of having children. Father said that was fun, though. It wasn't now.

_'*We can't leave England, Ivan. We're responsibilities there.*'_

_'*Why do grown ups talk about that all the time?*'_

_'*Because it's true. My father works for the Dark Lord, and my mother helps with a number of charities.*'_

_'*But we need you here!*'_

Draco inhaled deeply and put a hand on Ivan's arm. _'*I know you'd rather we stay here, but other people need us too. So let's think about how we can make this easier, all right_?*' He was quoting his father almost word for word, and he resolved to find him after and thank him.

Ivan shook his head and looked piteous._ '*We need you more!*'_

_'*You've got your father and your uncles, and Uncle Rabastan. There are loads of people in Britain who haven't, and we have to take care of them.*'_

_'*Noblesse oblige? But they aren't your tenants.*'_

_'*Not like yours, but we owe other people certain things. Do you remember those pictures of when your family came to see mine?*'_ The children had seen the newspapers, and Ivan nodded. _'*That little girl got sick on Hermione's shoes.*'_

_'*Yes, she did. Hermione and Viktor helped clean her up, did you know that?*'_

Ivan shook his head. _'*No. It must have been nasty.*'_

_'*It was, but it would've been worse to let her be dirty if they could help. Do you see?*'_

Ivan nodded. _'*So your family has to go back to help people clean up messes?*'_

_'*More or less.*'_ Draco hoped he'd done the right thing, and felt a little relieved when Ivan stooped to get a rag ball for one of the dogs to chase.

_'*Aunt Eugenia's got a baby in her belly.*'_

_'*She does*.'_

_'*Drago, if your family is English, how will the gnomes know how to find her to give her the baby_?*' Ivan was totally stright faced, and Draco was reminded of something else Father said-that one of the hardest things about parenting was not laughing sometimes.

_'*They'll know, Ivan.*'_

_'*But what if they don't? They might give her a Bulgarian baby by mistake.*'_

Draco bit his tongue. _'*I don't think it matters. They always give the right baby to the parents.*'_

_'*Your family moved suddenly. They might be looking in Britain. And the gnomes here speak no English.*'_

_'*They needn't. They've their own language, Ivan.*'_

_'*How do you know?*'_

_'*I go to school. When you're old enough, you'll go to school too.*'_

Ivan looked unconvinced. '*_We should help them, shouldn't we? To make sure they bring the right baby?*'_

_'*Help them how?*'_

Iva considered gravely. _'*Well, we need to make sure that the elves know the baby needs to speak English, so why don't we make a sign? You can do English and Viktor will do Bulgarian.*'_

Draco nodded. _'*That would work_.*' He was hoping that Ivan would forget about it after they'd eaten. He rose, feet getting numb from the cold. _'*Ready to go in?*'_

_'*Yes. Maybe Viktor'll be done with the trolls now.*'_

Viktor was. He greeted the sign idea with admirable seriousness, winking over Ivan's head at Draco. Unfortunately, it did nothing to dissuade Ivan, who promptly grabbed both boy's hands and led them to the library.

After dinner, everyone relaxed in the room which was a sort of de facto parlour. Rabastan, sitting with Eugenia and chatting with Rumen about his favourite restaurants in London.

Ivan said something to Snetzka, who came back with the sign held reverently in her ancient, shaking hands. Rabastan took it with great solemnity and read it over.

_'Dear gnomes,_

_This baby is English. Please make sure that you've sent the right one.'_

Something was written under it in Bulgarian, presumably the same thing, and a drawing had been added in a shaky, childish hand. Four adult figures of varying sizes straggled across the bottom of the sign. One, the tallest, was clearly Rabastan, as a skull and snake stood out on his arm. The one next to him was Eugenia, with a big smile on her face and what looked like a bundle of washing in her arms.

The others were more scrawling and distorted. Yana stirred from Lyudmilla's side and said proudly 'I did those!' One had a huge, baroque pile of hair, and the other was a tall scribble with a big smile- Cunegarde and Barty, clearly.

_'*This is wonderful. How thoughtful you all are.*'_ Rabastan passed it to his wife, who made the correct remarks and passed it to everyone else in turn. Lucius nodded and smiled when he saw the sign.

_'*That's very clever of you all. Did you think of this all on your own?*'_

_'*Drago helped. He said the gnomes would know where to bring the baby, but then we talked about helping people who can't help themselves and so I wanted to make sure the gnomes brought a baby who could speak English.*'_

The adults were swallowing laughter, but that didn't prevent Lucius from nodding approvingly at his son. _'*That's excellent, Ivan.*'_

_'*Ivan'_ said Rumen gently _'babies come prepared to learn any language. The baby will learn English from your aunt and uncle.*'_

_'*The gnomes won't know that, though. They have to bring an English baby to be safe.*'_

_'*People learn language from hearing it, sweetheart.*'_

Ivan shook his head and dropped his voice. _'*Papa, none of our English family speaks Bulgarian except Hermione. I don't think they can do it. If we don't make sure, the baby will only speak Bulgarian_.*'

The adults were almost convulsed with laughter they couldn't express. Lucius rose and said _'*Would you children show me the dogs? I've been wanting to see Hermione's Bess for some time_.*' He was taking one for the team on this one, to be sure.

The two youngest bounced excitedly from the room, and Lucius followed, flanked by Draco. As soon as they were gone, the room collapsed utterly into laughter which went on some time.

Lucius chatted with the children as they danced ahead of him, ready to see the beloved dogs again. Draco walked with his father, who reached up and clapped his son's shoulder affectionately.

_'What did you talk about with Ivan_?' Draco outlined the conversation they'd had, and Lucius found himself prouder and prouder of his son. _'And then you made the sign_?'

_'We did. Father? This parenting thing is really hard_.'

Lucius laughed, a low, warm sound very few people had ever heard. _'Is it?'_

_'Yes! He's so serious and I didn't want to hurt his feelings.'_

_'He loves you and wants you to stay here.'_

_'He loves all of us. He wants us to move here so the w-e-r-e-w-o-l-v-e-s won't get us.' _It was hard to know what English words the children had picked up, but as Ivan had proudly asked a question in English the day before, it was a safer bet to spell some things.

_'He's thinking about his a-u-n-t.'_

_'I know. That makes it harder.'_

_'It does._' Lucius lightly stroked his son's back. _'You did very well, I would say, in helping the boy to cope.'_

_'I said all the things you said to me, was all.'_

Lucius grinned._ 'I simply told you all the things Grandfather told me. You see how it is?'_

Draco nodded. _'I really like the children, though, all things considered. It's sort of brilliant, how they look up to people.'_

_'It's a responsibility.'_

_'I know.'_ Draco felt it. It was exhilarating but scary, too, to know he could shape Ivan's perception of things. He had to be careful to make sure he taught him the right things.

_'I have complete faith in you, Draco.'_

Draco leant against his father for a second. _'I'm to teach some of the duelling club meets when we get back, Father, did I tell you?'_

_'You didn't. Are you excited?'_

_'No. I'm nervous. Some of the boys...'_

_'Do not treat you with the respect they ought?'_

_'Yes._' Draco would have bitten out his tongue before he told his father what the other boys called him. Lucius kept an eye on the gambolling, shouting children and kept rubbing his son's back.

_'Small, stupid people will always find something to mock, Draco. It's the mark of an inferior person, an inability to accept their place in things.'_

_'They're not...small people, Father. They're of good family.'_

_'Hmm, that is odd. Do they taunt Viktor as well?'_

_'They did. I expect now they daren't to his face.'_

_'Do they to yours?'_

_'They hiss things at me. Or they throw notes, things of that nature_.'

'What will you do about it?'

Draco squared his shoulders. _'My duty, Father. I'm going to teach them duelling.'_

_'That's my good boy_.' Lucius gave Draco a pat on the back and then scooped Yana up when she came and lifted her arms to him. _'*Uncle Lucius, make a snow witch with us, please?*'_

_'*I suppose. Shall I tell you about Draco and the ink pot?*'_

Draco gasped. _'*Father!*'_

_'*Yes, Draco?*'_

Yana was giggling and squirming. _'*Yes, yes! Did he do something naughty?*'_

_'*He certainly did. Draco, would you like to build a snow witch with us?*'_

Draco huffed but bent down to get some snow to roll._ '*Only as damage_ _control, Father.*'_

Lucius gave his son a smile and a look tinged with sadness. He missed those days, when everything was like it had been. It grieved him he had no funny stories about Hermione to tell, perhaps, but things had a way of falling right in the end. '*_When_ _Draco was two years old, he...*_'

Lucius was not the only father talking to a son that night. Martin had appeared in the parlour and asked his son if he had a moment, and Viktor had risen, leaving Hermione to keep everything moving in his absence. She was showing an embroidery stitch to her aunt, and nodded before she went back to her work.

Martin and Viktor walked through the silent corridors, nodding to the elves, saying nothing until they'd reached the master bedroom. Viktor proceeded his father and then sat on the stool, leaving the lord's chair for Martin.

'How are you, Viktor?'

'Well, Father. You?'

'Tired. You know, I think you chose well with that thing with Stefan. In the summer, I mean. Most boys...men...your age would've demanded a duel.'

'Uncle Rabastan refused, Father. He said Stefan hadn't earned a death by any of our hands. I agreed, at the time. Now I wonder.'

'Do you?'

'You've heard he's in Romania?'

'Rumours, yes.'

'A mad dog has done nothing to merit a death at our hands, but if one appeared I would kill it.'

'Well spoken. What do you think should be done?'

Viktor squared his shoulders. 'We'll tell everyone he's had a reoccurrence of that disease and it's in his brain. Then put him someplace safe and hope they forget about him.'

'Did you come up with that on your own, Viktor?'

'No, Father. Hermione helped, and Uncle Penko, and Uncle Rabastan.'

'Who else knows?'

'Drago.'

'Why Drago?'

Viktor looked straight ahead. 'He is my second, and also my brother in law.'

'You aren't married yet, Viktor.'

Viktor looked bitter, almost angry, but just for a second. 'No?'

'No.'

'Hermione's is the first human face I see every morning and the last at night, and in between we run the castle together.'

'It's not the same, son. When you're older, you'll see.'

'When I'm older, I'll go to war, Father. This might well be the only family life Hermione and I ever get to share.'

'Now...' said Martin, not sure what to say to that. 'This war might not last that long, you know.'

'No, Father. Perhaps it won't.'

'You don't believe that.'

'No, Father.'

Martin leant over and cupped his son's cheek for a moment. It was a bit stubbly under his fingers-since when had Viktor been shaving? He dropped his hand and wished there was more to say.

'The night this all started...she was so proud. Zhivka, I mean. Of how you'd handled that thing the day before.'

A bit of disgust penetrated Martin's sadness as he thought of watching the children being tucked into a bed that was theirs now, and the lights being lowered, and leaving them, both terrified and the Malfoy lad clearly ill, in the gloom of that eerie room, dead eyes of dead people looking down on them from the walls.

'I wish, every day, that I'd insisted we host that ball, or do it at the school, or something, anything, other than what we did. But I didn't, and now we're fighting a war we have no stake in.'

'We do now, Papa.' Viktor called for a fur for himself, and the elf brought hot herbal tea for them, with loads of honey. They sipped silently for a few moments and then resumed the conversation with careful, gentle steps, walking toward an understanding of the person that each had become since the night Zhivka's song had reached it's closing measures.

'I don't mean for you to think I don't like the girl, Viktor. I do. But you're fifteen, and it scares me to see you taking so much on yourself.'

Viktor shook his head. 'It's not...bad, really, most of the time. I like to deal with the tenants, and to help your brothers, and even to receive Dinev. Not before I've eaten, but...' Martin rolled his eyes at the sally and pretended not to hear. His son hated politicians; at least some good had come out of this.

'And we can't...that was before, Papa. We had that luxury, we could take time for things. We can't now.'

'And it eases you to have them here? The English?'

'It eases me to know that the people who will help me are the best, and that includes Hermione. Someday she'll have to run the castle, and I know that she do it.'

'Rumen and Lyudmilla will be here, and Penko, sometimes.'

'Of course they will, but if the war comes here, I'm sending Aunt Lyudmilla to her sister's with the children, if I can. Uncle Rumen will be fighting with me, and Uncle Penko might not be able to get through the lines to come inside.'

Martin wanted to deny this. He wanted this to be a dream, a nightmare from which he would awake when the world was sane again. But looking at his son's determined face, so like his own, instead he called an elf.

'Get me the map of the castle, Blixa, and the map of our lands, please.' The elf returned with both maps and Martin brought the table closer with a swish of his wand and then spread the maps out on them. 'Do you remember what I taught you about calling our bannermen, Viktor?'

Viktor tapped the map with his wand. The first of their bannermen, House Hinova, moved toward Castle Krum. Their sigil was a ram, and it bounded toward them through the woods and streams. Viktor tapped the others in turn, and within a few moments, the nine smaller Houses had come to the aid of their feudal lord.

'So now you've got them here, Viktor. What do you do then?'

'Where are the wolves? And is Dinev going to support us? Can we expect help from Britain?'

'Suppose for a moment, son, that...' The two lords of Castle Krum spent a long time, going over what to do if the war came, and when Viktor excused himself to check on his guests, his father watched and wondered what he had done, and whether he had saved them all or damned them.


	59. Chapter 59

**A/N: Love to reviewers and Countess Black**

** Sirius misquotes 'The Trojan Women' at one point. Long time readers know I've got a mild obsession with it, so no one should be surprised.**

The day everyone left for the new term, the lord and lady of Castle Krum spent a final few moments together in the courtyard, touching with only their fingertips, knowing there was much that could not be said and wanting to say it anyway.

Hermione was lucky, in that she was travelling with the adults, who would drop her in France, and then go on to Britain. They were waiting for them, and so, with a final look and a last pat for Bess (who was whimpering piteously and yarking to explain why Hermione had to stay with her), she picked up Crookshanks, pecked Viktor's cheek and was pecked in return, and ascended the steps into the carriage, sitting between her parents and snuggling back, the cat nesting on Rodolphus with a contented sigh.

Bellatrix leant over and took her daughter's hand a second, noticing the glow on her child's cheeks, and the light in her eyes, which made her heart glad even knowing what she was going back to.

Not that she minded; if Bellatrix had her way, every day would be a red day. But she didn't, and she was well content that her child should seem happy. Lucius was smirking at her. She didn't drop Hermione's hand but she gave him a look that could have killed at ten metres and decided to sneak hex him as soon as Cissy was distracted.

'Hermione, darling, are you excited to be going back?'

'I am. But I'll miss the family.' She smiled at Martin, who made himself smile back. He seemed wan, though, sad and faded, and she was relieved when he closed his eyes as though to sleep.

'Of course you will. We've a small surprise for you to cheer you up. Bellatrix?'

Damn politician of a brother in law, why couldn't Cissy have married cousin Reg or someone that wasn't Malfoy? Well, because Malfoy had been alive and Reg hadn't, but was that the point? She glowered and said 'We're sending a teacher to your school.'

'A teacher?'

'The Dark Lord' said Malfoy, with a satisfied gleam in his eye 'in his mercy, is sending a teacher to Beauxbatons as a gesture of goodwill.'

'He is?'

'He is' agreed Rodolphus 'because we want so much for you to be safe, love, and all your friends. Isn't that nice?'

'Yes, Father. Who is it?'

'We aren't quite sure.' Lucius raised a brow at Snape, who, blank faced, said nothing. Beside him, the dog had a strangely human look of queasiness as the carriage lurched and moved.

'Oh, Salazar, is it making your belly sad?' Hermione cooed sympathetically and reached to pat the dog's head. Salazar chuffed sadly and scratched at his neck, looking pitiful.

'Don't pamper the filthy mongrel, Miss Lestrange. He'll be fine.'

'Can't you give him a potion or something?'

Snape shook his head. 'My speciality is human potioning, not veterinary potioning.'

Hermione still looked sympathetic and gave the dog a final pat. 'He must miss the other dogs when he's in England.'

'I expect he does, but he's the run of my house, and he gets to patrol the garden as well.'

'Are those awful children still giving you a problem?' Rodolphus had heard Snape talking about it. Snape nodded sourly, face like a sore tooth.

'They've tapered off a bit, but come summer, I'm having a wardsetter fix the fences and whatnot. Shameful, the way children behave these days. Present company excepted.'

The adults nodded, indulging in the universal pastime of complaining about Things These Days, and why they aren't as good as they were. Hermione grinned and snuggled between her parents, enjoying the chance to cuddle and get cuddled.

'Are you tired, love?'

Hermione put her head against her father's shoulder. 'A little, Father. Yana got very upset last night. It took an hour to get her to sleep, and then she did it again this morning.'

'What did you do?'

'Aunt Cunegarde helped me. She's very good at calming Yana down. She was showing her an embroidery stitch when I left.'

Rodolphus kissed the top of his daughter's head. 'How kind of Aunt.'

Hermione thought so too. 'It must hurt her, but she did it.'

'There's a lesson there, my love.'

'Yes, Father. "A Pureblood mustn't shrink from pain. Pain is the crucible by which our people will achieve true greatness."'

Rodolphus beamed. 'Where did you learn that?'

'Viktor and I read every afternoon. The castle doesn't have many English language books.' It had a few books of political philosophy and that was it, though she planned to ask for some for the children.

'Excellent, love. And you've kept up with your Bulgarian?'

Hermione nodded. 'It helps to write letters. Viktor gave me some easy books to work on.'

'What's it like? Bulgarian?'

'Hard. The grammar is loads different, and there's lots of words that I have to guess the meanings, or that mean sort of the same thing but aren't quite right.'

'Context, you mean.'

'Yes. I have some easy books to practice with, but it's not the same as having someone there with me.'

'Of course not. What sort of books?'

Hermione blushed a bit. 'Primers, mainly. Things Ivan's outgrown that Yana doesn't need yet.' Ivan was reading simple chapter books, and Yana mainly wrote her alphabet.

She thought about the sun dappled library, and kissing Viktor between passages of 'The Grumpy Snail' and the 'The Mice Who Loved to Dance'. Rodolphus saw the slight flush on her cheeks and grinned, winking.

'Reading is that much fun?'

'It depends on what one reads, Father.'

'What were you reading?'

Hermione explained about the primer. Rodolphus feigned seriousness. 'And did the snail learn to be more amiable?'

'It was quite a struggle, Father, but I think he learnt his lesson.'

'I commend your serious-mindedness, love. When I was young, I wasn't thinking about learning a second language, to be sure. I had just noticed a beautiful dark haired girl a year below me.'

Bellatrix snorted from Hermione's other side. 'Hmmph.'

'Smart, too. Top of all her classes. Wouldn't give me the time of day, though.'

'Rodolphus, we'd known one another for years.'

'And I'd only just noticed how pretty you were.'

'Your father is having you on, girl. I used to hex him whenever he got too close.'

'She did, too. It just made me love her more.'

Hermione giggled and relished how young she felt. Her father was teasing her about boys, and that was fine. It wasn't politics, it wasn't war, it wasn't contemplating an assassination. It was just normal life.

She was sorry when the ride ended, but it was good to be back. School was nicely normal too, something important, vital even, that nonetheless didn't depend utterly on her decisions and that wouldn't wreck other people's lives if she happened to choose wrong. She kissed everyone (even Snape and Salazar got twin pecks on the forehead) and then hopped down with a wave for Alise and Yseult. Rinky carried her things to her room and then came back, sniffling, and the carriage ascended again, leaving the safety of France, and normality, behind.

In another part of Beauxbatons, the news was not as good. Olympe Maxime was sitting looking into the fire in her rooms, a glass of wine in her hand, pensively considering her options and the visit from Minister Moreau.

She sipped her beaujolais and then set the glass down. She'd simply have to agree, but how bitter it was, the idea of letting one those people into this school, smiling, bowing, wishing death to her and all her kind.

She rose and went to her chamber, lying down in the bed, gently moving her cat out of the way. She'd take the Death Eater they sent her, but she'd watch, and she'd listen, and if she thought something was going on...she could do nothing.

In Britain, Severus Snape was thinking much the same thing. He was looking at the dog, who still looked slightly bilious, and shoving a slopping mug of tisane at him. 'Comfrey and willowbark, it will settle your stomach. I won't have you sicking up on the furniture.'

Sirius gulped it down and set down the mug. 'Thanks. What do you want from me?'

Snape ignored him. 'I need you to infiltrate Beauxbatons.'

'What about the Great Band? I was supposed to infiltrate them months ago.'

'Things changed. What I need now is someone who can tell me what the French are up to.'

'The best place to discover this is a school?'

'I want to be sure the Lestrange girl is prepared to fight, if it comes up, not to mention her little mudblood.'

'And the others.'

'Indeed, though I should be surprised if the war came to France.'

Sirius nodded. 'How long will it take to set up my identity?'

'Not long. The Dark Lord has already more or less approved it, and I've got Mulciber working on it as we speak.'

'How long can he keep this up? Kingsley?'

'Indefinitely.'

'Won't the polyjuice have some side effects eventually?' Sirius' stomach was calming, and he relaxed enough to needle Snape, something he felt should be done very often to remind the man he was mortal, and also, a right berk sometimes.

'I am a potioner. He's only obliged to take a single dose a month, and there's way to counteract the effects.' Snape ignored the bastard dog and kept his focus where it belonged, on making sure his not-so-little spy would someday be an adult spy.

'What about Em?'

'What about her?'

'What happens if the baby looks like a Vance and not a Feathering?'

'Ancestors willing, it will look like a Lestrange, and given how fair the Vances were, it's likely. And if not, things can be done.'

Sirius nodded. 'How will you explain Salazar's absence?'

'Have I ever told you about my dear great aunt Euterpe?'

'No.' Sirius was slightly lost, until Snape said, in the most pious manner possible 'Lovely old woman, lives in Dundee. Lonely, though. Afraid.'

'And borrowing her dear nephew's dog would be just the cure?'

'Do remember me to Aunt, Salazar.' Snape rose, smiled mockingly, and went to set his plans into effect.

Speaking of Vance/ Feathering vs. Lestrange, Eugenia had imagined a good many things when she married a Death Eater. She'd imagined he'd be witty and cruel and well dressed, only one of those things being true (he was witty, but she'd never observed active cruelty firsthand, and Rabastan wore whatever was clean and whole, regardless of style; she began to suspect he was colour-blind when she stopped him mixing a bright green waistcoat with a dark yellow shirt).

She'd thought he'd be a fanatic, which, very probably, he was, though since they never discussed politics, she had only the vaguest inkling of it.

And she'd thought his family would be a den of plotting and nastiness, and she'd have to fight for every second of peace she ever got. Only the second had turned out to be true. Because of all the things she'd steeled herself for, the very last she would have anticipated was that his family would make her insane by becoming complete mother hens as soon as she'd announced her pregnancy wasn't one of them.

She was currently watching as Ivan handed Rabastan the sign he'd made with enormous solemnity, as though it were a religious relic and not a sign written on parchment and stuck to a garden stake, just at gnome eye level, charmed against the cold and damp.

Beside her, Cunegarde was leaning on Barty and nodding approval. The woman had shocked everyone by deciding she liked the two children, and now she demanded they be brought regularly for her to spend time with, not that anyone minded much.

More surprisingly, the children liked her back. She told them all sorts of stories, and braided Yana's hair with her stiff, tired hands. And she was helping them learn English, which would improve both their prospects later in life.

Moreover, the promise of a baby great great niece or nephew had seemed to give the old woman purpose and something to occupy her. She woke every morning with a long list of things to accomplish that day and then acted on them.

And she was a wily, formidable enemy, cunning as a house elf when she'd decided something was for Eugenia's own good. At the moment, the two women were embroiled in a bitter struggle over who was to choose the baby's nurse, the exact nature of Eugenia's maternity wear, and what to serve for meals now that a little stranger was on the way.

As thought she heard that thought she released Yana's hand and gave Eugenia a gimlet-eyed look of disapproval. _'Niece, you're freezing. Elf, bring Madam a fur and a warm hat.'_

_'Aunt, I've got a cloak on. And we'll only be out here a moment. *Yana, love, be careful_.*' Yana was dancing excitedly in the snow, overcome with joy at seeing the sign put up and also because dancing is fun when one is five and has endless energy and bounce.

Ivan, at seven, was a bit too old to dance, but not to old to give Barty a friendly pounce. Barty laughed and pounced back, and soon all three of them were happily making snow angels and generally raising Cain.

The adults watched amused, Cunegarde leaning on Eugenia's arm, and then left an elf to watch as they made their way back into the house for hot milk (Rabastan had banned tea on remembering that he'd once heard it was bad for pregnant women).

As soon as they were settled, Cunegarde started in on her favourite topic. _'Niece, why have you not chosen a nurse yet?'_

_'We have more than six months, Aunt. We've time.'_

_'But you'll need to be absolutely sure. And why do you merely plan to get one? Don't you know we can afford more than that? Nephew, tell your wife she'll get three elves.'_

_'I don't need three elves, Rabastan.'_

_'And you've just got one maid! In my day, a lady knew what was adequate to her needs.'_

_'Gemmy is very adequate to my needs.'_

_'How can it be adequate when it's just the one! You need a hairdresser and a maid for your wardrobe!'_

_'I'm really quite well, truly.'_

'_Hmmph_' said the old woman, who was enjoying herself hugely 'Rabastan, say something.'

Rabastan looked slightly like a small and innocuous bird in the path of a speeding broom. _'Aunt, I'm sure if Eugenia needs an elf, she'll say.'_

_'She shouldn't have to! I'm more than glad to do it!'_

That was a serious understatement, and both Lestranges looked everywhere but at one another, trying not to laugh at the old woman's sincerity. Rabastan finally rose and said _'Wife, do you think you ought to go and lie down_?' He held out a hand and Eugenia took it, recognising an escape when she saw one.

He squired her silently through the house, grinning when the door slammed and three excited voices shouted merrily in the bizarre hybrid of English and Bulgarian that was rapidly becoming the family argot.

The bedroom was blessedly warm and silent. Eugenia let the elf undress her and climbed into the bed. Rabastan lie atop the covers and gently pressed a big hand to her belly, which was still flat.

_'Do you need anything?'_

Eugenia shook her head no. _'I'm fine, Rabastan.'_

_'You're positive? What about some shoes or something?'_ He had a faint idea that women's feet sometimes swelled when they were expecting. Eugenia shook her head again and winced a bit when there was a crash and a cry of dismay from an elf. She prepared to rise when a hand on her arm stopped her.

_'No, pet, let me go. You rest.'_

_'Rab, I shan't be too big to move for months yet. It's fine.'_

He frowned. _'Aren't. You need rest, love. Suppose the baby should need something and you can't tell us about it?'_

Eugenia sighed. _'I'll go mad if this keeps up. I'm fine, really.'_

Rabastan decided to let the elves deal with whatever havoc was being wrecked downstairs. _'We just worry, darling.'_

_'I know.'_

_'What shall we call it?'_

Eugenia considered. _'Have you got any ideas?'_

_'Barty wants us to call it Winky after his old nanny. I've told him it needs a people name_.'

_'Excellent idea_.' They both laughed and he gave her belly a gentle, experimental stroke. She felt strangely soft under his hand. Did other men like that? He couldn't imagine, sincerely couldn't, preferring this soft vulnerability to the comforting hardness of Penko's chest.

Eugenia went still. It felt strange to her, too. John had always been so tender with her, and Sirius' touch was confident and assured. Rabastan seemed more afraid and uncomfortable than anything. Eugenia tolerated it for a moment and then said very softly _'Rabastan? It's all right_.'

_'I know._' He took his hand away slowly. There seemed to him nothing to say. If things had been different, he supposed he would have moved to desire by the sensation, but it had kindled nothing except wonder that his child was snuggled safely inside her, and a sort of affectionate fondness for the woman who bore the baby under her heart.

'I_ don't mind. If you want to touch the baby or something, I mean.'_

Rabastan nodded and closed his eyes a moment. _'Rodolphus and Bellatrix were making offerings at the family manse last night. Should you like Cunegarde to make us some baby shoes to put on the tombs?'_

_'Yes. And I'll make some as well.'_

_'Do you know how?'_

_'No, but I can learn.'_ Eugenia wanted something useful to do, and she supposed votive baby shoes were better than nothing. Rabastan suddenly grinned.

_'I caught Barty trying to bribe an elf with chocs last night.'_

_'To do what?'_

_'He was trying to send it to Snape with money to make an offering at the Crouch family tombs.'_

_'Why did he have to bribe the elf?'_

_'He didn't want us to know until after. He was trying to send it for a pair of his baby shoes to hang on the end of the bed for good luck.'_

_'Did you let the elf go?'_

Rabastan raised an eyebrow. _'I'm sworn to secrecy_.' He hadn't stopped the elf, who'd gone to Snape, and returned (in "secret") with a pair of tiny shoes and a promise in Snape's hand that he'd do the offering.

Eugenia poked him in the stomach. _'Don't leave me in suspense.'_

_'You'll see._' He rose and motioned for the elf to help him on with his boots. _'Will you keep resting?'_

_Eugenia nodded and laid back. 'Will you be home for dinner?'_

_'I will.'_

_'Why don't you invite Penko?'_

Rabastan stopped and then cocked his head. _'You really don't mind?'_

_'No.'_

_'Why?'_

_'I loved John very much, Rabastan. I know how it is.'_

He sat down next to her on the bed. _'What happened to him, sweetheart?'_

Eugenia felt a moment of terrible hatred that she pushed down, feeling how hot and real it was, how easily it could blow her cover. _'He tried to save a child that was trapped and was killed._'

Rabastan realised this was a terrible topic. Her face was strained and white, and she'd turned her head away. He reached out and lightly stroked some of the hair from her eyes. _'I didn't mean to upset you.'_

_'I know.'_

_'Do you want me to stay? Or call an elf?'_

_'Gemmy's near. It's all right. Really._' She rolled on her side and breathed deeply. Rabastan walked out and left the shouting, giggling children downstairs, Flooing to see Penko and forget what had transpired.

In Britain, Achie Mulciber had the Dark Lord's ear. Well, he'd always had it, and now he was busy, Claudius-like, pouring Snape's poison in. He was explaining about his brother's son, who'd been reared in Montserrat, and had a desire to come home and serve his ancestral homeland.

The Dark Lord rose on his skinny, coltish legs and waved irritably. 'Yes, yes, fine, send him to France. I can't spare anyone else. And you're ready for the address on Friday, Archie?'

'Yes, my lord.'

'Good, good. I want an execution right after.'

'An execution?'

'Yes. It will keep them obedient. Tell Thorfinn I want a **good** execution.'

Mulciber rose, bowing, and backed from the room, gorge working, palms slick with sweat, wishing he was dead.

So a week later, Sirius, face having been subtly altered and wearing new clothes, was bowed into the presence of the Dark Lord. His heart was hammering but his gait was sure, and he bowed so low that even Alecto, who was there to talk about their latest propaganda campaign, was impressed, and gave him her eyes (which were, he had to admit, a striking hazel, her only pretty feature) as he rose.

'So you're the young Mulciber, are you?'

'I am he, my lord.'

'Good. Alecto, duel this man, I wish to see if he qualifies for this post. First blood, shall we say?'

Before Sirius could answer, he was dodging a cutting hex and retaliating with the wand that Snape had dug up for him from somewhere. He sent a binding curse her way and ducked the ricochet, and, shielding himself, used his first serious magic in eleven years.

It was brief fight. The Dark Lord merely intended to prove this nephew wasn't an idiot, and he called Alecto off in short order. 'Well done, both of you. You've the post, if you'd have it, young Mulciber.'

'Thank you, my lord.'

'Of course. Archie, see your nephew home and then return, I'd ask you about some of Rookwood's proposed changes for the exchequer.'

The men returned to Spinner's End and Sirius slumped backward. 'Thanks, Kingsley.'

'Don't mention it, Sirius. Will you be all right?'

'Surrounded by teenagers? No, I'll go mad, but perhaps I'll get to see Em from time to time.'

'Hope you do.'

'So do I.'

'Remember me to Snape?'

'Politely?'

'I leave that to your judgement.' He rose and went back, dreading it, dreading what he'd have to do, dreading Alecto (whose father had been one of the real Mulciber's closest friends; he was, on top of his other problems, now her godfather. Horror was consoling a bawling Alecto when she'd had a tiff with Avery over something.), dreading going home to the cringing, obsequious elves and the hard bed that still didn't feel like his.

Snape found the dog sitting on the divan with a look on his face that was utterly foreign in Snape's experience of him; contemplation. He seemed as though he were working something over in his mind.

'Something wrong, dog?'

'No.'

'No?'

'No. But if you've a chance, Snape...'

'Well?'

'I'd still like to know what happened to Regulus.'

Snape nodded tersely. 'I shall do what I can, Black, but don't hope too much.'

Sirius snorted. 'Living people hope, Snape. Not I. Not anymore.'

A week later, valises packed, Malcolm Mulciber left British soil for France, and was greeted with ice cold cordiality by Olympe Maxime, who towered over him.

_'Ello, Mistair Mulciber. I am Olympe Maxime, eadmistress of Beauxbatons. Welcome to our umble school.'_

Sirius smiled up and bowed. _'Honoured, madame. Please don't take my presence as an imposition. I want for us to work together. Feel free to tell me what you'd like me to do.'_

Olympe had expected loads, but not that. She'd never seen a youngish man with such sad eyes. _'Thank you. Please permit theese elf to show you where to sleep.'_

_'Thank you, Madame, I would appreciate that_.' The elf took him to a set of snug, off white rooms in the teacher's tower. He put down his few things and sat in the chair in front of the fire as a tray of fish stew and hot bread appeared. Sirius tucked in, dressed for bed, and then slid under, thinking how strange it was, the way his life had turned out.

'


	60. Chapter 60

**A/N: Love to reviewers and Countess Black**

**I rather borrowed Cecile's (not her character, definitely) name from 'Dangerous Liasons'**** by Choderlos de Laclos. **

** For those of you who have never had the pleasure, the miaow of a Persian cat is more like a squawk. There's youtube videos that will show you what I mean.**

Draco Malfoy faced sixteen hundred eyes and wondered how Viktor did it. His palms were damp, his mouth tasted like copper, and if he hadn't taken a large calming draught, he knew he'd be shaking too violently to speak clearly.

He stood up on the bench and waited for the buzz to die down. Round him, the monitors were watching for trouble. Draco had placed Sven and Ilya at opposite ends of the hall, where the youngest boys waited nervously, praying they did not get called on to demonstrate whatever small feats were in their grasp.

'Hello, all. We're to pair off and practice the things Headmaster Feathering taught us last lesson. Who'd demonstrate for us? Melburg? Fosse? Front and centre, please.'

The fight went well, and when it was done, Draco gave the two fighters nods of approval. 'Not bad. Next time, though, aim lower, and try not to singe the first years.' This sally was met with a polite murmur of amusement, and then the fighting started in earnest as the monitors paired off combatants and the spells started to fly.

As it happened, Draco was fighting an Estonian called Kask. He ducked and spun, and though Kask was a year older, Draco managed to fight him to a standstill, at least enough that they called it a draw before the serious hexes started to fly.

Kask was a short, wide boy who rarely spoke. He stood silent a moment after Bohler (who was watching their match) had called an end to it. Then he cracked his knuckles. 'Not bad, Malfoy.'

'You neither, Kask.'

The rest of the thing went well, and when all the boys had finished, they sat down as an elf ceremonially brought the headmaster's radio into the centre of the hall and set it at his table. The announcer's voice rang out over the hall, which was silent now, tense with anticipation.

'And Levski sails towards the quaffle, and Zograf saves! He's fighting with the Belgian chaser, and is it-technical foul by Simon!'

Draco's stomach knotted. He wanted Viktor to win and he didn't. He bent forward a bit in his seat and forced himself to look calm. The announcer was still screaming hysterically.

'And Durand is after the snitch, and he's closing and-OH! Krum got the snitch!' The crowd was not merely cheering, it was **shrieking**, a heaving, orgasmic howl that made them realise something had happened to change whatever was happening utterly.

'Viktor Krum is dropping vertically onto the snitch! KRUM HAS THE SNITCH AND HE NEVER STOPPED MOVING! BULGARIA WINS!'

The hall erupted. Boys leapt up, hollering. One of their own had done something magnificent for the world to see, and that was a cause for excitement. Draco grinned, leaping up with the rest of them, trying to ignore the worm of doubt and fear that was writhing in his innards.

The headmaster appeared, smiling quietly. 'I take it Bulgaria won?'

Eight hundred boys stood at attention, flushed with excitement. 'YES, HEADMASTER!'

'Excellent. Malfoy, stay after.' The other boys spilt toward the dorm, speaking much more loudly than usual. Draco waited for Feathering to approach him, standing stiffly. The headmaster released him with a nod and then looked at his nephew in law.

_'Well, then.'_

_'Sir?'_

_'How did it go?'_

_'Fine, sir. The first and second years practiced shielding charms and everyone else duelled.'_

_'How did you find Kask?'_

_'Phlegmatic, but a good fighter.'_

_'I thought so too_.' Feathering looked at the fire, eyes distant. 'What do you think about Bulgaria winning?'

_'It sounded brilliant.'_

_'It did. But I confess to a degree of apprehension about the Cup, don't you?'_

_'Yes. All those people...'_

_'Precisely so. You'll watch, Malfoy, won't you?'_

_'Yes, headmaster.'_

_'Good lad.'_

The dorm was still buzzing when Draco returned. The boys jumped up and he nodded for them to sit back down. He made his way to his bunk in the tiny room he and Viktor shared and when he realised he was being blocked, it didn't surprise him at all. It was one more battle, in a life that seemed increasingly to be mere pauses between them.

'Loftstrom, Arbanas, what do you want?'

'Hello, Malfoy. That was some fancy fighting, wasn't it, that you did?'

Draco wasn't tall and heavy enough to push through the older boys. Strangely, he didn't even especially want to. He wasn't so much anticipating a fight as he was wearily resigned to it.

'Was there something I could help you with?'

'Did your daddy teach you that? Does he take you with him when he tortures muggles, Butcher's boy?'

Draco's hand was on his wand. 'You don't know my father, and you don't know me. Now move aside.'

'Don't want to talk about it, Butcher's boy?'

'I want you to move, please.'

'And if we won't?'

Draco slowly raised his wand. 'I don't want to hurt you. Just leave me alone.'

'Hurt us? Do you hear that, Sven? He'll hurt us if we don't move.'

'What'll you do, Butcher's boy? Going to tell your uncle on us?' They meant Feathering, and Draco felt only a terrible exhaustion with the whole business, as though he'd aged twenty years in a few minutes.

'No.'

'Krum, then? Run to your good friend?'

Draco couldn't move half as fast as Viktor, but his instincts were honed to razor's edge after the practice over hols, and he was angry. He snapped his wand up and held it against Arbanas' throat.

'My father is Lucius Malfoy, and they call him the Butcher of Britain for a reason. He's taught me everything I know. **Everything**. And what he didn't teach me, Bellatrix Lestrange and Severus Snape did. Now stand aside, you whoreson bastards, or I'll show you why people piss themselves when they hear we're coming.' Draco's voice was smooth and calm, and his face was utterly impassive, as though he was discussing the weather.

The other two jerked like they'd been slapped. Draco thanked his ancestors that they didn't know how much of this was pure bluff-he was only faintly aware of why people called Father that, and he didn't, in his heart of hearts, believe the accusations to be true, but these arses didn't have to know that.

'My father-'

'Imports goods. He's a ribbon merchant, Lofstrom. Do you think he can touch me, or my father, or anyone else?' Sven swallowed hard. He'd thought the slight, foppish looking blond boy would be easy picking, especially as he'd yoked himself to that great lummox Krum, but now he was swiftly re-evaluating that stance.

'Krum wouldn't-'

'No? He fought at the Ministry alongside the rest of us.'

Arbanas stepped forward. 'What if you did, then? It's not like you-'

'Not like I what?' Draco smiled, and despite himself, Ilya felt a chill. There was something incredibly eerie about this, something worse than a threat. Krum had always tolerated the taunting with a degree of indifference, but he suddenly suspected this one would not.

'The other Death Eaters-'

'Aren't here, but I am. That's good for you, because they'd have taught you some respect by now. I'm a little shyer than they are; I'm giving you a warning.'

Both the other boys had got silent. Draco and dropped his voice so only they could hear him. 'If you bother Viktor and me-if you do the slightest thing to make what we're doing harder- I'll come to you in the dark of some night and...'

'What?'

'Wouldn't you like to know?'

Draco turned, shoved Lofstrom out of his way and then walked into the room. There was no door, but it was charmed so no one could see in. Draco sat on the bed and took out his letters from home, silently holding them in his hand.

Viktor came back the next day. He'd lost three fingernails in the drop onto the snitch, and got a terrible windburn, but he felt good about what had happened, and his misgivings were temporarily subsumed by a quiet pride in his technical skill.

He passed through the dorm, nodding at the boys as he passed, and came into the tiny room. The elves had taken his gear-caked in mud and absolutely stiff with the cold-to clean and repair it, and he'd taken a long, hot bath before he came back. There were letters, too. One from Hermione! He sat down and slit the seal, greedy for her words.

"Dear Viktor,

Good playing yesterday! We are listening on radio and make much happy when you drop on snitch. I was most proud!

Inside is good luck object, but you are not needing. Please to tell me how you are doing. And Draco too is well? Wearing woollens (Aunt is asking)?

Miss you very much.

Love,

Hermione"

Viktor grinned and opened the parcel. His fiancée sent him a fresh handkerchief of hers before every match, pressed crisp and smelling of roses. He never failed to carry it when he played, and often sent back the last one with a small token of his own, a note or a sweet or just a small, poorly done sketch of Bess or something of that nature.

He summoned a lap desk and his writing things.

"Dear Hermione,

I miss you much also. Everything here is good. Drago is good. I am pleased it make you proud that Bulgaria win the match. How is France?

Is Aunt Eugenia's belly well with baby inside it? Yana and Ivan send loves and want for us to come home soon.

Love,

Viktor"

Hermione read the letter with little flutters in her belly. That happened quite a lot when she thought about Viktor. She read the letter twice to Crookshanks (who'd snorted and rolled over, obviously immune to the sensation) and then folded it and stuck it in the small box she kept such treasures in, and, donning her smart little jacket, headed for lessons with the new professor, Mulciber.

He taught by year, and third year-Hermione's year-was Monday. How that had been decided, she'd never know, but she liked lessons well enough, and it was, at least, something to do.

Monsieur Mulciber was sort of odd, though. He smiled and joked, unlike the other professors, but he seemed sort of muted, like he didn't really mean it, and he sometimes looked strangely at Hermione from the corner of her eye.

They were discussing binding hexes, and because Hermione knew a great deal about those from the hols, she hung back and observed. Professor Mulciber seemed like he knew what he was doing, at least, and she liked hearing about things from a slightly different perspective than Aunt Eugenia's.

'Who might like to demonstrate?'

Hermione's hand shot up almost by habit. Professor Mulciber nodded and she stepped up and a French girl, Celestin, was the other person chosen. They bowed, walked ten paces, and Professor Mulciber gave the word. Hermione found when she duelled that she stopped thinking; all that existed was her wand, attached to her brain, and the wand of the other fighter.

Celestin raised her wand. It was as far as she got. The next second she was flying backward, stiff as a board, bound with magical rope. Hermione was blinking in a startled, almost waking manner, as though she'd woken from a dream to find she had somehow won a duel.

'Excellent, Lestrange. Celestin, are you quite all right?' He swished and the ropes vanished, allowing Celestin to rise, shaking her head to clear it.

'Stay after, Lestrange.'

Hermione waited, feeling nervous and a little uncertain. She knew that-by school policy-a house elf was nearby to protect her honour, but she still wished Rinky was there to help her feel brave.

_'That was some fast work.'_

_'Thank you, sir.'_

_'Who taught you?'_

_'My aunt and mother, sir.'_

_'You must have practiced a good deal, to be so quick.'_

_'I'm fortunate that my fiancé and cousin like to work with me.'_

_'Viktor Krum, is it?'_

_'Yes, sir.'_

_'He must be quite talented, to have helped you with such high level defence_.' Hermione nodded proudly. _'He is. We practice together at least an hour a day.'_

Sirius, of course, couldn't put out that he knew all this. He had his observations, but he thought he'd like to see how she felt about the whole thing. She seemed to think she'd done nothing special. Most interesting, he thought.

_'That's good. Would you be willing to help me teach the ones who aren't quite as practiced as yourself_?'

The girl's eyes lit up. _'I'd like that.'_

_'Your friends, especially, could use some practice. If I made the practice rooms available to students, would you try to get them to go?'_

_'I would. Professor? How is it at home?'_

_'It's fine. Snape sends his greetings.'_

_'And mine for him. Is Salazar all right?'_

_'Salazar?'_

_'His dog.'_

_'Oh. I think Snape's sent him to stay with an aunt of his for a while.'_

_'Is everything well?'_

_'Yes. The aunt is very old, is all, and scared.'_

Hermione frowned sympathetically. _'I hope I don't get afraid when I'm old like that, don't you?_'

_'Indeed_.' Sirius anticipated dying young, but he wasn't about to say that. Instead, he nodded understandingly. _'And we share a great aunt, did you know that?'_

_'Aunt Cunegarde? One of her husbands was a Mulciber.'_

_'Yes, my great uncle was her husband Clovis_.' Sirius had no idea how to end this, so he nodded again and said _'I'll see you next Monday, Lestrange, and do be careful with what you teach the others.'_

_'I will, Professor.'_

_'I know_.' She swept out, nearly bursting with purpose, and Sirius found her Trixie like, indeed, more was the pity of it. He stretched his shoulder, which got a bit stiff sometimes these days, and then prepared to look over his lesson plan for Tuesday and the fourth years. Sirius Black was not only old, he was **responsible**. As he went back to his quarters, he couldn't help but feel like this was Snape's ultimate revenge, somehow.

Hermione went to find her friend but was stopped by some whispering from a group of girls sitting in one of the small banks of comfortable chairs that sat at intervals all through the castle.

'Of course she's good, look who her parents are. She probably had a wand before she could walk.'

'Unfair, I'd call it. It's not like the rest of us have Dark wizards for parents.'

'Cecile, be kind. Her parents are Pureblood heroes.'

'Heroes or no heroes, the rest of us haven't had her advantages.'

Hermione wanted to shout at them. What did they know about her life? Had they had to deal with all this? She felt a moment of sharp, unaccustomed anger at the ignorant, spoilt children who didn't understand...she took a deep breath and made herself relax.

That was just it. Children. They didn't honestly get it. She felt envy that was almost as biting as her anger; imagine thinking that someone beat one at a practice duel was a serious matter! Her excellent marks were admittedly a point of pride for her, but she didn't for a second lose sight of what was at stake should she fail to learn something they'd need later.

On the other hand, Aunt Narcissa always said a lady ought to sparkle. Well, all right. She made herself smile brightly and, without hesitating, went and stood next to the gossiping girls. 'Hello, ladies. May I sit down?'

'I, ah, of course. Please do. Cecile de Volanges.'

'Hermione Lestrange. I'm sorry, Mlle Celestin, I don't know your given name.'

'Marie Louise.'

'A pleasure.' She smiled brightly, and felt a small, low thrill as the girl seemed to blush a bit. A few of the others were drifting away in ones and two, but to the credit of the gossipers, they, through pride or simple stubbornness, stayed put.

'It's been wonderfully warm lately, don't you think?'

Cecile nodded. 'Quite so. I wonder, mademoiselle, how you find France after living in Bulgaria?'

Hermione kept smiling politely. 'Different, but both have their charms. The south of France is warmer during the winter, to be sure.'

'Of course. And is it true that your fiancé wears a token of your affection during every match?'

Hermione's smile never faltered. 'He wears my affection in his heart, as I do his. As for the rest, I think there's a standard kit.'

'It must be quite a challenge, knowing your life is mapped out in such depth. How caring your parents must be, to have done all the work for you.'

'I find it's not what one is born with, it's what one does with it.'

'It does help, I daresay, to have had expert teachers. You would know, I'm sure.'

Hermione wanted to slap her. Instead, she folded her hands and paused for a second.

'Their first lesson to me was the value of hard work and diligence.'

'I would have thought their first lesson would be the value of blood purity.'

Hermione, still serene, rose and nodded politely. 'There was no need, their feelings on that issue were quite clear enough. Good evening, ladies, it's been a pleasure.' She left them without a word, and went back to her room, biting her lip until she was out of earshot so they wouldn't hear her giggles.

Later that evening, Yseult Ropion was walking toward the library, sulking hard. Biting her lip, she tossed her hair and shifted the heavy strap in which she kept her books and parchments.

Cecile de Volanges called out to her, and Yseult turned, raising an eyebrow. 'Cecile?'

'Yseult, darling, how are you?' The Volanges were nearly as old a family as the Ropions, and the girls had grown up together. Yseult slowed and then stopped, setting her books on the marble bench nearest them.

'What in the world are you doing with all those?'

Yseult pouted prettily. 'I want to get ahead on Defence. We're going to start working on the leg lock jinx, and I want to be sure I can do it before the class.'

Cecile made a rude noise. 'Really, why don't you just ask the little Englishwoman about it?'

'Hermione Lestrange, you mean.'

'I tried to have a civil conversation with her this afternoon. She was absolutely vulgar about the whole thing. People say those women are masculine, but she's an Amazon.'

Yseult went still for a moment. 'What happened?'

Cecile outlined the whole thing, and Yseult, who'd seen the duel but thought nothing of it, listened in surprised silence. 'And then she left?'

'Just walked off. Really, why do you associate with her?'

Yseult stood a little taller. 'This must be a misunderstanding.'

Cecile looked pityingly at her friend. 'I don't understand why you suffer the presence of a person like that. She might be a Pureblood, but surely you've something better to do?'

Yseult flushed, remembering a similar conversation. 'If you'll excuse me, I forgot something in my room.' She turned and fled with as much haste as was dignified, and went to Hermione's room.

Hermione was playing with Crookshanks. She'd invented a spell which allowed her to turn used up quills into cat toys, and the Charms teacher had given her five points and rare praise for thinking up such a clever, useful little charm.

The elderly cat still liked to stalk, and he was currently pouncing a quill into submission, gnawing happily at it as it zoomed out of his paws. Hermione giggled and jumped up when she heard a knock.

'Yseult? What's the matter?'

Yseult came in and sat down. 'Hermione, what happened between yourself and Cecile de Volanges this evening?' Hermione sat down too, and told the story as flatly as she could, wondering whether it would upset her friend and whether that thought would make it less worth it.

Instead, Yseult listened in silence. 'She really said that to you?'

'Yes.' The cat padded over and climbed into Hermione's lap to purr and nuzzle her neck to calm her down.

'That's...' She swallowed hard. 'She's a bitch, Hermione. Don't feel bad.'

'Yseult!'

'She is.'

'I don't feel bad. She started with me.'

Yseult nodded and looked aside for a moment. 'It's really very hard, isn't it?'

'What is?'

The blonde gestured. '**This**. This whole thing is awfully hard.'

Hermione half wanted to slap her. She didn't, of course, but she did entertain the thought. 'Yes. Yes, it's hard.'

'Is that why you prefer Alise, Hermione?'

Hermione hugged the cat. 'Yseult...'

'You do.'

'It's hard to explain.' The cat squawked a miaow and Hermione relaxed her hold enough that he could knead and lie down in her lap. Yseult said nothing for a long moment.

'Cecile asked me why I want to be friends with you. I asked you that about Alise, remember?'

'Yes.'

'Do you remember what you told me?'

'I do.'

'Was it true?'

'No. I want to be Alise's friend because I like her. I like both of you.'

'Then why don't you ever confide in me? Neither of you do.'

'Why should we ruin your life too, Yseult?'

'Because I'm your friend!'

'We don't tell you **because** you're our friend. You can still be normal, Yseult. We can't. I spent most of the summer helping Viktor decide what to do if the wolves came and we had to fight. I had to decide who got to go before they cut our Portkey. It was terrible.'

Yseult's eyes were big. 'Why couldn't your mother do it?'

'I'm chatelaine. It's my job. I chose who got to live and who had to stay and die.' Hermione's voice was wavering ever so slightly. It was the first time Yseult had seen the carefully controlled exterior start to slip.

'What about you?'

'That depends on who you ask, really. Viktor says the children and I go first.'

'And you?'

'I'm not going. It's my duty to stay with Viktor. I just hope...if it comes down to it, I hope it's quick.'

Yseult's stomach wrenched queasily. 'That's what you and Viktor talk about?'

'Not exclusively. But sometimes.' What was scaring Yseult was how matter of fact Hermione was, down to her friend's hopes for a painless death.

'And the werwolves?'

'We talk about that, too. Sometimes we talk about the Ministry. What happened there.'

'What did...what did you see, Hermione?'

'It was the happiest night of my life, you know, until the wolves came. We got engaged the day before, but it was all right, because Viktor is so kind. The elves dressed me in my peach silk-remember I told you about that?- and the diamonds Mother Krum gave me. Viktor looked so handsome.' She smiled sadly, stroking the cat's head gently.

'And then the wolves. Limpkin was bleeding, and he told us they were there. And then they were, and it...screaming. So much screaming, Yseult. They kept coming and coming, and...' Hermione's picked Crookshanks up and snuggled him. The cat was old, and he understood that something Very Bad had happened to his Girl. He said nothing when it started to hurt, just nuzzled gently, purring to calm her, resolving to give her a good bath to help her relax before bed.

'After, we found Mother Krum...her head was...there was blood on the floor, and pink stuff. It was her brains.'

Yseult could take no more, and she stood up.

'Stop it, Hermione!'

Hermione looked blankly at her. 'But you said you wanted to know.'

'It's horrible!'

'I know. And I'm **good **at it.'

Yseult sat back down carefully, not knowing what else to do. 'Good at it?'

'Yes. They hate me for it, and they don't understand...this is the rest of my life, Yseult.'

Crookshanks, smelling the Bad in the room turn to Worse, made a choice. He rose, made a flat, squawking miaow and was let out by an elf, who'd been hovering near in case she should be needed. The cat walked determinedly down the corridor and scratched at the door of Alise's room. She opened at once and found the cat looking up at her.

'Miaow' said the cat, and Alise grabbed her wand and followed. The cat lead her back, smelling the Bad, and squawked to get in again. Alise, like Crookshanks, could tell that the atmosphere in the room was dangerous. She made a choice; she was Hermione's right arm, was she not?

'Hermione? Perhaps you should start at the beginning.'

The cat settled down as the story began, and watched with bright eyes as the story was spun out, padding gently with his paws, purring in a low, rusty voice, the sound underscoring the horror of the tale.


	61. Chapter 61

**A/N: Love to reviewers and Countess Black**

**We've jumped ahead again. I just don't find school scenes very interesting, I guess :)**

**For those wondering about old friends, be patient. We'll get to everyone in due time.**

**1st May, 1994:**

Stefan Borev hated the forest. It was dank, and cold, and smelt like things he'd have preferred not to consider too hard. This forest, too, was full of werewolves, though since they were his hosts, he supposed that wasn't an outright liability at the moment.

Sipping the tisane they'd brought him, and eating a slice of coarse black bread, he stretched out his legs and sighed deeply. '_*Well, Pavel?*'_

_'*Well, Borev?*'_

_'*We move at the Cup?*'_

The werewolf nodded, thin, handsome face taking on a shadowed, almost haunted look for a minute. '*_Why are you doing this? Helping us?*'_

Stefan shrugged. '*_The information is good, if that's what you mean_.*'

_'*I don't doubt it. I'm asking your motives.*'_

_'*They sent men after me. My nephew and those fucking English puppet masters of his. I just barely escaped to...well, here.*'_

_'*Yes, but why?*'_

Stefan wished the nosy bastard would shut his gob and let him eat in peace. '_*I decided this whole thing with those people was bad. He didn't want to hear it and had them throw me out.*_

From behind Pavel, a werewolf snorted and said in Romanian 'I heard they caught him trying to have a go at the girl.'

The fellow beside him smothered a laugh. 'I hear he had half the chalices from the chapel in his pockets, shrunk down small.'

'Wouldn't surprise me' agreed Pavel cheerfully, and handed their visitor some fresh meat from a spit he'd just taken off the fire.

_'*So we give you the thousand perperas. Then what?*'_

Borev shrugged evasively. '*_There's plenty of places for an enterprising man of fortune.*'_

_'*Will you want to come with us?*'_

_'*If you'd like me to.*'_

_'*All right. You understand, though, we want to minimise civilian casualties. A few are inevitable, but we won't kill them for the sake of it. That includes the boy and whomever else. This isn't a vendetta thing.*'_

_'*Of course not. I'm not a monster, Pavel.*'_

The werewolves laughed. '*_We are, and even we wouldn't do certain things.*'_

'*_You weren't nearly so pious when you attacked the Ministry last spring, as I remember. My sister died.*'_

_'*And for that, Borev, we are genuinely sorry.*'_ Pavel was, too, to a degree. The woman's death was unfortunate, but he had his doubts about the fellow's sincerity, and the fact he'd come to them meaning to sell the family said a lot.

'_*Much obliged. Any news of England?*'_

_'*Much. The war continues unabated. What do you hear from Bulgaria?*'_

'_*Nothing*'_ said Stefan, frowning. '*_My nephew has my home watched night and day. He's inveigled my poor mother to move in with them in that castle in Varna_.*'

_'*She's being cared for, at least.*'_

_'*Turned against me, more like.*'_ Borev sat back, apparently brooding. Pavel and the other wolves said nothing.

Then Borev spoke again. '*_The papers tell me there's to be some sort of get together at the school, is that right?*'_

_'*They're using Durmstrang as some sort of jumping off point for the festivities. It's too tightly warded to do us any good.*'_

Stefan nodded. '_*The Cup'll come quickly enough.*'_

_'*Indeed.*'_

At Durmstrang, the air was tense with anticipation. Knots of students moved to and fro, smartened up in the knowledge there would be actual women there, and wanting to look accordingly sharp.

Viktor Krum had made an especial effort, not wanting to make Hermione ashamed of him. He'd spent an hour polishing his boots, his hair was cut, and his tentative beard was trimmed with military precision.

Draco, naturally, was having a field day. He lay on his bed, smirking, as Viktor worked on the boots with a tin of boot black and a soft rag. _'They're like glass, Viktor. You'll be fine.'_

_'I stand for Bulgaria in this. Do you think ve do not know how others see us, Drago?'_

_'What do you mean?'_

_'They think ve are...*hayseeds*?'_

_'Rustics.'_

_'Yes, rustics. I make them see ve are modern people, vith modern vays of things_.'

Draco saw a degree of irony on being told that, with all sincerity, by a feudal lord who'd been betrothed at fourteen, but he wouldn't have said such a thing.

_'And my darling cousin will be there.'_

_'Mmm hmm.'_

_'Smartening up for her, are we?'_

_'I vouldn't vant to make her shamed.'_

_'Hermione could never be ashamed of you. She's probably telling her friends about you as we speak.'_

Viktor decided the boots were adequate. He rose and scrubbed the boot-black from his hands in the basin. _'Yes, and Yana tell her dolly about you. I hear her one day.'_

_'You didn't either.'_

_'No, I did. She love you.'_

_'Trollish poetry._' Draco gave his best glare, and Viktor, grinning, settled down to try and smooth his rough, chapped hands so they'd feel nice when he saw Hermione again..

The day of the event dawned clear and coolish. Nine AM found eight hundred boys lined up on the lawn, waiting for the carriages to start to arrive. Beside Feathering and his wife, Viktor and Draco stood waiting, various dignitaries and other such people clustered about, and beyond them the seventy five monitors, and then, like terra cotta warrior, the ranks of boys, waiting patiently.

Finally a carriage was sighted, and a palpable thrill ran through the group as the wheels found the soft and mossy ground, and the door, with exquisite slowness, opened, and the others touched down to disgorge the familiar, beloved cargo within.

In front of Draco, Sven and Ilya were having a spirited, if sotto voce, debate.

'Face like a grindylow's arse.'

'Flat-chested.'

'Wonky eye.'

'Definitely. If she's willing to marry Krum, she'd have to have.'

Draco leant forward ever so slightly. 'The lady of whom you're speaking is my cousin. Shut up.'

'Or what?' The git had pulled away by then, and Sven and Ilya exchanged a look, wondering whether this could be used to teach those two little bastards a lesson.

That was not the sole meeting of dignitaries that day. In France, Aurelien Moreau had come to Beauxbatons in order to discuss the upcoming Cup, to be held in a field a few kilometres from the school.

Worse, he was inflicting a number of foreign leaders on her. She'd been handed a list with the names of the most august-and therefore tetchy about their dignity-wizards and witches in Europe, and then waited for her to produce the minor miracle of accommodating them all according to status both real and perceived.

The actual business of figuring out the accommodations took only minutes. It wasn't hard-the castle could easily hold the number of people they were discussing, as the French would simply Floo or Apparate home every evening. There would, of course, be a feast, and all sorts of amusements, but the Ministry would take care of all that.

It was what came after that was bothering Olympe so deeply and terribly. Moreau had asked for a tour of the formal gardens, and they'd exchanged pleasantries as they'd moved through the rows, occasionally stopping to feed a fat, waddling peacock, or to stroke one of the cats which roamed the grounds to control pests.

The subject segued back to the problems at hand. 'Of course, we'll send people to double and triple check the wards and such. Britain will want to send some of theirs as well, I don't doubt.' He seemed to be thinking aloud, and Olympe said nothing in return.

'Gutter snipes, most of them. Vulgar street trash. I'd lock up the valuables, Madame, were I you.'

'We'll be very careful, Minister.'

'And of course, I'll need you to observe what you see and report it to me.'

'If there is a safety concern.'

'That, naturally, but also more in the general. For instance, the Lestrange girl. How can her feelings for the boy be used to our benefit? You could find that out. Perhaps ask her to have a walk with you. Surely a student as talented as she would want to please her headmistress.''

Olympe went still. 'Did you just seriously suggest to me, Minister, that I manipulate a child into trusting me in order to use her feelings for her family as tools for political gain?' Her voice was soft and calm, and traces of her accent-she was from the Ardennes-started to emerge.

'I would have thought, Madame, that you loved France enough-'

'I do love France. Your interests, Minister, are not France. **You** are not France. That child is under my care, and I will not pervert that to further an agenda, no matter how important you believe it to be. I am not a whore to be used at your pleasure.'

Moreau was not cowed. 'If those people take over Europe, what will become of people like yourself? And all your muggleborn students? Have you thought of that?'

'Beauxbatons is a place where anyone may find safety. Miss Lestrange is no more accountable for her parentage than a muggleborn or a person like myself.'

'Your country needs you.'

'My country deserves better than the sort of person I'd have to be to agree with this. Asking me to spy on a child? What sort of wizard-what sort of Frenchman-what sort of **man** are you, that you can justify that to yourself?'

'She's an incipient Death Eater. How long do you think it will take her to convince the boy to take the Mark?'

Olympe's hands knotted into fists, nails digging into palms. 'The same way I'm an incipient risk to the children I teach? The same way muggleborns are incipiently promiscuous?'

'You're being hysterical.'

'Leave, Minister. I've given you my answer.'

'When they come here and see you, and none of them will look you in the face, you'll remember this.'

'Good day, Aurelien.' She turned and left without another word, soiled by the mere suggestion of what Moreau had said.

At Durmstrang, the speeches had been made and the groups dispersed. Many of the boys had been joined by families, coming to pick them up, and not a few had opted to stay for mid-day meal, hoping to meet Viktor Krum, see the Death Eaters, or simply cadge a free nosh.

Viktor couldn't have cared any less about any of it. He did his part, to be sure-made the requisite remarks for the small crowd of journalists, let them take his picture, and shook hands with whomever shook hands with him.

Beside him, Hermione hadn't stopped smiling. She smelt glorious, and he wanted to touch her hair, which was mostly down. Several lady reporters had asked her about her robes, and he'd finally dropped his head and murmured _'I think you start a mode_.'

She beamed up. _'I hope so. Yseult and Alise will never forgive me if I haven't._'

The meal was delicious. They ate tender roast goose with parsnips, fresh hot bread, spiced milk and sweet date pudding for lasts. Draco was sitting next to his cousin on one side and his godfather on the other, and felt a relief that was strangely, uncomfortably salted with wariness; he wanted to relax but didn't dare, and so he smiled and talked and watched from the corner of his eyes.

Viktor felt it too, and something else. His eyes kept going to Martin. His father had embraced him but said almost nothing, and he could feel, like a breeze, the hole his mother had left when she went before them. He didn't often feel Zhivka herself, but now he was wondering if his father ever stopped feeling her. He suspected the answer was no, and the understanding, slowly crystallised over the past year, that he would never give the ring back had become a hard, burning certainty.

His hand crept down and found Hermione's, and she squeezed back, tipping her head ever so slightly. 'Viktor_?'_

_'Everything is fine_.' He said it in a flat, sure voice that disturbed Hermione quite a lot. She'd ask, she decided, and distracted him by asking cheerfully about the lake, and whether he'd ever taken the rowboat she'd seen on it out?

Snape himself felt strangely content. He was glad to be sitting next to Draco, and asked the boy to introduce him to the school Potions professor so he could talk shop with the fellow.

Draco, of course, would be delighted to oblige after the meal, and they settled into a comfortable conversation about a potion Draco had recently made, and modifications to the formula that could be done.

The Death Eaters were clustered at the other end of the table, to Rodolphus' annoyance. He wanted to spend time with the children, and whilst he understood he had a role to play, he, with his uncanny knack for reading people, thought the boy could use some distraction to keep from noticing his mother's absence as sharply. Beside him, Bellatrix was squirming a bit, clearly having similar thoughts.

_'Trixie, are you well?'_

_'The girl looks peaky to me, is all._' Hermione looked no such thing, but that was hardly the point. They'd been engaged in particularly brutal fighting in the last few days, and Bellatrix had a weird urge to hug her daughter for a long time without letting go, just hold her and not say anything.

_'She's excited to see Viktor.'_

_'Of course she is, but if she's sick, she's going to bed_.'

_'She's not sick, Trixie_.' Rodolphus bit his tongue to keep from laughing. He'd been married to Bellatrix too long to be fooled, certainly, and he secretly found her pretences at not loving being a mother very funny, and adorable (same for his wife herself, but he valued his life too much to say that aloud).

_'Our Lord would be very upset if something happened to Hermione. We owe it to Him to make sure she's well.'_

_'Of course'_ agreed Rodolphus, curling his toes in his boots and willing himself not to grin. Instead, he poured a bit more milk for his wife and asked his sister in law Eugenia whether there was anything she was craving from England that he could have sent for her.

After the meal, Cunegarde firmly insisted that she must have a rest, and Eugenia as well. Knowing she was licked, Eugenia rose, excused herself, and followed Hetty, who was happily chattering about this and that. The beds were soft and thick, and to her own surprise, she was tired. She sank in, touched her belly lightly and then fell asleep.

After the meal, the group broke once more. Viktor and Hermione, elf in tow, went for a walk round the lake. Draco asked his parents to walk with him as well, and they somehow acquired a tail of children and, of course, Barty.

Rumen and Lyudmilla went to rest as well. The children had been off their routine for days, preparing for the trip, and whilst they were very good children, in the main, it could be a bit tiring.

Rabastan decided to walk the grounds with Penko. It was, perhaps, a bit risky, but it made sense that two ambassadors were want to speak in private. They went toward the woods, away from the paths.

_'_It's very beautiful here, isn't it?' It was extraordinarily pleasant to be able to speak to his lover without needing to make a charm, and Rabastan wished he could kiss Penko to show him.

'Very. I used to sneak out here with a mate of mine and we'd share slivov I'd stolen from the cellars. Martin found out once. Gave me the strapping of my life, you can believe.' Penko grinned, feeling the same way, knowing being found out was simply too much of a risk.

'He didn't tell your father?'

_'_He agreed not to if I promised not to do it again. Never did.'

'Don't blame you.'

They walked on for a few moments. 'Penko?'

'Hmm?'

'Did the children seem different to you?'

'The big ones or the small ones?'

'Big, though the small ones won't be much longer.'

'I daresay, and yes, they did. They seem very...intense, is that the word, would you say?'

'Yes. It's disturbing.'

Penko stared into the distance for a moment. 'It worries me. This whole thing...it's too much. This can't be healthy for them.'

Rabastan took a deep breath. 'Penko...do you remember when we asked Viktor about...Stefan?'

Penko nodded, checking to make sure no one was nearby. 'Of course I do, back near Christmas.'

'I wondered then...awfully convenient that he should get sick that way. Didn't I hear that someone at camp got sick as well?'

Penko went totally still. 'Rabastan?'

'It was in a letter. Rodolphus showed it to me, from the bundle Stefan stole. That fellow got a venereal disease and had to be sent home.'

'My God. You don't think...'

'If they did, did, they couldn't have done better with it.' Rabastan was, after all, a Slytherin.

'Quite so, but even very smart teenagers are still teenagers.'

'Precisely. And it worries me that they don't need us.'

'They do. I think they do, at any rate.' Penko knew what he was driving at, but he couldn't believe the children would...well, perhaps he didn't want to believe, he admitted to himself.

'Do they? If we're right, they've poisoned two people without getting caught.' Rabastan sat on a moss covered log and his lover joined him.

'I wouldn't call it poisoning, Rab.'

'Not fatally, perhaps. Yet.'

'Do you really think they would?'

'Right now? No, probably not. If they saw no other way? It wouldn't shock me.'

'Viktor's always been so **good**, though. You've said so yourself.'

'All three of them are. Every time I look at Draco, he's either distracting the smaller children or helping the other two. I hope my child takes after them.' He did, too. He was proud of his niece and nephews.

'You don't think that alone would dissuade them?'

'In some ways, that makes it all the harder. An evil person, or a brutal person, would use this to get his way. Once he had, he'd stop. But a good person, pushed too far...'

'Like a cornered animal.'

'Exactly.'

Penko dropped his head in his hands, elegant hair coming slightly loose of its ribbon. 'There's another factor at play, you know.'

'What's that, love?'

'Viktor is lord Krum. If he poisoned Stefan, it was well within his rights. We couldn't say a word even if we did have proof.'

Rabastan's eyes widened. 'So we say nothing?'

'To the lord and lady of Castle Krum? Not a word? To our teenage niece and nephews? Absolutely we should.'

'Is there a difference, Penko? Honestly?' Rabastan looked round and gave his lover's hand a quick, utterly unerotic squeeze of affection and comfort.

'If we don't move soon, darling, there won't be.'

So they discussed what they'd do, and made a plan, and then went to pursue it.

Viktor and Hermione, hand in hand, walked round the lake. Viktor was quiet; he wanted to savour Hermione being there, smelling heavenly, soft and warm. She was quiet too.

_'Herm-on-nee-knee, everything is vell vith you?' _They'd cancelled the charm so Viktor could practice his English.

_'Well enough, Viktor. How are you?'_

He looked aside. _'Missing Mother.'_

_'Do you want to talk about it?'_

He shook his head, and she didn't press. The lake was filled with reeds, and small water birds darted and flashed their wings. He stopped and pointed out a nest.

_'Egrets_.' The birds were white and soft looking, fluffy. They flapped majestically, flying to snap up tiny, wriggling fish. Hermione stepped closer and he put an arm round her shoulders. _'Cold?'_

_'No.'_

_'Robes are pretty.'_

_'Thank you.'_

He bent and kissed her, hard, and his hands went into her hair. She moved closer and relaxed against them, and then they stepped apart, instinctively sensing this shouldn't go too far.

_'I don't hurt you?'_

_'Of course not.'_

Footsteps. They whirled as one, drawing, and were confronted by a scrawny first year in a uniform which was a bit too big. 'Please, Superintendent, Headmaster wishes a word_.'_

Viktor nodded. _'Of course. My lady, I vill return immediately_.'

_'Please, my lord, take your time_.' Hermione smiled at the little firstie in a friendly way, and he went scarlet, bowing and scampering off. His heart had been struck with an immediate case of crup love, and he wanted to look at this pretty older girl from a safe distance.

Hermione sat down to wait on a large rock nearby, worn smooth by centuries of students' backsides. She relaxed, reaching into her little ridicule and pulling out a small phial.

_'Rinky?_'

The elf appeared. _'Miss?'_

_'Would you go and give this to Aunt Narcissa? It was for Yana's bellyache, but she didn't need it_.' The elf frowned, and Hermione looked at him innocently.

_'You'll be back before Viktor is, and anyway, we're outside. You needn't worry_.'

The elf nodded and took off to find the other group. Hermione liked this spot. She watched the egrets and thought of little.

Boots. She turned again, wand up. Two students she didn't know where standing there, smiling, and bowed when they saw her looking. 'Hello, Miss.'

'Gentlemen.' She rose and curtsied. They were still smiling. 'Pretty this afternoon, isn't it?'

'Gorgeous' agreed the blond one. He stepped a little closer.

'Are you friends of Viktor's?'

'One could say that.' The darker of the two moved closer as well. Hermione, unaccountably, felt nervous. She stood a little straighter and held her wand a bit more tightly.

'Are you looking forward to the holidays?'

'Oh, yes.' They were getting closer and there was nowhere for her to run. Hermione's went to call Rinky but her voice felt like it was stuck in her throat. Her skin was prickling, her belly felt too full and hot.

'If you'll excuse me, sirs, I must go and find my mother.' Her voice shook just slightly, but she found her fear seemed less important

'So soon?' The darker one's hand lashed out and grabbed her wrist. Hermione, honed to a fine edge by her practice, reacted without hesitating. He stumbled away, hand stiff and burning.

'You little bitch!'

'Leave me alone!'

'Grab her, Sven.' The blond one's wand snapped up and Hermione reeled backward, eyes watering from the pain in her face, but only for a second. She forced herself to move by remembering that if they bound her, they'd take her wand.

She swished hard, and Sven's nose began to bleed. Hermione shielded herself and shrieked, as loudly as she could 'HELP ME!'

Not far away, the little firstie heard. He went still. When she screamed a second time, he took off, toward the small knot of adults he saw on the other side of the clearing. 'Help! Help!'

Draco's head snapped up. He took off toward the boy, and beside him, Lucius did the same. 'What's wrong, Tamm?'

'They're hurting the girl! Help!'

Draco didn't stop to ask. He just ran. He heard Father shouting, and he remembered the manky old elf, whom Narcissa had sent to the carriage to get her light cloak. 'Elf!'

It appeared. 'Take me to Hermione, now!' It grasped his hand and they vanished with a 'pop!'

On the edge of the woods, Rabastan and Penko heard a girl's voice. Like Draco and Lucius, they ran, and arrived just as the boy and the elf popped into the lakeside spot where Sven and Ilya had decided to have a little fun with Krum's girlfriend.

None of them ever forgot what they saw there. Hermione, blood running down her cheek from a cut, was breathing hard, staring at the two boys, who floated above the ground, bound hand and foot, silenced, eyes wide as they saw one of the most dangerous men in Europe coming at them, looking displeased.

Hermione turned, wand ready to attack, and then lowered it. 'Uncle! They tried to hurt me!'

Rabastan ran over and threw both arms round his niece. 'Shhh, shhh, darling, shhh. It's over now. You've done splendidly.'

Draco, meanwhile, found he was angry. His usual anger was hot and intense and made him shout. This was not that anger. This anger was cold. It made him feel like his blood was mercury.

He came closer, raised his wand, and flicked lazily. They fell, and only another flick stopped them from crashing into the ground. They jerked violently, joints pulled by gravity.

'You'd better hope Viktor kills you both. Because if he doesn't, I'm not going to, but you'll wish I had.'

Lucius caught up to them and took in the scene. 'What happened?'

'These boys tried to rough Hermione up, but she had it well in hand when we arrived.'

Lucius nodded approvingly at his niece. 'That's my good girl, Hermione. Draco, do you know these...children?'

'I do. The dark hair one is Ilya Arbanas and the blond one is Sven Lofstrom.'

'We didn't mean anything by it! She got upset over nothing, we were just being friendly!'

Hermione shook her head at once and showed where Ilya had grabbed her arm. Fingerprints were purpling there. 'They tried to touch me.'

'It was a joke! She attacked us!'

Lucius Malfoy, the Butcher of Britain, smiled. 'You're telling us my seven stone niece attacked you and you were forced to defend yourself? When she is bleeding and you are not?'

Neither boy said anything. Hermione was calming, and she said, very reasonably 'Maybe we should ask Rinky to get Viktor and my parents now? And Aunt Narcissa?'

'Yes, of course.'

Penko had said nothing. He leant over and started to heal Hermione's cut and the various small wounds she'd taken. She frowned.

'I hope it won't inconvenience Mother and Father to be called away. And Rinky? Please ask Snetzka to take the children and Barty to Uncle Desmond before Aunt Narcissa comes, it would upset them to see this.'

Viktor was speaking to Moody-Feathering when the elf came in and started to speak. 'Master comes with Rinky? Is important.'

'Headmaster?'

'Go, lad, I'll see you later.' The elf Apparated Viktor, and seconds later he was standing by the lake. His uncle took one look at him as he took in the scene and said, very softly and sternly 'Hand me your wand, Viktor.'

'I'll kill them for this.'

'Viktor, your wand, now.'

He handed it to Penko and then moved closer. He was too angry to say anything else, and he stared, absolutely glowing with rage, shaking with anger, for close to five minutes. Hermione, cleaned up, finally went over and hugged him, hard, not caring who could see.

'Viktor, shhh. I'm fine.'

He dropped his voice. 'You fought them both?'

'Sort of. The dark haired one was hurt.'

'I am so proud of you.' He said nothing else until Bellatrix and Rodolphus got there, followed by Narcissa. Snape, too, had been summoned, and he stood beside Rodolphus, watching impassively.

Sven and Ilya, meanwhile, were realising how terrible a mistake they'd really made when the entire Inner Circle was staring at them silently, waiting like predators to flush a rabbit.

'Viktor? It's your call.'

'No. They attacked Hermione, we'll decide together.' They were hand in hand, and no one could have separated them had they tried. Hermione straightened and looked at the bound boys in front of her.

'You don't deserve to have anyone here pass judgement on you.'

'If we go to Headmaster Feathering, they'll be expelled.'

'Like hell! My father is Anders Lofstrom, you English bastards!'

Lucius smiled and bent closer. 'You've just attacked a lady and then lied about it. I'd hold my tongue.'

'Anders?' Said Penko, with a gleam in his eye. 'I believe we went to school together.'

Hermione gently stepped apart from her fiancé and cast a privacy charm. 'Uncle? Perhaps we needn't make this official? Mr. Lofstrom would be glad to keep it between all of us, do you think?'

The adults were stunned. 'Darling, how do you mean?'

Viktor nodded. 'If we don't tell, they owe us a favour. A serious one, from the size of this thing.' They'd let the translation charm stand this time in deference to the fact that Penko spoke no English.

'Well, yes, but he did attack Hermione.'

Draco stood a little taller. 'Perhaps I could discuss it with them? And Father?'

The adults were beyond stunned. 'I...suppose so. Bellatrix? Narcissa? What do you think?' Lucius was almost as horrified as he was delighted by the children's sheer cunning and cleverness.

The sisters looked at one another. 'It's not enough.'

'I would not normally agree, but this is beyond the pale.' Narcissa reached out and smoothed Hermione's hair, as angry as her husband had seen her in a very long time.

Hermione leant over and took her mother's hand. 'Mother, if we have them expelled, they'll want to hurt us. If we do it like this, we own them. And you've said we need the Swedes.'

'Girl, he made you bleed.'

'I know.'

'Rodolphus?' Bellatrix was seething, but she felt a degree of happiness at this proof the children were not irredeemably nice.

He shook his head. 'How did we get such clever children?'

'It's the Black side of things, obviously.'

'What about Viktor?'

'Fate smiled on us for a change.'

Rodolphus gave the boy a friendly wink. 'If you're sure you don't mind...'

'Not at all. Maybe now the Swedes will treat us with a little respect.'

Penko was still being rather quiet. 'Why don't Rabastan and I have a word with his father?' Rabastan nodded and moved a bit closer to Hermione, angry beyond words.

'Would you? That would be very helpful.' Rodolphus gave his brother and in-law a nod of thanks.

'Be glad to. Shall we meet back at Feathering's rooms in, oh, two hours' time?'

'Quite so.' The two men walked purposefully toward the castle, and the others broke the bubble and dispersed.

'Where's Tamm?'

'Whom?' Hermione raised an eyebrow and cancelled the spell. It was better to speak English now, so the two boys couldn't understand.

_'That little boy. He came and got Father and me.'_

Viktor, hand on Hermione's arm, couldn't have agreed more. _'Ve must thank him. Too young for vine, you think?'_

Hermione rolled her eyes. _'No wine, Viktor.'_

_'Ve find something, then, to send him.'_

Draco agreed as well. _'What about sweets? That's what I would've wanted when I was eleven.'_

_'Qvite.'_

Hermione grinned and then had a thought. _'Should we tell the headmaster? So he knows, I mean_?'

Viktor nodded. _'Mother, Aunt, you come as vell? Maybe ve tell the others?_'

_'Excellent idea_.' The group tromped off, leaving the two still bound boys to the tender mercy of the Butcher of Britain and his son, the Butcher's boy. Draco swished lazily and they fell, hitting the ground with teeth jarring force.

As Lucius watched, Draco stared a moment and then slowly raised a foot. He brought it down directly into the face of the blond with a crunch. The boy's nose shattered under the blow, and Draco did it to the other one as well.

'Father? You've not taught me any new hexes in ages.'

'Then let's make up for lost time, shall we?' Lucius moved into teaching range and began.


	62. Chapter 62

**A/N: Love to reviewers and Countess Black.**

**Cunegarde is a strange, difficult character for me. It's tragic how badly used she's been by life, but much of her misery stems from her own poor choices. Just a thought.**

**Part of the dialogue between Yana and Cunegarde is taken from the autobiography of Her Majesty Queen Noor of Jordan.**

Penko Krum knew the man the moment he saw him. Tall, golden haired, eyes so light they were almost transparent. He smiled brightly at him, and Lofstrom excused himself.

'I feel as though we've met before.'

'We have. Penko Krum.'

'Oh. How good to see you once more.' There was no light of understanding in his eyes.

'And this is Rabastan Lestrange.'

'An honour, sir.'

'Not at all' said Lofstrom. 'How do you do?'

'Well enough. I wonder if you'd give me a moment of your time?'

Lofstrom raised his brow but Penko pretended not to see. Instead, he turned on his heel and walked out, as though he didn't care whether Lofstrom followed. Rabastan smothered a grin; this would be great fun, he suspected.

They walked toward the lake in silence. 'If I might ask, fellows, what is this in regards to?'

'You know I've a nephew, don't you, Lofstrom?'

'I do. Same year as my Sven.'

'Indeed. It would seem the two don't like one another very much.'

'Sven's never said.' Though he had.

'That's strange, as he attempted to attack my niece this afternoon, apparently because she is Viktor's fiance.' That was Rabastan, and he relished the look of shock on this pompous great swot's face as his words sank in.

'I can hardly credit that he would do such a thing.'

'No? The alternative is that he was attempting to rape her, which isn't exactly ruled out by the other scenario. But a schoolboy grudge gone too far is a good deal more palatable, at least to me.'

They'd arrived at the lake, where Lucius and Draco was quietly speaking to one another. Sven and Ilya, looking shell-shocked, were sitting on a rock, eyes wide. Draco grinned and waved at his uncles.

'Hello!'

'Hello, Draco. How did it go?'

'Well. You must be Mr. Lofstrom.' He extended a hand, and Lofstrom, shocked, shook it. Draco hadn't stopped smiling the whole time.

'What have you done to my son?'

Lucius Malfoy approached the group. 'It isn't what we've done. It's what you'll do.'

'Oh?'

'Call them off and this ends it. But I warn you, Lofstrom, that if I ever hear another word about this-and especially if I find out my niece has been abused, reviled or harassed in any manner-and it might be necessary to repeat the lesson. And we'd not want that, would we?'

'What have you done?'

'Lucius, perhaps you and Draco would go and check on my wife for me?'

'Of course, and we'll send her your love, Rabastan.' He and Draco walked toward the school, making sure not to look back.

'I, ah...Sven?'

Sven's eyes were coming back into focus. 'Hello, Father.'

'What happened?'

'We didn't mean to hurt her. Not really. We just wanted to teach Krum a lesson. The younger one, I mean, not this one.'

'And then what?'

Ilya looked blankly at his friend's father. 'We got carried away and she...they...we're lucky to be alive.'

'What have you done to my son?'

'Nothing we couldn't do again if the need arose.' Penko smiled and bent closer.

'Your son assaulted a girl and then tried to lie about it. You'd be ruined if that got out. **Ruined**.'

Rabastan said nothing, still. He was watching the exchange with a look that was almost amusement. 'You know, they call my brother in law the Butcher of Britain. Have anyone ever told you why?'

Lofstrom managed to keep his voice even, despite the fear that made him want to wet himself. 'Because he orchestrated two nearly simultaneous massacres in the same day.'

' It's an ironic thing, I'm told' said Rabastan, liked he hadn't heard. 'Because he did all that, and never got his hands bloody. Not once.' He smiled, and Lofstrom had to fight to hold his bladder in check.

'I'll speak to the boys.'

'Yes, you will. And someday, when we call on you for help, you will not shrink, and you will not prevaricate. That is the price of silence in all this.'

'All right.' Lofstrom wanted away from the men. He'd sort it out later with the boys, and figure out what had happened. But he didn't plan on doing anything to any of these people; there was an aura about them all that spoke of things darker and more dangerous than Anders Lofstrom cared to name.

He and the boys (Ilya stayed summers with his family, as his guardian-uncle was too busy to watch him) left immediately. At home in Gothenburg, he sent the boys into the study and then poured himself a drink.

Downing it, he came and sat behind his desk. 'What happened?'

The boys told a strange, if coherent story. The elder Lofstrom listened without saying anything.

'What did you mean to do with the girl?'

Sven's brow furrowed a little. ' I wanted...I wanted to make her like me. So I could kiss her and...you know.'

'To humiliate Krum?'

'Yes. And because it seemed like Providence. That all of us were there, I mean.'

'And you, Ilya?'

'I suppose that's right, sir.'

'What did Malfoy do to you?'

Neither boy would answer, not that night and not ever. The closest either one ever came was years later, when Ilya was patronising a prostitute in Zagreb. There was an open newspaper on the nightstand, and Lucius Malfoy's face was staring up at him with the usual handsome arrogance.

Ilya stopped thrusting and flung it on the floor, face like cheese. The whore half sat up. 'Something wrong?'

'We called Malfoy Jr the Butcher's boy. He warned us and we didn't listen. Oh, God.' Ilya disengaged and pulled away from the bewildered whore. He tossed a wad of bills onto the table and left as rapidly as he could, saying nothing else. He might not even have been referring to the incident by the lake-it was hard to say, for the years in between had treated very few people gently, and Ilya less gently than most. But that, of course, was later.

As for Tamm, he'd been found, and the headmaster had called everyone to the hall. With the blushing, stammering Tamm beside him, Moody-Feathering had publicly commended the boy's 'courage, quick thinking and chivalry' as the epitome of a man of Durmstrang.

He was not incorrect. Whilst no one in the hall that evening had the slightest reason to think so, Anu Tamm was destined for greatness, and it is possible, even likely, that this event helped in some way to form the man he became, famed as the hero of Narva, the warrior whose name struck terror in the hearts of his foes, who never suffered a weaker person to be abused or maltreated in his presence, and slew the mad wizard Sepp in single combat to avenge the muggles of Tartu.

But that was far in the future. Now, he was eleven and skinny, and he gorged himself sick on the massive bag of sweets Viktor sent to his home. Hermione, too, included a gift, a handkerchief, and he kept it always, tucked in a drawer, as a reminder that there were things that were good and right in the world, and that a scared eleven year old boy could save someone from being hurt if only he was brave.

Narcissa Malfoy, having applauded little Anu Tamm and given him a kiss on the cheek which made him go red as beetroot, decided she wanted a walk with her son. She donned the light cloak she'd sent the elf for, mentally cursing herself for doing such a thing, even unawares, and asked her son to show her about.

Lucius had gone to write some letters, and so, mother and son, they walked across the twilight grounds of the school. They were to stay until morning and then go on to France, where the work of the Cup would begin.

It's a pretty evening, isn't it?'

'Yes, Mother.' Draco sounded tired. He looked tired, for that, and she could sense, with her preternatural mothering senses, that he didn't feel quite right. She stopped and reached up to cup his cheek. 'It's all right, Draco.'

'Yes, Mother.'

'Let's find a bench, hmm?'

They did, and sank down. Draco's legs were shaking a little from tiredness. He wondered how the other two felt. They'd been speaking with Eugenia and Feathering when they'd left.

'Do you want to talk about it, love?'

'No, Mother. It's an ugly business, isn't it?'

'You did the right thing.'

'I know. But it's...well, anyway.'

'No.'

'Sorry?'

'Draco Lucius Malfoy, you are thirteen years old. You've got every right to talk about how you feel, and I won't have you keeping this inside. Now, what were you going to say?'

Abruptly, Narcissa had an armful of teenage boy. Her son was hugging her hard, pressing his head into her neck. His cheeks, she thought, were dry, but he was breathing hard, and she instinctively rocked him a little, humming.

'I'd do anything to make sure you didn't get hurt, Mother. All of you. Anything.'

'Hush, of course you would.' She rubbed his back, willing him to relax, wanting him to...what? Forget everything he'd spent a year training for? Be less like the husband she loved so very much? Be less devoted to his cousin and her fiancé?

'Nowhere is safe anymore.'

'We're safe together, darling. That has to be enough for us.'

'Forever.'

'No, until the war is over.'

'Forever' Draco said again sadly. 'It won't end until they're gone or we are, Mother.'

Narcissa inhaled. 'I know.'

He put his head up. 'Mother?'

'I've done this before, darling, remember?'

'When I was born.'

'Yes. And it was...well, it was different, but every time your father went out, I was sure he'd never come back. I loved him so, Draco-I still do-and it...I thought that once we'd won, it would be safe again.'

'It was, for a while.'

'Yes. We had ten good years. More than some, so I suppose we mustn't whine and complain.'

'Last year the Krums were just arriving, remember? Barty wouldn't stand still.'

'I do. And that little girl threw up on Hermione.'

'It was fun. Now everything's changed and it...sometimes all I can think is that it might have been you and not Aunt Zhivka.'

'Yes. It well might.'

'I should be above this, Mother. Viktor's only ever been good to me. It was terrible what happened.'

'It was.'

'He told me once-that day we got the letter, when the lambs were there?-that he doesn't blame anyone. Wrong time, wrong place. How does he do it?'

Narcissa kept rubbing her son's back. 'I suspect it helps him to have something to focus on, Draco.'

'I have, too, but not like that. I hate them.' He shook his head slowly and then sat, a touch sheepishly, and cracked his neck. His mother was watching him with sadness; her little boy was becoming a man, and a man she wasn't quite sure she understood as well as she might have liked.

'What have you got to focus on, love?' Her tone was light, teasing, but he seemed not to hear the invitation to relax. He put his hands on his knees and bent forward a little bit, prompting her to frown at him until he sat up properly.

'Loads, Mother. We woke at five every morning and talked about what had to be done that day. Then we had breakfast, and classes from seven until two thirty, and then sports or duelling club. From six until eight, we'd work on lessons, and then after supper, we'd meet with the headmaster in order to go over the things we needed for duelling club, and practice.'

Narcissa blinked. 'Oh, my. What time were you getting to bed?'

'Midnight or so. After we left the headmaster, we'd write letters or finish lessons.'

'Draco, my goodness. And you never let on?'

'No, Mother. It wasn't so bad.' It wasn't, either. He'd fought a hard fight this year, but he felt it had been worth it. He was hard now, and that was good. He smiled to soothe Mother.

Narcissa was having none of it. She reached out and took his hand, which was chapped from having swam in the cold all those months. And big, now, bigger than hers.

'You aren't being truthful, Draco.'

'It's not...Mother, I...what if it would only hurt people? Sometimes I think that...love is knowing when not to say something.'

Narcissa's heart hurt. She hugged her son again, smoothing his hair, which had been cut shorter, but not as short as Viktor's. 'Shhh, love.'

'It's all right, Mother.'

'It most certainly isn't.' Narcissa Malfoy held her son tighter against herself and said nothing else for a very long time before they rose and returned to the others.

Both Alastor Moody and Desmond Feathering loathed a bully, so when he-they?-heard about what had gone on by the lake, the results were quite as unpleasant as one would expect. He went very still, strange yellowish eyes wide, nodding, and when Hermione's calm explanation ended, Feathering immediately went to look her over for bruises or cuts.

Eugenia had woken from her nap, and came out to find her former mentor, now her brother, looking the girl over. She came out and tipped her head. _'Des?'_

_'We've had a little problem, Gennie. Everything is quite all right.'_ Without meaning to, the family had picked up Barty's nickname, and his using it added a patina of authenticity to their cover.

_'I'm all right, Aunt. How are you? Do you want some hot milk_?' Hermione had slipped back into chatelaine so fluidly that she might never have stopped.

_'No, I'm well, thank you. What happened, sweetheart_?'

Viktor rose so she could take his chair. ' _Herm-on-nee-knee, maybe you explain it?'_

Hermione summed it up and sat next to her aunt, taking her hand to soften the blow. Eugenia's eyes widened and she didn't dare look at Desmond, knowing how her mentor felt about men who hurt women.

She dropped her voice. _'Shall we take a walk, love? Hetty, join us?_'

Hetty had emerged from her sitting room and nodded at once. Having been an orphan, she was new to being surrounded by family, and she liked it very much. She hoped she'd soon fall pregnant so she could have a child to surround with this new found sense of people caring about her.

The ladies walked through the deserted corridors, sometimes speaking to an elf. Everyone except their own family and a handful of reporters had gone home, so it was very, very quiet. The ladies found a private place and sat down, cancelling the translation charm and enclosing themselves in a bubble of silence.

_'Hermione, you're absolutely sure nothing else happened?'_

_'I am. It wasn't so bad.'_

Hetty was giving the girl a gimlet eye. _'They didn't try and touch you in strange places? Or make you touch them?'_

Eugenia had been an auror, after all, and she'd often been sent to deal with teenage girls. _'Because if they did, sweetheart, you aren't in any trouble. Nothing you did was wrong or bad.'_

_'I know. I got them before they got me, was all.'_ She described precisely what she'd done, and the women nodded, proud and pleased. Hetty's defensive magic wasn't all that good (though Des was insisting she let him teach her, and she'd finally relented), but she was pleased the girl had been so quick on the uptake.

_'Well done. If your mother is amenable, though, I think we ought to discuss some ways of defending oneself. As a woman, I mean._'

Hermione nodded. _'Can we invite all the ladies? We should make sure they know.'_

The women thought that mightn't hurt, so with the men safely discussing topics of interest to them (Quidditch, and then women, and then Quidditch again), the ladies gathered in a practice room.

Yana, at almost six, was the youngest, and Cunegarde, who was there to observe, was going to be 119 in three days time. She held Yana (and Yana's manky old doll) on her lap, and permitted the sole male allowed, Crookshanks, to sit on her other side. The three of them watching like owls, the other ladies spread out and listened as Eugenia and Hetty taught them everything they knew about defusing attacks from men intent on harming them.

Eugenia first. She taught them a range of hexes that would incapacitate but not seriously harm, and then ones that would seriously harm, and then, silencing their half of the room to keep Yana from hearing, discussed the ones that would probably kill if used.

They undid the bubble and talked away wandless methods of repelling an attack as well; knees to the groin, disabling blows to the throat or eyes, ways to twist from a hold and try to reverse it. The group had never heard most of it-as witches, they fully expected to use magic, and as Purebloods ladies, to be defended by their men.

Hetty went next. As a whore, Hetty had long experience with talking down men intent on hurting her; a spoony man could do only so much, and often took time to arrive.

She'd once talked a man with a broken bottle out of cutting her face; she'd convinced a man whose wife had left him and who'd wanted in consequence to hurt a woman who looked like her to lie down in her bed and sleep beside her instead; and she'd spent most of a year with Lemuel Scabior and came out unscathed.

The women listened carefully. Bellatrix sat beside Hermione, sometimes poking her lightly to emphasise some point she approved of. The other women, less experienced than she at defending herself (what man would be mad enough to try and attack Bellatrix Lestrange?) found themselves listening to what was being said and taking notes, as much as they did not want to.

Yana, meantime, was sent to sit with Aunt Cunegarde as the ladies practiced, and she'd decided to use the time snuggling with the old woman and asking questions. 'Aunt Cunegarde, why will we have to fight?'

Cunegarde stroked the girl's hair with her snarled hands. 'Because there are bad men about, girl.'

'Are they the bad men that hurt Aunt Zhivka?'

'No.'

'Are they wolves? The bad men that hurt Aunt Zhivka were wolves.'

'Some bad men are wolves, Yana, but some are not. Some are just men.'

'Why do they hurt us?' Yana knew many men and no wolves, but she found the idea that men could be bad deeply disturbing.

Cunegarde kept stroking her hair. 'Perhaps it is their nature, or some flaw within us, that we raise sons who would do such things.'

Yana didn't understand, but she thought Aunt Cunegarde seemed sad. She felt sort of sad as well, so she dropped her head to the old woman's shoulder and whispered a secret which had been living inside her little soul for a while, like a truffle, in order to share it.

'You know, sometimes I don't remember what Aunt Zhivka looked like. I remember that she smelt like roses and was nice, but I can't see her face unless I close my eyes and think hard.' She snuggled closer and waited for Aunt Cunegarde to fix it.

Cunegarde exhaled slowly. 'It is a mercy, child, to forget.'

Yana didn't know what that meant. 'She used to tell us stories. Do you know the one about the brave little cat?' She wanted to hear that story again, and to remember Aunt Zhivka.

'No, girl, I don't. Perhaps your uncle might.'

'Uncle Martin?'

'Yes. I'm sure he'd know.'

Yana dropped her voice even more. 'We can't mention Aunt Zhivka to Uncle Martin. It might make him sad.'

Cunegarde kept smoothing the girl's hair. 'Sometimes, when a person misses someone, it helps to talk about things that remind them of happy times.'

Yana thought about that a moment. 'It makes me happy to remember that we used to sing with Aunt Zhivka. She had a good voice.'

Zhivka had had a strong, melodious alto that was ideally suited to the songs she'd liked so much, songs about maidens scorned and loves lost and the endless rhythms of daily life in the unforgiving mountains she'd grown up in.

'Hermione doesn't know any of our songs. She should. She's chatelaine.' She decided that this should be remedied, and resolved to speak to Viktor, who would then find a way to teach Hermione what she needed to know, because Viktor could do anything.

'Yes, she is.'

'Aunt Cunegarde? Aunt Zhivka was out chatelaine and the bad men killed her. Bad men hurt Hermione today. Who's going to be our chatelaine when Hermione dies?'

Yana's face was utterly open and innocent as she asked, and Cunegarde shoved images of her poor dead Ermentrude away. 'No one is going to kill Hermione, child. That's why we're doing all this, to keep everyone safe.'

Yana looked at the women, safe in the bubble Aunt Eugenia had cast, and shook her head slowly. 'Aunt Cunegarde, when they left, they said England was safe, too.' She bent and picked up the cat, cuddling him, trying to parse all this in her mind. After a few moments, she decided to think about something happier.

'Aunt Cunegarde?'

Cunegarde forced the tears from her eyes. She was dreading whatever came next, because she had spent decades making sure no one could hurt her. And now, reminded that the girl-girls, with Yana, and the boys as well-could die at any time, she realised it hadn't worked after all. All for nothing, her mind whispered, all for nothing...

'Yes, girl?'

'Would you tell me Rabbity Babbity again?' That, at least, was easy, and so that was what they did.

Viktor, who'd been talking with Rumen and Rodolphus about the relative merits of flying carpets versus brooms for travelling, jerked with surprise as Yana ran in and flung herself into his arms. 'Viktor! Hermione doesn't know our songs!'

He wasn't quite sure what had lead to that train of thought, so he nodded like he understood. 'We'll teach her, Yana.'

'We have to make sure she knows them all.'

'All right.'

'And the dances?'

'And the dances. Were you thinking about this, Yana?'

She leant back against him, and then surprised him with a kiss on the cheek. 'I was telling Aunt Cunegarde how we used to sing with Aunt Zhivka. Remember?'

'I do.'

'Does it make you sad?'

He considered. 'Not as sad as it would if we didn't sing anymore.'

'All right, then. Do you think Uncle Martin knows the story about the brave little cat?'

'He does. Shall we ask him to tell it?'

'Yes!'

Viktor picked Yana up and toted her to the chair where Martin was sitting in silence. He did that a lot these days.

'Father?'

'Hmm?'

'Yana would like to hear the brave little cat.'

Martin smiled. 'I haven't told that one in a very long time. Ivan, would you like to listen as well?'

'Yes, Uncle.' The room was quieting. Hermione came and sat next to Viktor, and her parents next to her, and the Malfoys flanking Draco, and then Eugenia and Rabastan, and Penko, and Rumen and Lyudmilla. Feathering rose, looking a touch sheepish, and stood behind his sister, who squeezed over so her sister in law Hetty could sit down. Finally Snape came and sat down, looking like he'd rather had had his fingernails ripped out, sat down.

'Once upon a time, there was a brave little cat who lived high in the mountains. Every day, she helped her mistress by catching mice. One day, the brave little cat...'


	63. Chapter 63

**A/N: Love to reviewers and Countess Black**

**Lots of references in this one:**

**'Bre Petrucko' is a real song. I can't find any English language lyrics, but it's apparently about a girl called Petrucka, the most beautiful in the village. The wedding song about the boyar is also real, but it didn't seem to have a title.**

** The 'Arthuriad' is a Wizarding Oratorio about the life of King Arthur. Wizarding culture has retained the Victorian custom of music making among family and friends, so at tamer reveals, it's not unusual for the musically talented to entertain the others.**

**American Idiom alert: To be 'loaded for bear' is to be thoroughly prepared for something. Moreau is, to put it mildly, aggresively well dressed.**

Olympe Maxime was still working the conversation with Moreau in her mind. At her home in the Ardennes forest, she was working in her garden, bending over a plant bed of cooking herbs, wearing a large straw picture hat to shade her skin from the sun.

She stood, bracing hands the size of dinner plates on the small of her back and stretching. Her vertebrae popped and her thoughts turned to hosting the dignitaries. She wondered what a castle of Death Eaters would be like. She'd finally get to see the monsters up close. She'd once met Bellatrix Lestrange, that was true, but she wanted to observe the lot of them in proximity; were they always Death Eaters? Were they ever simply people?

She walked into her cottage. She'd increased the size to scale when she'd bought it, of course, but she did like things to be nice as well as functional, so the walls were a very pale yellow and the furniture a blue so light it was nearly white.

She sat down, reflecting. There was much to do. Olympe had never married or had children, due to simply never having met a man of her own size with the education and culture she considered necessary.

Amongst these thoughts, another came to her, a sort of mating of the two. She was not the only person whose future was tied up with Death Eaters; she wondered whether Mademoiselle Sproga knew what she getting into to. She had no concrete reason to fear, precisely, but her instincts were usually good, and she felt like she ought to monitor what was going on.

That thought led to another, and then another, and before she knew it, she'd been invited to the Sproga home in Talsi. She would go and get the lay of the land. Perhaps she couldn't save the Sproga girl, but she could make sure she went into whatever it was with both eyes wide open, at least.

Olympe rather stuck out in muggle areas, so she Floo'd into the closest Wizarding area and then Apparated to the back garden. She'd never seen a house quite like it. All chrome and glass, it had an irregular shape and was lit from within by any number of soft lights from no apparent source.

The grandmother was there to greet her. She was a trim woman with an artful helmet of hair, very small, and she smiled and nodded at Olympe, indicating with a few broken sentences that she spoke only Bulgarian. After a very few moments, she turned and left.

_'How may I help you, Madame_?' Alise had never really spoken with Madame alone, and it made her nervous. Her French, at least, was good enough to bear it now. She politely indicated a chair. _'I would expand it for you, but I'm underage.'_

_'Of course. May I ask you a personal question?'_

Alise nodded, slightly surprised and trying not to show it. The headmistress forced herself to sound as though this was of no real consequence. _'What precisely is your relationship with Hermione Lestrange and Yseult Ropion?'_

_'Madame?'_

_'I'm just curious, child.'_

_'They're my dearest friends.'_

_'You are no doubt aware that both of them come from hardline Pureblood families.'_

_'Yes, Madame.'_

_'Have you given any thought to your future in that regard?'_

Alise inhaled deeply. _'I have, actually. How do you mean specifically, Madame?'_

_'I mean...the political situation is not getting any better.'_

_'Yes, Madame. I wish it were not so.'_

_'As do I. But it is, and you must plan for it.'_

_'I have done, Madame.'_

_'How so?'_

_'I've a position all lined up.'_

Olympe was surprised but tried not to let it show. _'A position? Of what sort, might I ask?'_

_'A personal secretary of sorts, Madame.'_

_'To Hermione Lestrange?_'

Alise inhaled deeply and forced herself to go against her natural inclination to be polite and pleasant. _'I'm not at liberty to say, Madame.'_

_'For what reason?'_

_'Many reasons. My grandmother and I will have a safe place to go, and I can help someone I care about._'

Olympe pressed on. _'You're sure this what you what you want? You understand what you'd be agreeing to do?'_

_'I do.'_

_'Have you given thought to marrying, or having children someday?'_

_'I have. That's been taken care of.'_

_'Oh?'_

_'Yes, Madame.'_

_'A wizard?'_

_'Yes.'_

_'Have you met this man, and know that he will be kind to you?'_

_'I haven't, but I trust my friend.'_

_'Your friend is thirteen years old. Consider that before you commit yourself to something you are not wholly prepared for.'_

_'Yes, Madame.'_

_'I did not come here solely to discuss this, Mademoiselle. Beauxbatons is to host the foreign dignitaries. Had you heard?'_

Alise nodded, smiling. _'I have. I've got my Bulgaria pennant all ready. My mother was Bulgarian, you know.'_

_'I remember. It might be useful to me to have an assistant there, a witch, not an elf, to help make sure everything runs smoothly. Would you be at all interested?'_

Alise nodded. _'Yes, Madame, but may I ask my grandmother?'_

_'Please do.'_ Alise rose, curtsied, and went to talk to her Baba, who gave her approval at once. Baba understood that Alise had to make her way in a new world, and as much as it grieved her, she had to let go.

_'My grandmother approves, Madame. When shall I be ready to go?'_

_'After dinner, if it isn't an imposition.'_

_'Not at all. What shall I bring?'_

_'Do you own any formal robes?'_

_'No, Madame.'_

_'Then we'll send for catalogues and get you some things. Expect to be gone at least two weeks._' After a rather quiet, thoughtful dinner, the women departed, Alise promising to write her grandmother regularly so she'd know what was going on.

Olympe sent to the Parisian equivalent of Diagon Alley for catalogues, and used school funds to buy the girl a few sets of Wizarding clothing. Alise tried to insist on paying for things, but Olympe firmly refused, explaining that the school would do it as thanks for helping out.

After, the women looked at one another. _'What are my duties to be, Madame?'_

_'Not terribly much, Mademoiselle. Simply help to show people where they must go, translate-Mademoiselle Lestrange has taught you some English?-and generally being available.'_

_'I will, Madame.'_

_'I've every faith in you. Mademoiselle Sproga?'_

_'Yes, Madame?'_

_'If you are intent-truly intent-on doing this thing, make sure you sell yourself for what you are worth.'_

The girl stood and straightened her shoulders. _'I am not the only one taking a risk, Madame. My friend took an enormous risk in being seen with me, let alone interceding for me in this way.'_

Olympe sighed deeply and nodded. _'No doubt she did. Simply think about what I say, would you?'_

Alise curtsied and then walked out without another word, wondering what the headmistress was about and how she could write to Hermione to warn her.

At Durmstrang, the group was preparing to embark for France. As the lord and lady, the two had their own carriage, should they but ask for it. Of course, they did not, because, they'd decided after a serious consultation after breakfast, Eugenia and Rabastan should have the space so she could stretch out if it would help her feel better, or be sick in private should the need arise.

Further, the adults all seemed tired, so when the lord and lady's carriage did take off, it did so with a large contingent of extra passengers. Aside from Hermione and Viktor, Draco, Barty, Ivan and Yana had come with them, not to mention Salazar, who'd been brought the night before to great delight of the children. And Snape, in a rare fit of conscience, had opted to go with them to make sure everything was all right.

The adults, looking forward to a day of talking about politics, art and literature, squeezed the shoulders of the children and made sure to send plenty of elves with them to help just in case.

Now, sailing toward France, there was a sense of great solemnity in the carriage, as Yana had decided, in her firm, Lyudmilla-like fashion, that this would be an excellent time to start Hermione on the music of her new homeland.

Sitting beside her pretty, sweet smelling cousin, Yana was teaching an easy one first, at Viktor's suggestion. Little voice piping, she sang the song about the boyar's wedding, clapping to keep time.

_'*See, it's very important to sing it right, because the men dance whilst we sing it.*'_

_'*Do you like to dance?*'_

_'*Yes! We dance at festivals, and sometimes Mama will sing for us whilst we practice. We couldn't do it this summer because everyone was busy.*' _Yana looked sad for a second and then shook it off.

_'*Viktor, would you sing with us?*'_

Viktor lifted his head from the letters he'd been perusing (Rumen had brought letters from tenants and such things, and, carefully warded, letters from Great Uncle Grigor as regarded the Borev lands and title.)

_'*You're doing very well, Yana.*'_

_'*I can't remember the words, though.' She looked piteous, and Viktor rolled his eyes and lightly tapped the tip of his cousin's nose. 'You do so.*'_

_'*You do it better than I do. Pleeaase?*'_ She snuggled against him and smiled winningly, and Viktor snorted in annoyance at his own soft heart and then set aside his papers. '_*One song, Yana.*'_

'_*Bre Petrunko?*'_

_'*All right. Ivan, sing with us?*'_

Ivan nodded eagerly, excited to sing with his family again. He turned to Draco. '*_Drago, sing with us, please?*'_

'_*I don't know the song.*'_

_'*Why not?*'_

_'*We have different folk songs.*'_

_'*Would you teach us one of yours, then?*'_

Yana thought that was capital. _'*Professor, you should sing with us too.*'_

The bastard dog was grinning at Snape. Snape gave him a look which promised another bath some time soon and then forced himself to be pleasant to the children.

_'*I do not sing, Miss Krum.*'_

'_*We'll teach you. It's all right.*'_ Yana would not be put off her course, and she had also inherited her mother's ability to make things happen by virtue of simply being firm about them.

Hermione grinned at her professor._ '*Yana, Professor Snape's got some important work to do. He'll join us another time.*'_

Snape nodded and took out a book, which was actually a collection of letters published by the poisoner Locusta of Gaul as regarded the court of Nero. He settled down, feeling the dog tugging his hem and looking at him with big, sparkling eyes that missed nothing. Snape tugged back, hissing. '_*Enough, you manky git!*_'

Yana turned to Barty. _'*Would you teach us, Barty?*'_

_'*All right. Yours first, though. Sev, do you feel well?*'_

_'*Yes, Barty, thank you. Why?*'_

_'*You used to sing with us, is all. You weren't bad. Not as good as Galvie or Alecto, maybe, but good.*'_

Snape could have strangled his mad friend. '*That was long ago, Barty.*'

_'*Remember when you and Rodolphus and Rabastan and I sang for the ladies? You were the baritone, Rodolphus was the bass, and I was tenor. What part did Rabastan sing?*'_

_'*He was a baritone too, I believe.*'_

_'*Oh. We should do that again.*'_

'_*Perhaps someday we shall.*'_

_'*I'll ask His Lordship. He'd like that, don't you think?*'_

'_*Surely it would please him to please you, Barty.*'_ Snape could see the children were quiet, listening, no doubt, preparing to ask questions he'd rather not have answered.

Hermione was first. '_*What did you sing, Professor?*'_

_'*"Mordred's Last Stand', from the Arthuriad.*'_

Barty nodded excitedly. '*_I was Morgause!*'_

_'*You were, and your father, Miss Lestrange, was Arthur.*'_

_'*Who were you, Professor?*'_

_'*Mordred, and Rabastan was the narrator.*'_ All of them nodded, and Snape got the uncomfortable sense they were somehow colluding against him without actually saying anything. Barty, meantime, excited by having correctly remembered, patted his arm fondly.

_'*It was fun, wasn't it, Sev?*'_

'_*Loads*'_ said Snape, looking as though he'd sucked on a lemon. Hermione smiled brightly and gave him a look which promised many an awkward question later on. Snape ignored it, hissed a death threat at the smug tosser of a dog and settled back to read Locusta and pretend none of this was going on.

Viktor raised an eyebrow at his fiancee. _'I did not know it vas also the custom of your country to sing like that.'_

_'Nor did I'_ murmured Hermione 'until a moment ago.' Wisely, Viktor didn't pursue the issue, instead opting to go over the lyrics to his favourite song with her. She'd actually heard it before, and she hummed the part she remembered.

Yana was beyond pleased, and soon they were all singing, even Draco, who couldn't find a way to squirm out of it when confronted with the little girl's best puppy dog eyes.

After the song was over, Viktor nudged Hermione and cast a quick silence bubble over the three of them after convincing the children and Barty to colour for a while. _'Draco is good husband. Knows vhen he is beaten.'_

Hermione snorted. _'Behind every strong man is a strong woman_.' Draco's eyes widened and his mouth twitched, like he was fighting a laugh. _'Trollish poetry.'_

_'Hmm, they are love poems in it, you think? I love you more than sheeps I eat, like that_?'

Hermione giggled._ 'I hope not. Imagine how it would sound.'_

_'Well, you'll both find out, if this keeps up. Better yet, I'll teach the children.'_

_'Don't you dare. Keep us up all night vith that.'_

_'Perhaps you ought to stop teasing me, then._' Draco grinned to show he didn't mind and cancelled the bubble. They spent a very enjoyable afternoon colouring, answering questions, and helping Barty teach the children 'Hail Smiling Morn'. It was fun.

The fun evaporated as soon as the carriages touched French soil. The press at Durmstrang had been a carefully handpicked group, comprised on journalists who knew how things were to be, and a similar number of handpicked Bulgarians, and a few Scandinavians to keep the Swedes and Norwegians sweet.

The French were a different story. As soon as the doors opened, a crowd of people with cameras clamoured forth, shouting questions, flashing bulbs going off like tiny explosions. Behind Hermione, the children shrank back with cries of alarm, and Draco, sighing soundlessly, put Yana on his hip and asked Ivan to hold Barty's hand.

The adults saw the media storm and winced internally as one. Bellatrix was straining at the slips, wanting to go to her daughter, having seen very little of her lately. Hermione was so fragile and easily scared; the Dark Lord wouldn't want her upset by all this. Suppose it should make her bilious or give her a headache? Rodolphus put a hand to her arm and squeezed, and she forced herself to relax and paste on one of her weird, stiff smiles for the cameras.

_'If they upset the girl'_ she said, still smiling _'I will carve out their livers_.' She meant it, too. Rodolphus smiled as well, a good deal more naturally, and watched as Viktor helped Hermione from the carriage. The flashbulbs went wild.

The rest of the group came out as orderly as soldiers on parade, and the press got several good pictures. One of the normally dour Krum, smiling at his child-fiancée with what looked like real pleasure; one of the Butcher of Britain and his tall, elegant wife, and their son; one of the Lestranges, all three, he handsome and natural, she tiny and fierce, hair a wild corona about her head.

Most of the Death Eaters had, in the obnoxious way of the press, been summarily crowned with nicknames as well, and as the group walked for the white stone of the chateau which housed Beauxbatons, Hermione heard them for the first time.

'The Destroying Angel' they called as Bellatrix went by, and 'The Monster of Ministry Square' at Rodolphus. Rabastan and Barty had nicknames too, but Hermione tried not to hear them, clutching Viktor's arm tightly, feeling her throat tightening.

Viktor could tell that she didn't like the gauntlet any better than he did, and so he did what he could, which is to say that he walked as fast as he could without bowling her over.

Draco had a slightly easier time of it, as he spoke no French, and so whilst he got the gist, he was spared the particulars. He was still holding Yana, who'd buried her face in his neck and was sniffling in a way that indicated this was all much too much for her sensibilities.

Barty and Ivan were slightly better, as Snape was flanking Ivan on his other side and so protected him from the worst of things. Barty seemed utterly unfazed, and he talked cheerfully the entire time about how much fun they'd have.

_'*We'll see if there are ducks here to feed, Ivan. I'd like that, wouldn't you?*'_

Ivan nodded. '_*Yana, too. She likes ducks.*'_

_'*Sev, you'll come feed the ducks with us, won't you? And Salazar?*'_

_'*We'd be delighted, Barty.*'_ Snape would rather have dug out both eyes with a teaspoon, but he appreciated that Barty's poor fried neurons were doing their utmost to be of use, and that the children would make a scene otherwise.

'_*And perhaps run a bit on that nice green lawn, once the reporters are gone.*'_

_'*Yes*'_ said Ivan, wanting to be distracted 'and turn cartwheels.' Snape found himself nodding along, feeling almost proud of both the boys beside him, and strangely, missing the man Barty ought to have been.

Olympe Maxime had decided to dress to kill and to hell with the consequences. She was turned out in cerise moire, with accents of deep brown that looked most elegant against her hair and skin, which was her finest feature.

Beside her, Moreau was similarly dressed for bear, so to speak, and had waxed his idiotic moustaches to their greatest degree. He bowed on seeing Severus Snape, the Dark Lord's emisary, and all the others.

'Welcome, friends, to France.' A small ripple went through the group; a few of the British spoke French, but none of the Bulgarians did. Viktor could feel himself flushing; damn this smug bastard to the depths of hell. It was a statement of the crudest and nastiest kind, and one he could not refute.

Olympe would have none of it. 'Minister, please permit me to cast a translation spell.'

'No need, Madame. I'm sure you translate most ably.'

'The Krums did not speak English, that I know of.'

Moreau was still smiling. 'What do I care? The Dark Lord's damned lapdogs, is what they are. They're fortunate they were invited.' He'd dropped his voice, assuming that the Lestrange girl either couldn't hear him or wouldn't be able to follow.

Hermione stiffened, and so did Narcissa Malfoy. Olympe was going pink, and she leant over. 'These people are my guests, Aurelien.'

'Mine as well, but I shan't be discommoded to keep a bunch of filthy shepherds sweet.'

Olympe wanted to throw him out of her school, but she couldn't with the press there. 'My English will not be adequate to the exchange. Perhaps Miss Lestrange?'

'Miss Lestrange speaks French that fluently?'

'One would almost think she was born to it.'

Hermione, sensing her cue, stepped forth. 'Good afternoon, Minister.'

'Mademoiselle' he said slowly, as though he thought she would not understand 'how good...to meet ...you.'

'And yourself, sir. My people are most desirous that beneficial concord should be reached through the work that is done here. May I introduce Severus Snape?'

The Minister realised he had likely made a gross error but pressed on. 'Please do.'

Snape bowed. _'Minister, our lord bids you good health and asks that you forgive his absence. He is indisposed, unfortunately.'_

Hermione translated, and the usual mouthings went on for some time. After Snape, she introduced Viktor, lord of Castle Krum and nominal head of the party.

_'Viktor, Minister is not nice man. Very rude. He make nasty comment just now_.' Hermione made sure to translate everything she'd heard him say, and the Krums looked at one another in understanding and shared anger.

Viktor bowed. _'My people might be filthy shepherds, but we have manners, you ignorant, ill-bred cretin. Weren't you taught any better than this_?'

'Minister, Viktor wishes me to thank you for receiving us, and begs your indulgence, as he is unfamiliar with the customs of France.'

'Of course.'

Penko was next. _'You snide bastard, I hope a rat chews that stupid moustache off your face as you sleep_.'

'My uncle asks me to thank you for providing us an opportunity to work for mutual benefit, and hopes the natural beauty of out setting might encourage us all to reflect.'

Finally the Death Eaters were called forth. Those introductions were a bit smoother, at least, and finally the whole group moved inside to rest and freshen up. Hermione got her major good surprise of the day, in that she found Alise, dressed nicely in a deep coral coloured dress and robes in a brown that matched Olympe's, waiting by the office.

'This is Mademoiselle Sproga. She speaks Bulgarian, French and a little English. Feel free to ask her assistance at any time.'

As soon as the headmistress had turned, Hermione went to greet her friend and introduce her. 'Viktor, this is Alise, a very close friend of mine.'

Alise curtsied. _'My lord_.' She'd known him at once, and would have even if she'd not seen his picture before in the papers, and from Hermione's often fondled photo of the two of them. They seemed to be connected to one another, as though they were becoming-or were-two parts of the same whole.

_'Miss Sproga. I am forever in your debt for teaching my fiancée our language_.' He smiled, eyes on his fiancée, and Hermione leant over and took Alise's hand excitedly. _'Where are you sleeping?'_

_'My old room. My lady.'_

_'Alise. We talk about this.'_

Viktor flashed on his conversation with Snape a year earlier and understood. _'Hermione, I must go and speak to Uncle Rumen. It was a pleasure, Miss Sproga_.' He bowed and departed, leaving the girls to chat. Hermione caught her friend's hand excitedly.

'Come meet my family?'

Alise went still. 'Hermione, I don't know...'

'Please?' Hermione wasn't going to let her friend be relegated to the background if she could help it. Just because Alise was muggleborn didn't mean she didn't deserve to be treated nicely, after all.

Bellatrix knew at once who the girl was. She gave her daughter a warning look, which Hermione guiltily pretended not to see. _'Mother, this is my friend Alise. Alise, this is my mother, Bellatrix Lestrange.'_

_'Charmed, I'm sure.'_

_'And yourself, Madam. Hermione is alvays saying about you and your husband_.' Alise smiled, and to her surprise, the woman didn't precisely smile back, but she did relax a bit.

_'Go and introduce Snape to Miss Sproga, girl, and see to Elisaveta, she's looking peaky_.'

Alise understood they'd been dismissed, and followed her friend to a tall, strange looking man with eyes like ink and stringy black hair the same shade. ' _Alise, this is Professor Severus Snape. Professor, my dear friend Alise Sproga.'_ Snape bowed and studied the little Latvian. Pretty, he thought distantly, most suitable to his ends.

Meantime, Bellatrix had grabbed Rodolphus and explained what had happened. _'The mudblood is here?'_

_'In the flesh.'_

_'They're really quite intent on insulting us, aren't they?'_

Bellatrix looked round before she said the next part. _'This might be a good thing. She'll favour us if we're nice to her.'_

_'But a mudblood...'_

_'She's the one that's taught Hermione all these months.'_

Rodolphus looked over to where his daughter was speaking to Elisaveta, who did look a bit green about the gills. Loss of her children in such close succession, and so traumatically, had damaged the woman; she seemed lost now, drifting.

_'Bellatrix, what harm will this do Hermione's moral development?'_

_'The Dark Lord once tried to recruit Lily Potter, did He not?'_

Rodolphus bent his head. _'Darling, we saw how that went.'_

_'All I'm saying is that this could work out. If she's friends with Hermione, she must be smart.'_

_'And if the Dark Lord asks?'_

_'I'll remind him about what I told you, is all.'_

_'Fine, then, but remind her about place, won't you?'_

_'I always do.'_

Bellatrix approached her daughter and gestured to her, leaving Alise speaking with Elisaveta. _'Girl, come here a moment?'_

_'Mother?'_ Hermione looked nervous, and Bellatrix restrained herself from smoothing her hair. _'Don't think we've not guessed who that girl is. You're lucky I convinced your father it's all right.'_

_Hermione paled a bit. 'Yes, Mother.'_

_'I ought to tan your hide for you like it is.'_

_'Yes, Mother.'_

_'Do you even know what for?'_

_'No, Mother.'_

_'Well, neither do I, but it's what Grandmama would have done. Fortunate I'm not her, aren't you?'_

_'You said it was all right, Mother. A place for everyone.'_

_'I know what I said. Just be careful, girl, would you?'_

_'I will, Mother.'_

_'Course you will.'_ Bellatrix gave the girl one of her awkward little pats, and Hermione leant into her a second. _'I've missed both of you loads.'_

_'Hmmph, you're just happy I've not decided to whack you.'_

_'Partly. But I really did miss you.'_ She wished she could hug Mother, but she knew better than that.

_'I'll tuck you in tonight. Not too old, are you?'_

_'No, Mother.'_ Hermione's eyes lit up, and once again, Bellatrix wondered what the war was costing them all, that her child's best friend was a mudblood and that Hermione was so excited about being tucked in.


	64. Chapter 64

**A/N: Love to reviewers and Countess Black**

**The twelve youths is a fictional story, but the inscription is based on a real one, taken from the Kohima World War II memorial for the British 2nd Division. The full inscription reads:**

**"When You Go Home, Tell Them Of Us And Say,  
For Their Tomorrow, We Gave Our Today"**

Lemuel Scabior had arrived on French soil at dawn the morning of the big arrival. He'd got out of the carriage and met with his French counterpart, Lapin. The two had sniffed one another out a bit, decided it would work, and then went to work checking the grounds of the school.

Whilst the nobs had been arriving, he'd been in quarters, relaxing a bit. He missed Chum, but Snape had insisted the rat be left in England in the care of the elf. So he'd read a bit of the paperback he'd brought with him, masturbated, and then took a small rest, knowing they didn't want the international press to see him or any of the other Snatchers.

Finally he'd risen, bathed, and went to find Snape for his next order. He found the man speaking to young lord Krum, and bowed to them both. _'Evenin, sirs. I opes I'm not interruptin.'_

_'Not at all. My lord Krum, perhaps you'd take a turn about the grounds?'_

_'Yes, I take a valk. Good evening, gentlemen_.' He turned and slipped into the darkness.

_'Ows doins, sir_?'

_'Fine, Scabior. Those reporters will be a problem, make sure to keep them away. Especially from the children, and Mr. Crouch. Have you men patrolling the grounds?_'

_'I do, sir. Rice elped me t make a roster. I've given a copy t the Boss an also t Malfoy senior. Should I gives one to milord as well?'_

_'And Rumen, if you would. Make sure they know who's to be here and who isn't.'_

_'Yes, sir. Been a long time.'_

_'It has, at that. How have you been, Scabior_?'

Scabior shrugged philosophically. _'Awright, I expects, sir. Tired, mebbe. Ard, it is, livin in a strange land.'_

_'Do you find Bulgaria pleasant?'_

_'I do. The Krums is real nice, and the trainin of the aurors is goin like you'd not b'lieve.'_

_'So you'll want to stay on?'_

_'Y'sir, spects I will. Ow's Etty?'_

_'Fine. She's here, actually. Stay away from her.'_

_'I wouldn't do nothin to urt er prospects, sir.'_

_'I didn't think you would. Your future wife is here as well.'_

_'Is she? Kin I meets er?'_

_'We'll see._' Snape wasn't one hundred percent sure he wanted them to meet-suppose they should dislike one another? Or the girl should feel revolted by the man's strange appearance?

_'I'd not urt her, sir, n'more than I would Etty. She's still jus a lil girl, aint she?'_

Snape couldn't answer at first. _'I wouldn't say a little girl, precisely, but still quite young, yes_.'

_'Awright, then. Poor lil thing, all alone like she is_.' He shook his head, and Snape wondered how the two Scabiors, the savage and the sentimental, could live with apparent comfort in the same skin. Perhaps he'd be a happier man for not thinking too much on that.

_' For now, just make sure none of the reporters gets in, would you?'_

Scabior's face darkened. _'I ates em any'ow, sir.'_

Snape could believe it, having seen the publicity after the man had been arrested. He nodded and bid Scabior farewell in time for Krum to return.

_'Hello, Professor.'_

_'My lord Krum.'_

Krum cocked his head. _'You don't need to call me that here, Professor. No lords in France, is that right?'_

_'It is. How have you been?'_

The boy-was he now?-sighed deeply, huge hands knotted loosely by his side. _'Vell, sir, but tired. Is hard to do all things that must be done.'_

Get used to it, Snape wanted to say, but didn't. Instead, he nodded and sat down on a near bench, casting muffiliato and a silencing bubble just to be safe. Krum sat down next to him and said nothing. Snape liked men of few words; to reward him, he got to the point.

_'How are you feeling about the Cup?'_

_'Nervous. I don't like having so many people in small place, Snape. Vill be...metal thing...for volves.'_

_'Magnet. Yes, it will. Security is be very tight, but be aware of anything suspicious you see.'_

_'I vill. And Moreau is rude to us today. Herm-on-nee-knee is not liking.'_

_'She doesn't care for petty bullies, any more than I do.'_

_'Is like little dog in yard, making loud noise_.' Krum's face made it clear what he thought of that. Snape nodded his agreement. Krum considered gravely a moment.

_'Miss Sproga is the girl you send to us vhen she grows up, to be Scabior's vife.'_

_'Yes.'_

_'Is she knowing about that?'_

_'No, and she can't. He's her only choice. The best I could do is marry her to another Snatcher, but...'_

_'Not better in the end. Maybe vorse.'_

_'Exactly. Do you see my dilemma...*my problem*?'_

_'I do. But you tell Herm-on-nee-knee yet?'_

The boy's eyes were bright, perceptive, and Snape wished, for a moment, that Krum had been the dense rustic he'd initially taken him for. Then he reminded himself that this trainee of his was his legacy to the world, and made himself press forward.

_'Neither girl knows. It would, perhaps, be advisable not to mention it at this time.'_

Krum shook his head. _'I don't think vould be good idea. Herm-on-knee-nee don't forgive me if I keep from her. And Miss Sproga still can come vithout being married.'_

_'Your family would allow a strange muggleborn to come and live with them on your say-so?'_

Krum nodded. _'I find her husband, if need be.'_

Snape nodded slowly. _'You do understand it would be better if she married Scabior?'_

_'Yes, of course. But Scabior is..._' He gestured a little and there were worlds in his motion, an understanding of precisely who and what Scabior was.

_'I know. I've no reason to believe he would mistreat Miss Sproga. And if he did, you could stop it. It would tie them both inextricably to you, and through yourself, to me. Do you see?'_

He did. _'I vonce tell Herm-on-nee-knee, var is deciding to sell somevon and then finding his price.'_

_'What did she say?'_

_'She say we did right thing. Vas about Stefan.'_

_'And now?'_

_'About Stefan? Don't know. About this? Don't know._' He looked at his boots, still sporting their mirror shine, and slumped a little, sighing. Snape was shocked by his own urge to soften the blow slightly.

_'You never will. The best we can do is to choose the least harming option and hope it works out in the end. Perhaps theirs will be a great love.'_

Viktor looked dubious. _'He have a knife he use to finish them, Professor. At Ministry, he finish them with knife._' He drew a finger across his neck to demonstrate, and Snape couldn't precisely refute that, because he had seen it too.

_'He's a brutal man, Krum. I've never said he wasn't. He's also the best choice, as you've agreed.'_

Viktor nodded sadly. _'Sometimes ve sell them to save them.'_

_'Yes_.' Snape was remembering selling a little girl for a thousand aurors. Granted, it had ended well enough, as the fact he had an apprentice spymaster could attest. He looked across the grounds, where fat indigo peacocks were roosting in the trees for the night.

_'Somevon say once that ve all have ghosts, Professor. Just have to be sure they are friend ghosts. No, vord is not right. Vhen being like friend...'_

_'Friendly. Make sure the ghosts are friendly.'_

_'Yes. Is like that. Make sure the vons you sell deserve it.'_

_'Or that they profit through your actions, somehow.'_

_'Profit?'_

_'End up better than they started.'_

Krum nodded. _'You tell her or I?'_

_'I'd rather, if you wouldn't mind.'_

_'No. Might be better from you. She respect you very much.'_

_'And I her, surely.'_

Viktor nodded. _'I vill alvays owe you, sir, for bringing me Herm-on-nee-knee and her family. If anything should happen...ve vould be honoured if you came to us._' He bowed and retreated toward the ghostly white bulk of the school. Snape saw a shape emerging from the door nearest them, and realised it was Miss Lestrange, her yellow robes a bright spot in the fading light.

The two figures stopped briefly and exchanged what seemed to be either a kiss or words at close quarters. The elf was floating behind his little spy, white towel bright in the torchlight.

Hermione was glad to see her professor. She sat on the bench and smiled brightly at him. _'Hello, Professor.'_

_'Miss Lestrange. You're quite ebullient tonight.'_

_'I was dancing with the children. It was fun.'_

_'Excellent.'_

_'Barty is quite a good dancer, you know.'_

_'I recall.'_

Hermione reached into her pocket and handed him something wrapped in a handkerchief. _'Yana sent it to you_.' He pulled out a lump of something, and Hermione grinned. _'Turkish delight. We brought some from home. Aunt Lyudmilla makes it.'_

Snape hoped the little girl wasn't getting a crush on him as she had on Draco. _'How is your friend Miss Sproga?'_

_'She's fine, Professor. We were all dancing.'_

_'She is still amenable to the plan?'_

_'She is. She said...Madame was talking to her about it.'_

'_Oh_?' Snape felt a winkle of alarm in his chest, wondering what this could mean. Having the girl there had already thrown off his plans, and he liked this less and less.

_'I'll find out more, but...why would she think that? We'd never hurt Alise.'_

_'She doesn't know that, Miss Lestrange. She has little reason to love the Death Eaters.'_

Hermione nodded slowly. _'Because she's a half giant?'_

_'Yes.'_

_'Mother says there's a place for everyone in our society.'_

_'Yes_' he said uncomfortably_ 'but there's debate as what place that would be._' The less said, the better, and fortunately Miss Lestrange seemed to feel the same way, because she bit her lip a moment and then said _'Professor?'_

_'Miss Lestrange?'_

_'Thank you for riding with us today. It was fun.'_

_'Most enjoyable, yes. Miss Lestrange, do you trust me?'_

_Hermione blinked. 'Of course I do.'_

_'Miss Sproga's future husband is here.'_

_'Who is it? May they meet_?' Hermione, having had her choice made for her, was eager for Alise to get what she did not-romance, the chance to know one another, an idyll, even if she wouldn't have known to call it that.

_'Lemuel Scabior. That's up to you.'_

Hermione jumped up. _'No!'_

_'I beg your pardon?'_

_'I said no. You can't marry Alise to him, he's not...no, Professor.'_

_'Miss Lestrange, sit down this second. You're behaving childishly.'_

_'I'm not either. Scabior is..._' She sat down and looked at her professor, eyes filled with tears. Snape found himself half wanting to shake her. The other half wanted to say something soothing to help this pill go down.

_'Miss Lestrange, I understand your objections. I even agree with them. But there are other factors here_.' He outlined basically what he'd told Viktor, and despite herself, Hermione found that she could follow that chain of logic.

_'Is there no other way?'_

_'Not one as neat as this, no. She would be safest married, and he's the most suitable candidate.'_

Hermione looked down. _'She could come and stay with us without marrying him, couldn't she?'_

_'She could, but who else will she marry, Miss Lestrange? A farmer? A herdsman?'_

_'Oh.'_

_'Oh.'_

_'For what it is worth to you, I do not believe that he will be brutal to her. They might discover they like one another.'_ Or could tolerate one another, at least.

_'They've nothing in common.'_

_'They will. Common employment, the experience of living in a foreign land, devotion to your family. And they both like Quidditch.'_

_'Professor? Do **you** trust **me**?'_

_'I do.'_ What could the girl be up to?

_'I've two conditions.'_

_'Conditions?'_

_'Yes. For me to agree to this.'_

_'The first?'_ He was surprised and not wholly pleased by her audacity, but hadn't it served her well in the past?

_'That they meet, and if they hate one another, we make a second plan. Even if it's just another Snatcher or something.'_

_'Agreed.'_ He'd just make sure they liked one another, was all, even if he had to dose Scabior for the rest of his life to make that happen.

_'And if you believe he is mistreating her-at all, ever-you'll find a way to get her free of him_.' Her eyes were flat and her voice was firm. She looked like her mother, all passion, but passion turned forever toward something outside the realm of mere human emotion. Not a Cause, thank God, or was it?

_'Agreed. You strike rather a hard bargain, Miss Lestrange.'_

_'I learnt from the best_.' She settled back and gnawed her lip harder, clearly thinking about all the things they'd just discussed.

_'May I ask you something_?' Snape wanted to test this, to flesh it out.

_'Please do.'_ She was still gnawing hard, hands twisting in their laps.

_'What would you shrink from doing in this?'_

_'Shrink from?'_

_'If you discovered the best way to free your friend would be to poison Scabior, would you do it?'_

_'I don't know.'_

_'How did you council your fiancé when it came to Stefan?'_

_'This last time?'_

_'Indeed.'_

Hermione looked round cautiously, and Snape mentally patted her head. Good girl, he wished he could say, good girl. He didn't, but still.

_'Uncle Rabastan and Uncle Penko told us he's in Romania, and that we should...make sure he couldn't hurt us again.'_

_'Quite so. And then?'_

_'Viktor...wanted to take the gentler course, so we want to get him alive and put him in a hospital or something with a reoccurrence of his rash. Those things hurt the brain sometimes, don't they?'_

_'They do.'_

_'And I said we should let his mother see him, only give him something to make him rave first, so he seems mad. If she's convinced, everyone else will be as well.'_

Snape was well pleased. _'I couldn't agree more.'_

_'What would you do?'_

He couldn't very well tell her he'd sent a strangler after the man. _'I think the plan was well considered.'_

_'Sometimes I wonder what peace is going to feel like after all this, Professor. Don't you?'_

_Snape looked at a peacock, roosting in a low tree. 'No, Miss Lestrange. I can't say that I do.'_

_'Don't you want this war to end?'_

_'I do, but my concerns are the immediate_.' He could hardly tell her he didn't expect to live to see peace. Instead, he dropped his voice.

_'Have you ever seen the monument to the twelve youths of Canterbury?'_

_'No, Professor.'_

_'They sacrificed themselves in order that the women and children of their village should be able to flee a raid during the second goblin war. The monument is one of the oldest in Britain. Do you know what it says, Miss Lestrange?_'

She shook her head no. He dropped his voice even more. _'It's in runes. You've taken runes, have you not?'_

_'I have.'_

Snape called for a piece of parchment and a quill, and wrote the runes out. Hermione took just under a minute to solve it.

_'"For your tomorrows, we gave our todays."'_

_'That's right.'_

_'Is that what you do, Professor_?'

_'Yes, it is. A man gets only so many todays, Miss Lestrange, before they start to seem less an end in themselves than pieces on a chessboard.'_

The girl looked sadly at him. _'And us, Professor? What are we_?'

He met her eyes. _'You even need to ask me that, Miss Lestrange_?'

Then he had an armful of teenage girl, and she was sniffling. Not crying, thank God, but sniffling. How the hell had this happened? Snape didn't even like to be touched, and now he had an armful of girl.

_'Oh, Professor.'_

_'Miss Lestrange, are you preparing to faint?'_

She shook her head and sat up. _'I'm sorry. I was just...I didn't realise.'_

_'Indeed._' She was still giving him that tragic look, which was, he supposed, sort of...not unpleasant. Tolerable, even. He heard a bark and turned to see Salazar.

_'Sev! Hermione! We're dancing! Will you come dance too_?'

Hermione stood up. _'Barty! Salazar, hello, boy_.' She bent down and hugged the dog's neck, and he responded by putting his paws on her shoulders, like a hug. She cooed, snuggling against him.

_'We'll see Bess soon, Salazar. Are you excited?_' He barked to show that he was and took off, prompting her to chase after, giggling.

_'What's wrong, Sev?'_

_'Nothing, Barty. Why?'_

The madman looked serious, brow furrowing, as though he was trying to formulate his reasoning. _'You just seem different, I suppose. Sadder. Hermione gave you a hug.'_

_'Yes, she did.'_

_'Is she sad?'_

_'We were discussing things, Barty. Being a teenager is hard, do you recall?'_

Barty nodded. _'She's lucky to have a family that cares about her.'_

_'She is, at that.'_ Snape looked about the garden, watching the girl gambolling with the dog. He hadn't seen Miss Lestrange this excited in a very long time.

_'Sev?'_

_'Barty?'_

_'It's all right for you to admit it, you know.'_

_'Sorry?'_

_'That you like being part of a family.'_

_'A family?'_

_'Our family. You're part of it too.' Barty watched the girl and the dog frisking about._

_'Britain is my family, Barty.'_

_'Britain and us, Sev.'_ Snape was surprised by what he was hearing. Moments like this made him realise what had been lost, and that there were things that could never be fixed. His friend was trapped in a limbo that he couldn't get him out of, and probably wouldn't have even if he could, but that didn't make it hurt any less, to be sure.

_'Perhaps_' acknowledged Snape, and surely it was only to be gracious. He studied his mad friend, whose eyes were darting, and prayed this moment of lucidity would end.

It didn't. _'I love them too, you know.'_

_'I've never doubted it.'_

_'I loved Bella, didn't I? Before, I mean. She was...very beautiful, do you recall?'_

_'I do.'_

_'I don't...she's like a sister now. Maybe that's better.'_

_'Sometimes it is.'_

They walked in comfortable silence for another few moments. _'Sev?'_

_'Barty?'_

_'Did you do that offering like you said?'_

_'I did.'_ He had, too. Barty nodded and seemed to think hard about it.

_'I'm glad they're having a baby. It might be good for Gennie.'_

_'How so?'_

_'She seems lonely. Couldn't we find her a friend?'_

_'She's got you, Barty.'_

_'Of course she does. What about a cat?'_

_'Perhaps she doesn't care for them?'_

_'Or a bird. Mother had budgies.'_

_'I never met them.'_

_'I miss Mother, sometimes. She was a very nice lady. If I regret anything, it's hurting her.'_

_'Quite philosophical today.'_

_'Sometimes the fog in my mind clears and I see things. It'll be back. It's better when it's back, I think.'_

_'Why do you think that?'_

_'Because when it's gone, I feel...changed. I know how things are supposed to be, but I...it doesn't work.'_

_'What doesn't?'_

Barty's voice was calm and without grief. _'My brain. That's why I'm like this. I broke my mind.'_

Snape could hardly refute that, and instead he forced himself to clap his friend's shoulder, uncomfortably, but he felt he had a duty to do.

_'It's just as well. I can serve the Cause better this way. When I remember, I mean. I did just now.'_

_'What did you do?'_

Barty sounded pleased with himself. _'I talked to Viktor.'_

_'About what?'_

_'They aren't children anymore, you know. I explained about why he and Hermione mustn't be alone.'_

_'What did you tell him?'_

_'I told him...well, you know, about the bee and the flower_.'

Snape stopped dead. _'Barty, you told Viktor about...'_

_'Not too much, but enough that he'd know. Don't you remember how hard it is at that age?'_

_'I do.'_ Snape was digging his blunt fingernails into the palms of both hands, trying not to laugh out loud at the thought of Barty giving the Krum boy the bee and flower talk.

_'I'm sure his father's said.'_

_'It's hardly the same, what one's father says and what it's actually about.'_

_'I wasn't aware you'd had a woman.'_

_'I did, once. In Knockturn Alley. It was pleasant, I suppose._' He sounded more or less indifferent, which was a blessing, as far as Snape was concerned.

_'But boys that age do have urges.'_

_'What did he say back?'_

_'He promised not to forget. Hullo, Salazar_!' The dog had circled back, yapping, and Barty took off after, giggling. Snape shook his head, and along with the dog, made his way inside, where there was indeed dancing.

It was a strange sight, to say the least. The children were clustered about a phonograph, clearly waiting, the Latvian girl with them, and the massive figure of Olympe Maxime in a chair built to scale next to Hetty and Eugenia.

Snape went and spoke to the others, bowing to the ladies. From the corner of his eye, he caught a small blonde head coming toward him, and to his shock, the little girl tugged the sleeve of his robe.

'_*Professor, come dance with us?*'_

_*'I...*'_

_'*Barty says you dance well.*'_

_'*I have a pain in my back, child.*'_

Yana looked sceptical. '*_Professor, sitting still won't make it feel better. You need to walk it off. Like when I had those growing pains, remember?*_'

Malfoy senior, the great prat, was smirking at him. Snape decided a little payback was in order.

'*_Your uncle is a very talented dancer as well. Wouldn't you rather he go?*'_

_'*You both can*_' said Yana brightly, and gave Lucius a look that suggested there was no possible way for him to refuse gracefully. Snape, too, walked toward the phonograph, dreading what was surely going to be an evening of dancing and singing of the sort of assiduously avoided.

In short order, the girl had got most of the adults (except Eugenia, for obvious reason, and Cunegarde, also for obvious reason) ready to dance. Finally she approached Olympe Maxime, looking up at her with big bluish green eyes.

_'*You're Hermione's teacher.*'_

_'*Yes, I am.*'_

She stepped closer and looked curiously at the half-giantess. Olympe steeled herself for the inevitable questions, the awkward pause, the parents looked both abashed and a little smug-that's what you get for pretending to be one of us, the looks always said.

_'*You've got pretty rings. Come and dance with us?*'_ She held out an impossibly tiny hand, and Olympe felt a confounding mixture of pleasant surprise and sadness.

_'*I am not well tonight, child.*'_

_'*We brought potions. Hermione would probably give you one, if you wanted.*'_

_'*Another night, Mademoiselle Krum.*'_

Yana accepted this with a nod. '*_All right. But if you change your mind, we'll teach you.*'_ She wanted to get close to this woman and look at her gorgeous, sparkly rings, and also her earrings. Her size dissuaded Yana not a bit; all grownups were big. This one was simply bigger than most.

Hermione came to save her headmistress, sending Yana to ask whether Elisaveta would like some tea to drink. 'Sorry, Madame. Yana has a way of getting what she wants.'

'Not at all, Mademoiselle.'

'If you do change your mind, please don't hesitate to join us.' Hermione curtsied and went back to the others, stopping to speak to Grandmama Elisaveta. The old woman seemed a bit happier now that they were dancing, but Hermione still wanted to find a way to help cheer her up.

During a short break, Snape approached Viktor whilst he was having some water to drink._ 'I hear Barty had some words for you?_' He murmured softly.

Viktor nodded slowly. _'He did. Vas...interesting.'_

_'I hope it's not put you off women.'_

_'It vas nothing I have not heard. I am on sports team, remember?'_

_'True.'_ Snape didn't know that Hermione had already given him a frank explanation of exactly how one did that.

_'You are enjoying our dances?'_

_'It is not like anything I have done before.'_

Viktor grinned. _'You dance at my wedding, yes?'_

_'I shall make a point of it.'_ If he lived that long. And could find no way out of it. And had had a suitable amount of slivov first. And threatened to eviserate Malfoy with a teaspoon should he ever mention it again. Then, perhaps, he would dance.

The group danced a long time, and enjoyed themselves, and Olympe got part of her answer: they were not, apparently, Death Eaters whilst they were doing Bulgarian folkdance.


	65. Chapter 65

**A/N: Love to reviewers and Countess Black**

** I was trying to explain about this story to my father. He was fine until I mentioned Bess, at which point he said, verbatim 'Oh, that poor dog. What did you do to it?'**

** I very indignantly said nothing, Bess is just fine. His response? 'Yes, but for how long?'**

**Strangely, I've had this conversation with a lot of people. Hmmm...**

Hermione finished Alise's hair and smiled at her friend. _'You look pretty, Alise_.' They were speaking Bulgarian, and Alise nodded Bulgarian style as she rose, anxiously smoothed her robes and then waited for Hermione to proceed her. Hermione hated it but knew better than to argue, and firmly linked arms with her friend as they walked to the fountain in the formal garden where Alise was finally to meet her intended.

She'd had no reaction to being told it was Scabior. Hermione had had tears in her eyes, but Alise had been pragmatic. _'He is a kind man, Hermione, you've said so yourself. We both knew it wouldn't be a king.'_

_'I know. But I...I'm sorry, Alise.'_

_'I'm not. It's better than nothing._' She put a hand to Hermione's arm and straightened her necklace for her. _'I'm ready when you are, Hermione._' She wasn't, she would never be, but it had to be now, before she lost her nerve.

Unbeknowst to the others, Rinky had special instructions. Hermione had spoken to him the night before, as he was dressing her for bed. 'Rinky, Alise is going to need us. So if she's upset, I'd like it if you'd help her, all right? I'll call Sneztka or Blixo if I have to have a chaperone, but you concentrate on making sure Alise is all right.'

The elf had agreed. He wasn't one hundred percent sure he approved of mudbloods on principle, but he loved Miss so much he'd have done even without being ordered. And Rinky was fundamentally kind, and could see past Alise's blood to a hurt child who needed the sort of care only an elf could give. He hovered silently, knowing that Snape would send Mippy this time, but prepared to do his duty when the girl finally broke down privately.

Scabior had also smartened up. In his favourite red shirt and a clean waistcoat and matching trousers, he waited with Snape and the younger Krum near the fountain, trying not to fidget.

He didn't see the girls until they were nearly on them. Flower, looking right grown up, stood aside and let the other girl approach. She was tall, black haired, with good skin and large eyes.

He held out a hand. _'Ello, duck. M'name's Lem Scabior.' _He was glad she spoke English, because he spoke nothing else.

_'Alise Sproga. It is good to meet you, Mr. Scabior_.' She took his hand and shook it. She was having no reaction to any of this; it seemed to her to be happening to someone else.

Scabior was likewise philosophical. He thought the girl seemed perfectly fine but had no real emotional reaction. She would do admirably, he decided, and consented to wed her in his own mind, if only she would have him.

Snape snapped his fingers to summon Mippy. He'd given the elf absolute instructions to accompany the couple whenever they were alone together, and that's what it would do.

Scabior reached out and offered the girl his hand. _'Take a walk with me, please, duck_?' Alise blinked slowly and then put her hand in his. His hands were slightly dry but not unpleasant, and only a little bigger than hers.

The others watched as they walked into the gardens, Scabior talking up a storm. Hermione's hand found Viktor's, and he squeezed, hard, for a second. What had they done?

_'Yer from Lativia, then, Miss?'_

_'I am. I speak some English, but not very much_.'

_'Sounds fine t me_.' He motioned them to a bench and sat, still holding one of her hands in his, and then used his wand to swish a translation charm.

'*_Snape tells me you're real smart, Miss. I aint. I dont read s'good, and I dont know much about books n such, but if you marries me, I promise t make you appy as best I kin, and not t ave other women.*_'

Alise nodded. '_* I promise the same.*'_

_'*Yer to work fer Miss Lestrange, is that right?*'_

_'*Yes. As her assisstant.*'_

_'*I'm t teach new aurors the English style a fightin, an also t guard the castle gainst wolves an whatnot.*'_

Alise nodded. _'*You are a Snatcher.*'_

_'*I am. Yer daddy, e was an arky-tech, is that right? Made buildins?*'_

_'*Yes, he did.*'_ Alise didn't especially want to talk about that. It would hurt. Scabior picked up on it and let the matter drop.

'*_Right now, I lives with the boys in our own tower. If we were t marry, we'd ave our own place. I've an elf, even, to serve us. Not much in the way of furnishins, but mebbe we could get sum.*'_

The Krum lad had told him that, if he married, he'd see that Scabior and his wife had their own small set of chambers somewhere for privacy's sake.

'*_I'm sure it will be fine.*'_

_'*You aint a talker, yeah?*'_

_'*No.*'_

_'*I am. I kin talks for us both, mebbe_.*' Alise smiled a little and Scabior felt like he'd won a minor victory. He frowned, wondering whether he should tell her about Chum.

'*_I've a pet rat called Chum. You scared a rats?*'_

_'*No*_' said Alise very firmly '*_I'm bigger than they are.*'_

Scabior laughed. '*_Jus so! An e's a real sweet boy. Smart an all, e even knows tricks. E can bow, and push a spool, and climb on yer head to ride about.*_' He grinned, proud of his pet.

Alise seemed to accept this, at least, and said after a moment '*_I'd rather like that.*'_

_'*It's settled, then?*'_

She swallowed hard. '*_It is. Mr. Scabior, I accept your proposal_.*'

Meantime, Viktor was speaking with Rumen about the situation. Having left Snape and Hermione with her elf, he'd found his uncle in another part of the grounds, watching the children and Barty feeding some fat white ducks, who were waddling behind them, snapping greedily at the breadcrumbs they dropped.

'Hello_, Uncle.'_

_'Viktor. How are you?_' Rumen smiled and remembered when he could swing his nephew onto his shoulders as Viktor often did Ivan. Now Viktor was taller than his uncle in every sense.

_'Well, Uncle._' He dropped his voice and confided what Barty had told him the night before. Rumen covered his mouth and laughed into his sleeve for five minutes. _'Have you elected to enter a monastery, then?'_

_'I'd heard it from team-mates, Uncle. And it was kindly meant, to be sure.'_

Rumen watched the madman spinning Yana, who shrieked with glee and hugged him as soon as he'd stopped. _'Yes, of course.'_

_'Has my father told you about Snape's offer, Uncle?'_

_'Which offer would that be?'_

_'Full time security. How would you feel about it?'_

Rumen inhaled deeply. _'As the steward of the castle, or as your uncle?'_

_'Both, if you would.'_

_'As steward, I think it highly advisable. As your uncle, I hate to see us have to do this.'_

_'As do I, but things being as they are...'_

_'The castle is almost impregnable.'_

_'Almost isn't enough.'_

_'It's good to have trained fighter about, to be sure. Men at arms, almost, but...'_

_'It feels like the Middle Ages, Uncle, doesn't it_?' Viktor smiled wryly. War seemed a million miles from this sunlight place, but it was all about them, inside them, in the air they breathed and the water they drank.

_'I've had that thought. So my answer is I approve, but it grieves me tremendously.'_

_'In that case, perhaps it would be advisable for Scabior-to marry.'_

Rumen nodded slowly. _'What have you got in mind, Viktor?'_

_'The girl that's translating-Miss Sproga-needs a place after she graduates. Scabior needs a wife. If they're both amenable, Hermione and I feel that would be the best possible solution.'_

Rumen nodded slowly. _'If the lord and lady command, I obey.'_

_'Not the lord and lady, your niece and nephew. Do you have any strong feelings_?'

Rumen sat heavily. _'Honestly, yes. About this issue? Not really. I trust your judgement of the characters of both. And Miss...what is it?...can't take up much room.'_

_'Sproga. She's also got a grandmother. I was thinking we could find an empty house someplace.'_

_'Not the castle?'_

_'No, Uncle._' Viktor was a terrible liar, and Rumen, deciding he was speaking to his nephew and not his lord, cocked his head. _'Viktor? What aren't you telling me?'_

_'If you don't ask me, Uncle, I won't have to refuse to answer.'_

_'As my lord or my nephew?'_

_'Both.'_

Rumen nodded and smiled a little. _'You get more like Zhivka every day_.' From Rumen, it was a compliment, not a slap in the face like from Stefan, and Viktor grinned, ducking his head.

_'Your mother would also have helped these people, you know.'_

_'She always said a lord's first obligation is to aid the helpless.'_

_'I always had tremendous respect for Zhivka, Viktor. I think she would be enormously proud of how well you've done with this.'_

_'Thank you, Uncle.'_

The men watched as the children fed the ducks more crumbs, and were rewarded by renewed quacks and capering by the ducks.

_'You are a man now, Viktor. You're old enough for me to tell you that I feel very concerned about Martin.'_

Viktor swallowed hard. _'I am too. What do you...what happened?_'

Rumen offered his handkerchief to his nephew in lieu of anything more useful. _'Zhivka...she was his mainspring. They lived so completely together that now I think he's lost without her.'_

He had his fears about Viktor as well. He and the girl reminded him so much of Martin and his wife when they were young. What if something should happen to one of them?

Viktor held the handkerchief, saying nothing as his uncle spoke. _'That's what I think, too.'_

_'You understand, don't you, that Martin will never take the ring back?'_

_'Yes. I've known it a while now_.' He'd come to terms slowly, but seeing how old his father looked at Durmstrang had clinched it.

_'I love your father, Viktor, very dearly. But sometimes I am so angry with him that I can hardly think straight. It is inexcusable to me that he's dumped all this on yourself and Hermione at your ages._'

It was strange to hear Rumen-dry, matter of fact, logical Rumen-speaking about these things. Not that Viktor exactly disagreed, but still. The children were whooping and shouting.

Viktor outlined the conversation he'd had with his father over break. Rumen listened with a sinking heart. This was precisely what he meant. This situation could be a disaster, and the worst of it was his total inability to do the first thing to stop it.

_'What did you conclude?'_

_'If they come-and Uncle, I think they will-we'll call the bannermen and open the doors. If enough tenants come, we'll be able to stand and fight.'_

_'If they don't?'_

_'We've the Portkeys. Drago is responsible for getting the children safely to England.'_

_'What if England has fallen?'_

Viktor looked round and cast muffiliato. Calling his valet, he ordered the elf to sweep quickly for interlopers and then bring the maps and letters he needed. A bit further away, Barty was teaching the children some game that involved handclapping.

_'They can't attack us both at once, Uncle. The wolves don't have the men to besiege us and London at the same time. Unless Romania declares openly against us, one of us will always be able to accept the others.'_

_'And then what, Viktor?'_

Viktor looked grim, hard, older. His eyes, usually soft and shy, were cold. _'We send the women into exile as penniless beggars and return to take the castle back or die trying.'_

_'Where are the Portkeys keyed to?'_

_'The Bulgaria side is keyed to the headboard of the master bed in the keep. The England side is keyed to a painting in Malfoy Manor's master bedroom._'

'Good. What else did you want to discuss?' Rumen was steward primarily because it was tradition, but also because he was a walking account book in terms of being able to put things into neat columns in his mind.

_'If Aunt and yourself were amenable...'_

_'Yes?'_

_'I want the children taught English, starting as soon as possible. Once Miss Sproga comes, French, written and spoken both. It would help them, if they should need a language that wasn't Bulgarian.'_

_'Of course. It would help with situations like yesterday.'_

Viktor's jaw tightened. _'If the press hadn't been there...'_

_'We couldn't have done anything anyway. We need these people.'_

Rumen hadn't got the best impression of people thus far, and he wasn't sure he loved the idea of his children being taught all sorts of notions. But he could also see the virtues of what Viktor was saying, and it might improve Yana's chances to make a good marriage.

_'You know Uncle Grigor Borev isn't well, don't you_?'

Rumen, naturally did. _'I do._'

_'I was thinking...it'll pass to Stefan, you know. Thank God he's never on the lands. He'd have a hard time raising the tenants against us. Uncle might well disinherit him anyhow.'_

_'Good.'_

_'If he does, it'll go to me. If that happens, how would feel if I let it pass to Ivan_?'

Rumen went stock still. _'Viktor?'_

_'It's not as though we need the lands or the money, Uncle. It would keep it in the immediate family, and I think Ivan could be a very good lord, with instruction. Are you amenable?'_

_'I...that's...yes.'_

_'Of course, if I should have a second son, I'd expect Ivan to foster him. And I'll want to cede three of the rents-there's eight total-to Yana for her dowry. That will bring her up to five, and whatever Aunt Lyudmilla's family gives her.'_

_'Of course.'_

_'I wonder, though, whether you'd consider sending her here when she's of age? One is not conditional on the other. If you're not comfortable, that's fine.'_

_'Here?'_

Viktor nodded. _'We are modern people, Uncle. It's time people saw what Bulgarians are really like. Then...incidents...like yesterday won't happen.'_

Rumen nodded. _'I would be willing, yes, if Lyudmilla had no objections. Why are you...if you don't mind my asking?'_

Viktor looked down. _'Because I don't want things passing to some third cousin, for one. They could be any sort of person-a sot or a gambler or something worse. I'll have enough to deal with in Varna, for another. Your health is excellent, and I want you as my steward as long as you're capable, for a third. And it will give us another voice with the Ministry.'_

_'If you should have several sons...'_

_'One will be lord, one will inherit in England, and one will be our voice in Sofia, like Uncle Penko. Though I'm hoping for one son and a few daughters.'_

Rumen shook his head. _'You'd think girls are easier, but they aren't._' They both looked at Yana, who was directing the boys with her normal Lyudmilla-like flare for getting things done.

_'If I had a daughter, we could wed her to Drago's son.'_

_'That's true._' Rumen considered and decided to tread carefully. _'As lord, it is your right to arrange marriages, you know.'_

_'I do.'_

_'Will you want to wed Yana to Drago, after all?'_

_'She's too young, Uncle. I was hoping, if we sent her here, she might make a match with a Frenchmen or an Italian.'_

_'Neutral countries.'_

_'Yes. That could be a last resort in terms of escape.'_

Rumen watched his children playing the clapping game and felt a sadness steal over him. _'You've thought of it all, Viktor.'_

_'Not all, Uncle. But as much as I could. We'll just have to hope it's enough.'_

He opened the first map, conjuring a table to rest it on, and pointed to the first place that concerned him. _'If the wolves come, it'll have to be through here_...'

Alise and Scabior came back and Alise went with Hermione at once. _'You need to change for press conference after dinner, Hermione. Vhat are you going to vear?'_

_'Did you like Scabior?'_

Alise shrugged. _'He vas fine_.' She looked the robes over and frowned slightly. _'The blue brings out your eyes. Vhat about your hair?'_

_'I'll ask Rinky to set out the blue. The usual, I expect.'_

_'Vhy don't we try new one? Ve've time.'_ Alise had found a coiffure she thought would suit Hermione nicely and was eager to learn how to do it. Hermione nodded and called to Rinky.

_'Would you mind setting out my blue robes, Rinky?'_

_'No, Miss. What is Miss Alise wearing?'_

_'I'm not going, Rinky.'_

_'Not going?'_

_'I am here to help Madame, remember?'_

The old elf frowned but said nothing. He considered the idea of a human servant obscene, but Miss had explained why is was necessary, and Rinky had resolved to help the girl as best he could.

Alise was soon brushing Hermione's hair for her with the heavy hairbrush that had been Bellatrix's. She was good at it, and Hermione relaxed a bit. _'It was really all right?'_

_'He's as much as I could have hoped for, Hermione. He say he vants to make me happy_.'

Hermione knew it was the only way. But it hurt. She wondered whether this was adulthood, the death of ever being really sure she'd done right. She suspected it was, and also suspected she'd best not tell Alise about it. She'd got her friend into all this; the least she could do was keep her misgivings to herself.

The press conference was at six o'clock. The cadre of journalists assembled in the ballroom and Viktor, along with his coach and Lambert, the coach from the French team. The coaches nattered a long time about the nature of the Cup, what it meant to each country and all the other sorts of things they were expected to say.

The real purpose of the night was to showcase Viktor, Bulgaria's star player, and possibly the best Seeker in Europe. He'd slicked up one of his good summer tunics, and giving Hermione a wink for luck, he'd stepped onto the little dais with the flashbulbs snapping right and left.

_'*Mr. Krum, how do you feel about all this?*'_

_'*It is a great honour to be part of such an endeavour during so interesting a time in Wizarding history.*'_

_'*Do you feel optomistic about Bulgaria's chances?*'_

_'*Indeed I do. We've all trained very hard for this.*'_

'How do you feel about being the second youngest Seeker in World Cup history?'

_'*Grateful for the opportunity to have learnt from such talented players.*'_

_'*Do you believe skill or luck had more to do with your success?*'_

_'*Both*'_ said Viktor immediately, having spent a good deal of time pondering that himself. '*_Practice and hard work played a large role as well.*'_

_'*What's your advice to young Quidditch players?*'_

_'*Again, practice and hard work. And to treat those about them well.*'_

'_*It is true*'_ asked a wizard in the front row '*_that your fiancée gives you a token to carry for every match?*'_

Viktor blushed and his eyes found Hermione, who'd also gone pink. '_*Knowing I have the respect and affection of the finest lady I know is all the token I need.*'_

Unsurprisingly, that was quite a popular answer, and the flashbulbs intensified. Beside Narcissa, Lucius was smiling. _'Nicely managed'_ he said to her sotto voce, and decided to tell the boy so. Being a professional handler of words himself, he had a connoisseur's palate when it came to such things.

The Quidditch part of things ended and Hermione, in her blue, with a tiny swipe of lightly coloured salve on cheeks and lips, was invited up to take some pictures. She was glowing with pride, and the pictures were splashed on every newspaper and witch's magazine in Europe, and a few as far as the United States or South America.

As the group was doing the obligatory posing, Alise was sitting on her bed. She had the idea that Madame had thought being an assistant would cure her of wanting to be Hermione's friend or something.

It hadn't. In fact, she'd discovered she was good at it, and she loved being able to speak Bulgarian again. She liked the Krums, and she felt competent and needed in her role. Everything would work out. It would all be fine.

Wouldn't it? She laid back and closed her eyes for a moment. She trusted Hermione implicitly and always had; her choice in things had been made years earlier, and she accepted that.

Why, then, was it so bitter? She sat up and sighed deeply, wishing her Baba was there so they could talk about it. Wishing her Papa was there. Wishing...that she'd never been notified she had magic, perhaps? That they could've lived happy, normal lives without becoming involved in politics and werewolves and insanity?

She heard a pop and spun. It was Hermione's old elf, looking down at her with a strange look on it's seamed face. _'*Miss Alise is all right?'*_

_'*Yes, thank you, Rinky.*'_

Rinky frowned at her, as he did Hermione. _'*Not all right.*'_

_'*Just tired.*'_

The elf had dealt with generations of 'just tired' and was having none of it. He put his hands to his hips. _'*What else?*'_

Alise shook her head. _'*It's hard to believe all this is real.*'_

_'*Miss Alise is liking Scabior?'*_

_'*Do I have a choice?*'_

_'*Is always a choice, Miss Alise.*'_

_'*He seems fine. I just always thoughts...everyone else marries for love.*'_

_'*No, Miss. Rinky is seeing many marriages, but not many for love.*'_

_'*Hermione is. She has both her parents and her fiancé adores her_.*' There, she'd said it. She was a horrible friend and an awful person and now the elf would tell Hermione and her life would be ruined.

Rinky would do no such thing. He came closer, still frowning. '*_Miss Alise is lying down now.*'_

_'*Aren't you supposed to be with Hermione?*'_

_'*Miss is with parents. Miss Alise is lying down now. Dinner is not being until nine.*'_

Alise obeyed, kicking off her shoes and putting down the outer robe for the elf to take. '*Did you think your life would turn out this way, Rinky?*'

_'*Yes, Miss Alise. Rinky is house elf.*_'

Alise flushed. '*_Yes, but I mean...*'_

The elf floated closer. '*_Not how Miss is seeing own life playing out?*'_

_'*Yes. I keep telling myself that at least Baba will be safe, but it...*'_ She swallowed hard. '*_I think he'll be a good husband to me. Scabior. But he's old.*'_

_'*Rinky is old, and Miss Alise likes Rinky.*'_

Strangely, it made Alise smile, which had been the elf's objective. Rinky was exactly close enough that he could catch the girl when she slumped forward, shurring and murmuring as she started to cry. He'd dealt with generations of broken hearts as well, and he wished he could fix this, but he couldn't. All he could do was stroke her hair and let her purge a little of this.

When she was done, she wiped her streaming eyes and started to fix the wrinkles in her clothing. Rinky helped her, and then brought her a damp, clean cloth to dry her face with.

_'*It could be worse.*'_

_'*Yes, Miss Alise.*'_

_'*Don't tell Hermione, all right?*'_

_*'No, Miss Alise.*'_

_'*Promise?*'_

_'*Rinky promises.*'_ The elf waved a hand and the wrinkles fell from the girl's dress. She smoothed her hair and, squaring her shoulders, went to go and do her duty. It could, after all, be worse.


	66. Chapter 66

**A/N: Love to reviewers and Countess Black**

**CB once accused me of "Writing...by throwing as much trouble as possible at characters". I'm coming to believe she is (as usual) correct in that :)**

The veelas had taken the field. She grinned. It meant Bulgaria would be there soon, and with Bulgaria would come Viktor.

The veelas sang a song, which interested her not a bit, and then, finally, it was the team. The group emerged from the door of the stadium, mounted on brooms, and took off, letting the crowd see them.

Yseult gave Hermione a poke in the ribs. 'Stand up, hurry!' She'd spotted the crimson blur that was Viktor, and Hermione made it to the edge and reached out as Viktor's gauntleted hand grasped hers for a second. She reached into her pocket and thrust her handkerchief at him. He smiled and took off again, tucking the precious token into the tiny pouch in the inner part of his jersey.

The crowd which had been cheering, absolutely shrieked with delight, and Hermione, cheeks pink, sat between her friends and dropped her head. From behind her, she could hear the children's excitement reaching fever pitch; '*_That was Viktor!*'_

_'*It was*'_ agreed Barty cheerfully. '*_He must love you very much, Hermio_ne.*'

Hermione blushed even redder, which was helped not at all when she heard Ivan say patiently '*_That's why they're married, Barty.*'_

Behind them, the family sat in a knot, the aunts and uncles, with Aunt Cunegarde and Elisaveta in places of honour. Eugenia was sitting in a special padded chair to make sure her internal organs were in proper alignment, and elves hovered, making sure she never got overtired or hot or thirsty.

Next to the Minister, Martin Krum and Severus Snape were sipping wine and speaking sotto voce about a number of issues. Moreau had expected more of Severus Snape, to be honest-some sort of Grindelwald, perhaps, or a wild, bearded Clegane the Cruel, rather than the scrawny, badly groomed man he found beside him. He wasn't even suave or interesting or terrifying. He made one and two word answers in his weird, flat voice. Most disappointing.

Lucius Malfoy, too, was there, murmuring enticing remarks about rich trade subsidies and potential benefits as regarded British advocacy of the French in Egypt in the ear of Eduard Ropion.

_'*Even the referee is a Cairene, Ropion. I am most eager that all our peoples should be united under a common aegis.*'_

_'*Blood purity?*'_

Malfoy sipped his wine. '_*Amongst other things.*'_

_'*Of course.*_' Ropion, a man even thinner than Snape, smiled with sharp little teeth and reflected on how sweetly those subsidies would add to the family's bulging coffers.

Martin Krum had said nothing. Frankly, he was giving the French a case of the creeps, sitting like a monolith beside Moreau, not commenting. He seemed not to hear what was happening, or to care about it if he did.

On the other hand, why should he? He'd secured the sweetest plum in Europe-a marriage with the fabulously wealthy Lestrange heiress-for his lumpish son. Moreau had hoped his brother in law, Eduard Ropion, would be able to charm the English into marrying the girl to one of his nephews, but...oh, well.

Next to Bellatrix and Rodolphus, Desmond and Hetty were both watching interestedly. Hetty was more interested in the people about them than the game; she liked Quidditch fine, but she liked having a real family even more. She'd been making offerings for weeks that Des' seed would take and she'd have a baby she could help surround with this strange, wonderful feeling.

'_*And it's St Just! GOAL FOR FRANCE!*'_

Hermione was on the edge of her seat. Despite the fact Yseult was rooting for France and Alise for Bulgaria, she found she couldn't concentrate on the game. Alternatively, her friends cheered or groaned in turn, and Alise waved her small pennant emblazoned with the team mascot. Yseult had one as well, and within ten minutes, they'd been duly handed over to the children to be inspected and waved at the slightest sign of activity on the part of absolutely anyone in Quidditch gear. Hermione had helped Yana make a small red jersey for Anka, the manky doll, and she was reported to be well pleased by the events unfolding beneath them. Anka, clearly, was for Bulgaria.

'*Gilbert makes it! GOAL!*' The French part of the stadium howled with excitement, and the other half with despair as the French scored once more, and then a hush fell. High above the stadium, Viktor and the French seeker, Stern, had both sighted the snitch at the same time.

Aside from the night where they'd saved Cunegarde, Hermione had never seen Viktor fly seriously; the boys had saved anything remotely dangerous for when she wasn't present.

So the picture of Hermione leaping to feet as Viktor hurtled to the earth at a speed that made the watchers dizzy was a good one; she lurched to her feet and pressed a hand to her mouth, face white, as her cousin leant over and grabbed her to keep her knees from buckling.

At the last possible second, Viktor pulled up, but the French seeker was not nearly as lucky. He careered into the ground with a terrible crunch that was felt more than heard over the roars of the crowd, who'd leapt up with Hermione in celebration of the feat of athleticism they'd just witnessed.

_'KRUM! KRUM! KRUM_!' The Bulgarians were going mad with excitement and the heady pride of knowing one of their own had done such a thing. Hermione felt a small flare of concern that was extinguished in her fear for her fiancé. He'd gone directly from his dive into ascending again, and was almost level with the people in the box, back to them.

Hermione sat, slumping with relief, and immediately felt bad she wasn't more worried about the Frenchman, who was being carried from the field on a stretcher. As she watched, the fellow extended a hand to show the fans he was still conscious, and the French cheered his name.

Above them, the game moved on. Viktor felt a genuine, brief sense of concern for Stern (the man was on the other team, but that didn't mean Viktor wanted to see him hurt) but seeing the fellow put a hand up, the universal sign amongst players for being more or less all right, he'd put it all out of mind and went on playing.

He swung wide, feeling the rush of the air, the nearly sexual rush of the wind in his hair and brushing his cheeks, the slight weight of Hermione's hankie against his sternum, the sheer thrill of flight.

He dropped his altitude, sighting the snitch, feeling his instincts kick in like a predator's, like a jungle cat's. He swooped toward it, nothing in the world but him and the snitch, nothing but the two moats of being, the snitch and his hand, and he reached, pulling the broom, pulling the broom and-

The damned thing got away. He went after, spinning his broom round to pursue it, field clear because of Stern's absence, dodging bludgers absently, hardly noticing when Ivanova made a goal, only faintly aware of the score, only vaguely-

His eyes happened to sweep right and he saw a face he recognised. How could he not? He saw one quite like it whenever he shaved. He turned and went toward the bench as hard as he could, ignoring everything else. When he was sure they would see, he held out a fist, and the world ground to a halt.

Penev was beyond startled when Krum stopped the game. It was a gesture of last resort, reserved for matters of literal life and death. The seeker was hurtling at him and pulled up at the last second.

_'They're here!'_

_'Who is here? What the hell do you think_-'

Krum cut him off. _'My uncle, and if he's here, so are the Romanians. We need to get them out, all of them. It's a trap.'_

_'**What**?'_

_'There's no time! Send for my father in law, he can explain, for God's sake this is a death trap!'_

Penev would have said more, but the screaming had started. Krum didn't hesitate. He turned the broom and went toward it, as the screams spread and the deaths began.

Stefan knew he'd been spotted. He could see it in his nephew's face, and beside him, Pavel swore and leapt up, drawing his wand._ '*Time to go!*'_

About them, people saw the drawn wand and tried to run. They bottlenecked in the narrow aisles, screaming, clawing, most of them not even sure what they were trying to get away from. It was bedlam.

'*_Shit'_* Pavel was saying over and over. '*_Shit, they weren't supposed to see us until tonight! Shit!*'_

The others had also drawn, and were providing spells as cover so they could make their retreat. Some in the crowd had begun to fire back. Snatchers were appearing, and serious hexes had started to fly.

'*_SHIT!*_' Stefan heard Pavel shout as he dodged a jinx. '*_EVERYONE GO! SAVE YOURSELVES!*'_

Above them came a whoosh and Stefan heard his own name. His head jerked up and he saw his nephew and most of both teams, united in trying to end the madness.

**_'*_**_STEFAN, YOU BASTARD_!*' Viktor dropped like a stone, and Stefan threw a spell, hoping it would drive the boy off. It smashed into the boy's face, his nose breaking, both eyes blackening under the force of the spell.

Viktor never stopped moving, returning fire even as he bore down, still shouting, and Stefan's face was engulfed in the worst pain he could remember.

He dropped, shrieking in agony, and felt a wolf grab him, and then knew no more.

Viktor leapt from his broom and prepared to fight when he heard an amplified voice calling his name. It was Scabior. _'WE NEEDS T GO_!' and Apparated them before Viktor could protest.

_'There he is_!' He was engulfed in arms, smelling roses, and he hugged back with all his might, feeling alternating currents of rage and relief in his blood.

_'Hermione! Thank God_!' The children were clinging to his legs with death grips. Both of them were shell shocked, staring, blinking. He didn't like that a bit, but there was no time to deal with it at the moment. He straightened and looked for the others, who were his purview.

The Death Eaters were conferring agitated Moreau. He was, eerily, smiling a little, and every so often, a Snatcher or auror would appear to update the group as to the status of the events and he would wave them off as though they were flies.

Rumen and Lyudmilla were sitting at a table, hand in hand (he'd never seen them do that) and Penko, Rabastan, and Eugenia were clustered about the end, huddled together. Barty was standing next to Cunegarde, looking nearly as agitated as Moreau, and the Malfoys weren't far away, Lucius speaking softly to his wife, Draco sometimes making a point to him, face white, patches of red on his cheeks, Desmod Moody and his sniffling wife an arm's length away.

Near them, Yseult was standing with her own parents, sobbing quietly. Miss Sproga was standing next to Olympe Maxime, both of them looking like they'd wandered into a nightmare.

Viktor knew his duty. Releasing Hermione, he motioned to Draco, who came at once. _'Drago, take children, please, and Barty and Cunegarde, to room. Leave vith elf, then come back, ve need you_.'

Draco nodded and bent down to swing Yana onto his shoulder. Ivan followed without being told, and Barty, too, went, picking up Cunegarde, who put her arms about his neck and said nothing, and trailed by Elisaveta, who swayed so much Draco finally dropped back to give his arm, scared she'd faint.

A school elf led them to the closest guest suite. Barty deposited Cunegarde gently in one of the beds and made sure the children were tucked in beside her whilst Draco helped Elisaveta to a chair. Barty still had a twitchy, jumpy look that made Draco nervous just to see.

_'Draco, I'll need to stay here. Will you be all right walking back by yourself?'_

_'I will, Barty, thank you_.' Draco felt absurdly touched. The madman was showing more honour and loyalty, not to mention love, in caring for his adopted family than that son of a bitch Stefan showed his actual family. He fully anticipated discussing it with Stefan-slowly- if he got the chance.

Draco snapped his fingers and his valet appeared. '_Bibby, fetch a medi-wizard at once and bring him here. Make sure he knows Aunt Eugenia's in the family way_.' The elf bowed and vanished. He called Lemmy, his mother's maid, and Tibby, his old nanny, from Malfoy Manor and ordered them to defend the room to the last.

Running back, he nearly plowed into his uncle Rabastan. _'I've summoned a medi-wizard to check my aunts and the children, Uncle. Is Aunt Gennie all right?'_

_'Thank you, Draco, she's fine_.' Rabastan hugged the boy and felt how hard his pulse was racing, and then they re-entered the madhouse together.

_'Viktor, I hope you don't mind, but I've summoned a medi-wizard for Aunt Cunegarde and Aunt Eugenia. Barty and two of our elves are guarding them._'

Viktor also hugged him, and blessed his initiative in thinking to do that, and then, with Draco and Hermione beside him, turned back to the knotty problem of that ass Moreau.

'*_Minister, where is the team?*'_

_'*They've been taken to the Embassy in Paris. Really, you're all getting very upset over a small thing. This is just a bit of unrest. It'll blow over. Perhaps you can even finish the game.*_'

'*_There are rogue werewolves on the loose and there was a serious riot going on when I left. It's safe to say that the Cup is the last thing any of us care about.*'_

Moreau pretended not to hear. '_*Perhaps you can all just relax a bit and we'll see where things stand in the morning.*'_

Lucius had had enough, finally. '*_Moreau, for God's sake, there is a riot going on less than five kilometres from here. There could be werewolves coming this minute, and the war has come to French soil. Are you really this naive?*'_

_'*There is no evidence that those people were anything but malcontents and thugs.*'_

Viktor breathed deeply in and out. '*_When can we leave? Bulgaria can forfeit, I want to get everyone home as soon as possible.*'_

_'*I've had to close the borders. As I've said, it would be a serious over-reaction to-*'_

Viktor kept breathing. He noticed Uncle Lucius was getting rather upset, too. From across the room, Uncle Rabastan had come over as well. He had that pleasant, interested look that Penko would have recognised as trouble.

'*_To what, sir? To want to protect my family?*'_

_'*I appreciate your concerns, lord Krum, but you are still very young. Perhaps when you've a bit more experience in these matters, you'll see that-*'_

Viktor could feel blood flooding his cheeks. He couldn't lose his temper, he'd scare Hermione. Aunt Eugenia needed calm and rest, not violence. He was two years older than Drago and had to give a good example.

'*_This was not my first battle, Minister. Can you say the same? Uncle, would you take over? I need to speak to lady Krum about arrangements_.*' He turned on his heel and left without another word, knowing he'd punch Moreau if he had to stay a moment longer.

Hermione was speaking urgently with Aunt Eugenia. _'We'll come and tell you the second we know anything, I swear. But please, let the medi-wizard examine you_.'

The woman patted Hermione and nodded, looking rueful. _'All right, sweetheart. Just make sure you get me if you need some help, all right?'_

_'I promise I will.'_

She switched to Bulgarian. _'Viktor, this is Healer Yokov_.' She gestured to the man, who bowed. _'My lord Krum, we meet once more.'_

Viktor smiled tiredly, still covered in blood and sweat. _'Sir, I wish I could say I was happy to see you, but things are...'_

_'Of course. My lady Krum tells me the children are quite severely traumatised, and I see Madam Lestrange is expecting. I'll want to examine everyone but clearly they must be my priority.'_

_'Lady Krum has my complete leave to order whatever you need.'_

_'I'll let you know, then, my lady. *Madam, please allow me to examine you first.*_' The old man and the pregnant woman walked toward the place where the others were waiting, the old man asking questions the whole time. They watched him go, wondering what would come next, and how to deal with it.

By midnight, it was obvious that the situation was not getting better. The riot had not stopped but had grown in size when gangs of criminals from all over France, and then Europe, had come, seeking spoils and a chance to cause some harm. The group in Beauxbatons could hear the sound of the crowd, first close and then more distant, as they went to storm the cities, taking whatever they could find.

At dawn, Snape re-entered the room. _'*Minister, the Dark Lord has offered to allow the Death Eaters to assist you in capturing these wolves. It is in our mutual interest.*'_

_'*Not necessary. Merely criminals, France needs no help.'*_

'*_In that case, he recalls us, and has cordially invited the Krums to stay for as long as they'd like.*'_

_'*Impossible. I have closed the-*'_

Rabastan had had a bellyfull of this idiot. He smiled at the Minister and stepped a little closer. '*_My wife is expecting. If there should be something wrong with either she or my child because of this, I will hold you personally responsible.*'_

_'*Is that a threat, monsieur?*'_

_'*A promise.*' _He was still smiling. Moreau felt cold water drip down his spine and took a step back.

_'*I will see what I can do.*'_

It was a tense, terrible night. No one slept except the children, whom Yokov had sedated heavily so they could avoid the worst of things. Cunegarde lay between them, reading and pretending not to stroke their hair and pull the covers up.

Viktor and most of the rest of them-except Eugenia, who'd been bullied into lying down in the closest room with a bed by a combined forced of Hermione, Narcissa and Hetty-waited in the same room they'd met in.

Viktor finally let Hermione heal his eyes, and Yokov set his nose for him. Then everyone showered and changed, and at dawn, the lord and lady of Castle Krum called Rumen and the brothers Lestrange into the comfortably appointed room that was their de facto command centre. They all looked exhausted. The group sat round the big cherrywood table and drank the chocolate the elf brought them. '*_We need a plan.*'_

_'*Eugenia can't Portkey.*'_

Hermione's face was puffy with lack of sleep, but she was freshly bathed and wearing clean clothes, and her voice was soft and calm. '*_Madame would lend us a school coach, I'm sure.*'_

They discussed the practical matter of those things for some time and then the real issue came up. '*_It was Stefan.*'_

Everyone felt weirdly unsurprised, as though they'd always known it would come down to this. Perhaps they had. '*_What shall we do?*'_

Viktor sipped more chocolate. _'*It might not be an issue anymore. It's possible I killed him yesterday.*'_

Rumen spat the mouthful he'd been drinking into his napkin. '*_**What**?*' _His shy, gentle Viktor, who'd once cried during the brave little cat because the cat spent a night alone in the woods and it would be afraid?

'_*I hit him with a scalding hex. I don't know what happened, the wolves took him. Is there some way to find out for sure?*' _He addressed the question to all of them, and they studied one another a long moment before Rumen answered.

_'*I'll make inquiries, Viktor. It's possible he was killed during the subsequent riot.*' _He didn't believe that, but he preferred that series of events to the idea that his nephew had struck the idiot down, deserving or no.

_'*We can't assume. Where is Uncle Penko?*'_

_'*Working with Dinev via firecall. There's all sorts of rumours swirling in Sofia we want quashed immediately.*' _

_'*Can we call him away?*'_

'_*And Snape. He'll know people. who could help us.*' _Hermione asked the elves to bring more cocoa and some hot rolls and butter.

Rodolphus had started out the conversation surprised by the boy's grit. He'd always quite liked Viktor, in an absent way; he hadn't spent much time with him, but Hermione liked him, and he seemed inoffensive, so that was satisfaction enough for her father.

Now he was still surprised, but it was salted with something a bit like horror. It was obvious what the children meant to do, and whilst he'd have been the first to kill Stefan had the man appeared in front of him, there was something creepy about the matter of fact way his teenage daughter and son in law had sent this in motion.

Penko and Snape arrived within five minutes. Penko looked a bit worse for wear, but he smiled and came to kiss Hermione's cheek and embrace everyone else. '*_Dinev just gave that ass Moreau-sorry, darling-a piece of his mind big enough to choke a giant.*'_

_'*Took his sweet time about it.*' _Viktor's distaste for Dinev hadn't abated over the months, and he dreaded the reception he was sure the man would want to have when they returned.

_'*I shan't disagree with that.*'_

Viktor told the others what he'd seen. '*_This situation has gone past putting him away.*'_

Nods all round. '*_What would you have us do, my lord?*' _Penko didn't want the boy to have to say it, but forms are forms, and needs must is just that.

Viktor and Hermione's eyes met. Everyone in the room had a strange, not entirely pleasant sense of them as they were to one another, the impression that slight gestures held worlds of meaning intelligible only to the other.

'*_Uncle Rumen, after we're done here, I'd like you to draft a petition of outlawry, please, and bring it to me to sign. I'll send for the formal seal.*_' He summoned Snetzka, and five minutes later he was holding the ancient, glittering lump of gold that contained the Krum seal.

The room was quiet. The English, aside from Hermione, had no real sense of what that could mean. The Bulgarians did, and finally Rumen spoke. _'*It will be hard.*'_

_'*I know.*'_

_'*It will kill your grandmother.*'_

_'*It's this or sending an assassin. He's too well guarded for that, Uncle, if the wolves have him.*_'

The air seemed electric with intrigue. '*_If your hex did for him, it's a moot point.*'_

_'*It would prevent a pretender coming to challenge our claim to the Borev lands. And I don't think my hex did it. He's like a cockroach, it'll take more than that to kill him.*'_

Snape listened to this without saying anything for some time. '*_What exactly are you proposing?*'_

Viktor spread his hands. '*_To ask the Conclave-the landholder's parliament-to outlaw Stefan. It would strip him of titles and citizenship and make him fair game. After that, we put out the word that the reward still stands, except he needn't be alive.*'_

'*_Lady Krum, your thoughts?*'_

Hermione exhaled, not aware she'd been holding her breath. '*_What if we asked Moreau to denounce the attack? If the international community was upset, the Conclave basically has to listen to us, don't they? And Romania couldn't help him even if he asked them to.*'_

The room was quiet a long moment. '*_Well reasoned, my lady.*'_

'*_Then it's a plan, my lord?*'_

'*_It's a plan. Will you want help with the petition, Uncle Rumen?*'_

'_*No, Viktor, I'll be fine. When should we prepare to leave?*'_

Viktor frowned. '*_Uncle Penko, could you speak to Moreau and Dinev about coordinating this? And Snape, if you could discuss it with the Dark Lord? If all three countries did it simultaneously, it'd send a strong message.*'_

_'*He'd be delighted to help, I don't doubt. Mr. Mulciber has a real genius for this sort of thing. Give us a little time and he'll have it ready.*'_

'*_Tomorrow at noon? I'd like to be in London by midnight tomorrow, if that's agreeable to you all.*_'

_'*Will you want to stay at Grimmauld Place?*'_

Viktor looked at Hermione. '_*What do you think?*'_

She considered for a moment. '*_It's safer, but there's so many of us now. That house is just not large enough to accommodate all of us. What if we split the group up?*'_

She didn't want to, but there were nearly twenty of them, and that was just too many for the house to comfortably hold.

'*_The most vulnerable need to be at Grimmauld Place, I'd say. So the children, Aunt Cunegarde, Barty, and Aunt Eugenia. Aunt Lyudmilla, to be with the children, and then Grandmama. Do you suppose my aunt and uncle Malfoy would be terribly offended if I asked them to stay at their house?*'_

'*_Not at all*' _said Rodolphus immediately, knowing the Malfoys wouldn't want to be squashed in like sardines when they could be at home.

'*_And then Mother and Father and Uncle Penko and Uncle Rabastan at our house, if that's all right, Father.*'_

_'*That would be fine, sweetheart.*' _He smiled and gave her shoulder a squeeze.'*_Hermione, darling, where will you and Viktor stay?*'_

'*_Grimmauld Place. I'll share with Aunt Gennie and Aunt Lyudmilla, and Yana can share with Grandmama and Aunt Cunegarde. Viktor can share with Ivan and Barty.*'_

Her father nodded approvingly. '*_We've all those pallets, after all.*_'

'_*Yes, Father. I'd like to send for Bess, if no one minded. I'd feel safer with her to guard us.*_'

Viktor nodded immediately. '*_With your permission, gentlemen, I'll send a dog to every house. Professor Snape, would you like one? Your Salazar is a wonderful dog, but he's not a trained like one of ours.*'_

_'*Would you? I'd be very grateful, and I suspect the others would as well.*'_

Rodolphus nodded. He knew Lucius didn't especially care for dogs, but this was no lapdog, it was a trained fighter, as tough and competent as its human counterparts.

_'*Uncle Rumen, I'll see it to after we have breakfast. Don't worry about anything except the petition. I'm also going to have Hermione's wardrobe sent from the castle.*'_

'*_Wardrobe?*' _Rodolphus' brow furrowed, and Viktor silently implored St. Mikail to help him with this next part. '*_Yes, Father. She'll need to be dressed appropriately when we go and present out petition.*'_

'*_You and my daughter will go in person?*' _

Viktor squared his shoulders. '*_We haven't got a choice, Father. Not now.*_'


	67. Chapter 67

**A/N: Love to reviewers and Countess Black**

**Some references: **

**According to my research, most Bulgarians don't really make a fuss about birthdays. Traditionally, the birthday person hands out small things to friends and loved ones, not vice versa. People might give intimates small gifts, but it's not a big to-do.**

**Martin quotes either Stargate SG-1 or Babylon 5 at the end. I'm too lazy to check.**

**Spoiler A/N at the bottom.**

**A few lines from Kipling:**

_**I could not dig, I dared not rob,**_

_**And so I lied to please the mob.**_

_**Now all my lies are proved untrue**_

_**And I must face the men I slew.**_

Yana had finally had enough on the third day after she'd woken up in England. She put Anka down for a nap and with Ivan holding her hand, went to find someone with whom they could discuss their concerns.

Ivan had money in his handkerchief. He and Yana had saved their Christmas and birthday money, and it came to twenty aspers and four takhs, quite a lot in seven year old terms. He had insisted on carrying their windfall, lest it get mislaid, and he walked with importance and care, determined to be a good steward now and when he was grown.

Drago was in the library (which wasn't much of a library at all), dozing. He looked tired and sick, with dark circles under his eyes, and he was even paler than usual. They knew not to wake him up; all the big people were working very hard, even Barty, because the bad men had come again.

They settled on the floor, playing with some marbles the ancient, creepy old elf had found them, until they heard Drago stirring. It didn't mean he was waking up-he talked in his sleep. Ivan woke up at lot when he started to thrash and groan like that. Sometimes he was glad not to speak much English. It sounded like whatever Drago was talking about at those moments was scary.

Yana stood up and called Snetzka. _'Bring a blanket, please. Drago might get cold_.' The elf brought the small blanket that Yana liked to cuddle with, and she covered him with it, making sure to tuck in him against a draft.

Draco woke to the sensation of being poked with a very small hand and kept his eyes closed, realising Yana thought she was helping. The blanket was nicely warm, and he let himself relax a bit, hoping he could get another twenty or thirty minutes' kneazle sleep before the next crisis.

It was no use. After five minutes, he sat up, opened his eyes and found a smile for the kids. '*_Hello there.*'_

They both walked to the divan and sat on either side. Ivan held out the handkerchief. '_*It's Viktor's birthday tomorrow.*'_

_'*Is it?*'_

_'*Would you buy him a present with this? It can be from all of us.*'_

Draco took the money, resolving to give it to Uncle Rumen or Uncle Penko, and nodded. '*_Of course I will. What should I get him?*'_

'*_Sweets*_' said Ivan sagely. Yana shook her head. '*_No. What about a book?*'_

_'*What sort of book?*_'

The children seemed to weigh this. '*_One about Quidditch?*'_

'_*I'll see what I can do. How are both of you?*'_

Yana put her head on his shoulder. '*_Anka took ten minutes to go to sleep for her nap. She's been fussy all day. Would you talk to her?*'_

Like a good cousin and husband, Drago agreed, and Yana asked Snetzka to fetch the doll down, still wearing her little crimson jersey. Drago shook his finger at the doll. '*_Now Anka, what's this I hear about not wanting to nap?*'_

Yana cocked her head and listened to Anka talk. '*_She says she's afraid.*'_

_'*Why is she afraid?*'_

_'*The bad men came. Everyone said they couldn't find us, but they did.*'_

'_*They can't find us here. This house is unplottable, Anka.*'_

Yana listened harder. _'*But what if they do?*'_

_'*You've got your Portkey, remember?*'_

_'*What if Anka can't find us?*' _The children had been sternly ordered to find an adult, as their Portkeys were warded not to activate without the tap of a wand.

Draco patted Anka's tiny cloth back. '_*That shan't happen. One of us is always close by.*'_

Yana sighed deeply. '*_Anka wants to know if these bad men are the ones who hurt Aunt Zhivka.*'_

Oh, dear. '_*We aren't quite sure. They might be.*'_

'_*Why aren't we sure?*'_

Draco patted Anka again. '*_We're still trying to work this out, is all. Does Anka feel better?*'_

Yana cocked her head. '*_Anka thinks she can sleep now without being fussy. Say thank you, Anka.*'_ Anka did, and Draco allowed himself to be inveigled into giving the grimy thing a kiss on the head before Yana, with great ceremony, went to take her back to bed.

Ivan hadn't moved yet. '*_Drago?*'_

_'*Yes, Ivan?*'_

_'*When I'm a big boy like you and Viktor, will I help you fight?*'_

Damn it. '_*When you're my age, Ivan, I think there will be peace again.*'_

_'*Oh. What if there's not?*'_

_'*Then we'll make sure you know everything you need.*'_

_'*Sometimes I'm afraid when I think about that.*'_

_'*Are you?*'_

Ivan nodded. '_*Yes, but I know you and Viktor would protect me. Do you suppose Yana's gone to play?*'_

'*_Why don't you go and check?*' _Ivan rose and followed, and Draco sat down to decide what they should get Viktor.

Severus Snape was moving to a cave, one with no entrance so no one could ever bother him again. He was at the Bulgarian Embassy, gritting his teeth, trying not to draw his wand and hex whomever got in his line of fire.

Right at the moment, he was staring at the gormless faces of the handpicked press that had come to speak to the Krums, who'd been ruthlessly attacked by rogue werewolves.

The only one worth their salt, so far as Snape could see, was Rita Skeeter. She was resplendent in shocking pink, wearing a hat with a small and modish net on it. He'd given her a nod and then de-briefed them as to what was expected.

After that, he'd taken questions. 'Will we see Mr. Crouch?'

'Mr. Crouch is not well at this time.'

'What about Mr. Krum the elder? Will he be there?'

'He will, but he is still grieving his wife. I expect you all to honour that.'

A mumble of agreement from the pool of idiots. 'Miss Skeeter, no questions?'

The woman shook her head. Word was she was Travers' mistress these days, and that he was quite smitten with her buxom, not wholly respectable charms. Had she really got the job from an editor at the Prophet, who'd frequented the brothel she'd worked at? Did she really have a red velvet swing in her room to entertain her male guests?

Well, no matter. She was too quiet, that was the problem. Snape raised an inky brow and she found a smile. 'I'm sorry, Professor. I've just got a slight headache.'

Probably female troubles of some sort. Snape nodded politely and finished the meeting by inviting the cretins to partake of the spread the Ministry provided for it's pet reporters.

The woman was nibbling a bit of toast and caviar when he sidled up to her. 'Miss Skeeter, I do hope it's nothing serious.'

She swallowed what was in her mouth. 'Not at all. Just too much champagne.'

'Of course. I'd imagine you are most excited to make such a historic event accessible for the witches of Britain.'

'Yes' said the woman, slightly pale under her rouge 'very excited, to be sure.'

'I look forward to seeing what you create, Miss Skeeter.'

'Thank you, Professor.' The woman looked almost sick, he thought, wondering whether she was pregnant or something. That would account for her subdued demeanour, perhaps. He vowed to make enquiries and went to fight the rest of the day's battles.

Rita Skeeter was glad to be out of the Embassy. Stepping into the streets, she breathed in, sucking lungfuls of air, not caring who saw or what they thought of it. She walked down a street, not caring where, and found a bench.

There had been no especial moment of epiphany for her, no precise moment where Truth and Right had lit up her life like candles. Rather, that night at Grimmauld Place had started a process, which had, over the last year, chipped inexorably at her sense of herself as a reporter and a witch; as a human being.

She'd been one of the first on the scene the next morning, and had in her possession a picture of the aftermath of the fight. Pools of blood clotted on the marble, scorch marks, and, most interestingly, one of Zhivka Krum's shoes, lying abandoned near a pool thick with substances she dared not name.

She had expected, at some level, to be elated. She'd long since separated from the emotional part of the job, after all, and whilst it was a shame the woman had later died, she might have bought herself a new bracelet with the proceeds from that shot if she sold it to the foreign market.

She had done nothing with it. It sat at home, undeveloped, because the thought of it made her skin cold. She'd done her part to support the war effort, too, going to interview wounded aurors, cheering them on in the paper, writing the correct things.

The final moment had come in a filthy tent, just outside Cardiff. She'd bent over the field bed of an auror, half his face hexed off, and taken his hand. He could not speak. His one good eye stared glassily into eternity, and he'd made small nonsense sounds, a little drool running from his half a mouth to drip down his chin and onto the bed, which stank. It was dark in places with old blood, and the powerful ammonia reek of urine clung to it like the Mark of Cain.

'Sir? Sir?'

He registered nothing. After a time, an orderly came and brought her a chair. 'He your brother, Miss Skeeter?'

'No, Healer. What's his name?'

'Trumbull.'

'How old?'

'Nineteen. He was a trainee.' The man's voice was dry. All she could think to do was take the glass of water from the tiny table beside the cot and, releasing the limp, clammy hand, support the head long enough to dribble a bit down the man's throat.

There had been a great commotion, and the orderlies and healers had come. More wounded. Rita stood forgot about, transfixed by the sights and sounds, the stenches of warfare as men and women were brought in.

Some of them screamed. She heard it for a month every time she'd closed her eyes. The ones that hadn't screamed were worse. They'd gurgled, a wet sound that spoke of terrible injuries, of pain, of death.

Worst of all were the ones that cried. Men and women, grizzled veterans and green youths wept. She'd crept between the rows, offering whatever small comfort she could, and most of all she remembered, like Hell's own metronome, the voices that implored, over and over from the foul smelling darkness. 'Mother' they cried, in one voice, in a thousand voices, cracking with pain, with despair, 'Mother', for who was Mother but she who could fix all ills?

Dawn had seen Rita stumble from the tent, escorted by an apologetic Galvin Goyle. 'Sorry, ma'am. We would've taken you sooner if we'd the time.'

'Not at all' she'd managed, and let herself be Apparated by a Snatcher, directly to the offices of the Prophet. Her editor had greeted her with a look of real relief.

'Did you get the story, Rita?'

'I...yes. Here's my notes. I need some time off.'

'What happened?'

'Don't ask me about me. Please.' He'd given her a week.

She'd gone home to her silent apartment and looked at the furniture her article about the Lestrange girl's bravery in the fire had bought. The clothes the one about the engagement had paid for. She stroked her mink capelet and found that it felt sticky under her fingers, like drying blood.

What part did I play? She wondered as she drew a bath and climbed into the water. When I wrote those things-when I made them sound like something they weren't-did I help kill those aurors? I wrote what they told me to write. Does that make it better? Does following orders absolve me of what came after?

Now she had to do it again, and in the sunlight, she felt cold. She'd write their damned article, but how many more could she do before she lost her soul?

Viktor, lord Krum, was wondering the same thing, though in different terms. He'd given his grandmother the news about Stefan that morning, when it became obvious that it had to be done, and he wasn't sure he'd ever feel clean again.

She'd said nothing, staggering backward, face like milk. _'Stefan? My son did this?'_

_'Yes, Grandmama.'_

_'And he has not written because he's __**defected**__?_' Elisaveta sat down, and an elf brought a strong calming draught and a phial of her heart potion. Viktor knelt, taking her hand.

_'If there was some way I could change this, Grandmama, I would.'_

_'Oh, my son. My son, my son. And Zhivka. My children. My children_.' She'd dropped her head into her hands and wept, and Viktor had stayed with her, not knowing what do to, seeing firsthand the cost of this war, and knowing whatever choice he made would only add to her misery, to everyone's misery.

Now he was at the Embassy with Hermione and the others, plotting their next move. '*You really don't mind?*'

He squared his shoulders. '*_Father, I have no choice. If the Wizengamot is to back Bulgaria, they must see that we are not afraid. If I am not brave enough to face them, how will I convince them I am fit to lead a war, should the need arise?*_'

Rodolphus nodded. '_*Quite so.*' _He wondered how the boy would fare passing the place his mother had been mortally wounded. It was not a question of the Wizengamot refusing to back Bulgaria. That was decided already, of course. But the people wanted circuses as well as bread, and Viktor was to be ringmaster of this particular show.

Snape had come back in, looking ready to chew through his own arm. '*_The press is set for tomorrow.*'_

_'*Thank you, Snape.*'_

_'*You're welcome, my lord.*' _

Rodolphus set down his quill. '*_As for security, I've recalled Scabior and the Snatchers are doing the sweep as we speak.*' _

'_*Thank you, Father. Uncle Rumen, how is the petition coming?*'_

Rumen had slept only hours and eaten nearly nothing in the last three days in his efforts to prepare an airtight petition. He sipped the horrible English tea they kept pressing on him and handed it to his nephew, who read it aloud to the group.

Silence. '*_Does anyone have anything that should be added?*'_

_'*Who will you bring to swear to the events in it?*'_

'Ideally, it would be Barty, but...' They all nodded. Barty was many good things-loyal, affectionate, funny, even insightful in his own way. But he was no more competent to swear to the petition than Ivan was, and three seconds of questioning would reveal that fact to everyone. Aside from the legal aspect, none of them would expose poor, addled Barty to that humiliation for all the gold in the world.

_'*Who, then?*' _It had to be someone who'd witnessed the perfidy alleged in the documents. Rumen and Martin had been gone. The Death Eaters had been recalled to Britain and, because of their reputations, would hardly have been suitable anyway. Snape was needed to assist the Dark Lord. There was a sole conclusion that was slowly being reached, and whilst no one liked it, it made sense. '*_Drago.*_'

'*_Is that_*' said Lucius delicately '*_even legal? Draco is thirteen years old._*'

'*_It is. The laws are old. There are provisos for this very thing. If we include the depositions from everyone else and then the testimony of the tenants and your great uncle Borev's steward, it should work_.*' Rumen liked it no better than any of the rest of them, but he knew their laws.

'*_I will not insist, Uncle.*' _Viktor looked at him levelly, and Lucius Malfoy, deep in his secret heart, wept for what he-they-had to do.

_'*Duty demands it. I give you my permission.*'_

'*All right.*' It was done, then. Viktor rose and the others followed suit, preparing for the firestorm that would shortly follow.

In Durmstrang, the mood was grim. Desmond and Hetty had returned home from Paris, rather than bother everyone. It was just as well, as Moody-Feathering found being round the Death Eaters that long to be nerve racking. It wasn't, precisely, that he feared blowing his cover. It was that he knew these people, from the other side of things, to be sure, but that didn't erase the strangeness of eating meals with them and listening to them discussing poetry or art like normal human beings.

Hetty came inside and sat next to him, handing him the bunch of flowers she'd gone and picked from the woods, her elf to guard her. He obediently smelt them. 'Very nice.'

Moody had never had much to do with women. He liked them well enough, but he'd always preferred work to courting, and he'd not had much of what woman wanted, anyhow.

Hetty smiled winsomely. 'Aren't they?' She seemed to be steeling herself. 'Des?'

'Yes, Hetty?'

'Could we start working on defensive magic soon?'

He actually smiled, something she rarely saw. 'I'd like that.' If he couldn't be the husband he might have liked, he could teach her to defend herself. He rose and offered his arm, leading her to the practice room.

Lucius had been dreading telling Narcissa about what had come to pass with the fire of ten thousand suns. It had been smoother than he might have anticipated, to tell the truth. She'd gone white but nodded.

'Cissy, darling, I did not want this.'

'Nor do I, but there's no choice.' Her face was strained and pale. 'Just as there was no choice about sending him to Durmstrang, or engaging Hermione at twelve years old, or having that ball in the most obvious place in the world for an attack less than a week after the last attack.'

Lucius sat down. 'Cissy, don't.'

'Why not?'

'Because it is not wise.'

'Neither is letting our thirteen year old go to a foreign country to present a petition against a faction of rogue werewolves, but we're doing that, aren't we?'

Lucius couldn't have hurt more if she'd hit him. 'Cissy, please...'

She stood and went to him. 'I love you, Lucius. I always have and always will, no matter what. But I don't like what this has done to us all, and I refuse to see those children being used in this manner as a good thing, no matter how expedient it is to our ends.'

He couldn't refute it. 'I would not have chosen this, Narcissa.'

'I know.' She swallowed hard. 'I am as guilty as yourself, at any rate. I taught him as you did. I **wanted** this, God help me.'

She had believed the Dark Lord's ascendancy would guarantee them a future of limitless choices. It had, after a fashion, but the choices were worse and worse, and each one drove them further and further down a path to a place where no stars shown and the very road was slick with blood. Whose blood? The wolves? Stefan? Her son's?

Lucius swallowed hard and embraced her. 'I am so sorry, Cissy.'

She rested against him and allowed herself a single shuddering sigh. 'So I am, sweetheart. So am I.'

Bellatrix was not half so stoic. 'No' she said flatly.

'No, what, Bellatrix?' Snape wasn't quite sure what to make of it. Bellatrix never used one word where eight would do.

'This whole idea is stupid. Hermione's had far too much stress like it is, and I won't have you making it worse with your schemes.'

'Your daughter is chatelaine of Castle Krum, and I did not suggest this, or force the wolves to attack at the Cup, now did I?'

'I SAID NO!'

Snape grimaced at the noise. 'Really, do stop. You knew what this was.'

She pulled her lips back from her teeth in a snarl. 'Easy for you to say. You haven't got children.'

'Neither would you have, if I haven't tested you all.'

A remarkable thing happened. She slumped a little. 'Is there no other way?'

Snape found himself strangely...not amused by this. It was sort of creepy and sad in equal measures.

'His lordship wants his most faithful servants defending the homeland right now. However, perhaps it would be wise to send a chaperone to protect Miss Lestrange from rough men she might encounter.'

'Am I not needed?' She was recovering herself, and he felt his dislike flooding back. But not enough to deny her this. Miss Lestrange loved her mother, for all the woman's flaws, just as he had loved Eileen. Remembering once more his mother's pathetic life and lonely death, he resolved to arrange it in hopes that it might soothe her restless shade.

'You will be of better service there, Bellatrix.'

'As He commands, I obey.' She turned and left without another word. Had Snape won or lost? He could not tell.

Draco had decided to be creative with the gift he had arranged for Viktor's birthday. He'd saved nearly all his own pocket money from the last year, and so he sent to Flourish and Blott's for a good biography of Wronski and, as Ivan had suggested, a large box of sweets from Honeyduke's.

He'd also got a gift that was from him. 'The Great Trollish Epics, Part I' was a huge, heavy tome with Trollish on one side and English on the other. Grinning, he carefully inscribed both in his finest hand.

After, he called the children in to sign as well. They were most impressed with his choice (which had a suitable number of pictures and was shiny and nice) and carefully signed their names in Cyrillic and then, shakily, in English.

The door swung open and Lucius stepped into the room. '_*Hello, children. What's all this?*'_

Draco explained, and Lucius praised the two little ones for their thoughtfulness and then gently shooed them outside. 'Well chosen, Draco.'

'I think so. And it'll be a bit less heavy than the 'Letters'.'

'Quite so. We need to talk, love. You aren't in any trouble.' He smiled and the boy leant over and spontaneously hugged his father, snuggling into the comforting scent of cologne and hair oil and Father.

'You know Hermione and Viktor will leave in a few days' time for Bulgaria?'

'Yes, Father.'

'You're going with them.'

Draco stepped back in shock. 'I am?'

'We need someone to swear what they're saying is true. You're our best choice.'

Draco sat down. 'Father...what about defending the women? I can't just leave them.' He meant the ones where they were, the most vulnerable amongst them.

'We'll increase the number of Snatchers, Draco, don't worry. And Mother can always come, can't she?' Narcissa's abilities were nothing to sneeze at.

'Yes. Of course.' Draco didn't seem very happy.

'Something the matter, Draco?'

Draco crossed his arms and made himself breath. 'Not really. Just shocked, I suppose. It's all very sudden.'

'It is that. I am awfully sorry that things played out this way.'

Draco nodded tiredly. 'I am too, but we all have to make sacrifices.' Lucius blanched, but only for a second.

'When you return, Draco, things will be better.'

'I hope so, Father.' He sounded sceptical, and Lucius reached for words to reassure him and found nothing there.

Viktor himself approached before dinner. _'Drago, can ve talk_?' Hermione came behind and closed the door to the library. The three sat silent for a moment, absorbing the changes that had taken place and the ones that would take place soon.

Hermione outlined the plan. Draco felt as though he'd been here before, as though he'd lived through this all and had known what would happen and what part he would play even before it started.

Perhaps it was some ancestral memory, some fragment of the distant past given him by a long dead Malfoy. He listened without reacting, and when finally she was done he sat back. _'What do I have to do?'_

_'You vill be my seneshcal?_

_'Yes, of course_.'

Viktor reached into a pocket and handed Draco a small pin, clearly ancient, copper on iron. _'This is mark of your office. Vhen you vear it, you speak vith our voice-Herm-on-nee-knee's and mine.'_

'Thank you.' He didn't know quite how he felt, and neither did the other two seem to. Finally, Draco said _'Tomorrow is your birthday.'_

_'Yes. Sixteen.'_

Hermione leant over and gave her fiancé a gentle poke in the side. _'Not that he'd admit it.'_

_'Is not a big thing in Bulgaria.'_

_'You don't celebrate birthdays_?' Draco was surprised, especially given that the children had approached him, but Hermione grinned and answered for him. _'They do. Viktor's just modest.'_

_'In Bulgaria, ve celebrate by giving to everyone else-sveets or something. Who told you?'_

Draco grinned and raised an eyebrow. _'A little pixie.'_

_'Sorry?'_

Hermione explained the expression and he rolled his eyes. _'Children told you.'_

_'They're excited.'_

_'They vant extra pudding, I think_.' Viktor didn't mean it-he loved them and knew they loved him back, and it was nice they'd remembered. He'd had some halva and lokum brought to pass out, and he'd see they got more than they strictly needed.

_'Herm-on-nee-knee, how long it has been since you slept in own bed_?'

Hermione gave him a strange look. _'Last night. All these beds are ours.'_

_'No, I mean your bed in bedroom at home.'_

_'A long time_.' Almost a year, but she wasn't about to say that. He gave her a look which implied that he could tell he was being got round, and she found herself blushing slightly.

_'You vant to go tonight?'_

_'Tonight?'_

He nodded. _'We go soon and might not return for a vhile. Maybe you both spend some time with parents? Might be long time_.'

He looked thoughtful, and they both understood he wanted a little time to himself, or else with his father, who drifted like the ghost of himself through the rooms and corridors of the Embassy. They rose, and Hermione kissed his cheek gently and then allowed Draco to show her out.

The group was eating in their respective lodgings, and so Draco went to see his parents and Hermione her own, having given orders that dinner at Grimmauld Place was to be served catch as catch can that night and alerted Limpkin as to her destination.

They were startled but delighted, and Hermione was the same on finding out Mother was accompanying them to Bulgaria. For the first time in a long while, she actually grinned and hugged them both enthusiastically. 'That will be fun, Mother. We'll have a good time.'

Bellatrix found she had the desire to sit very near her daughter and touch her gently. Was the girl afraid?

Hermione, when asked, seemed to think about it a long time. 'I suppose I am, Mother.'

'Why have you said nothing_, then_?' Bellatrix gave her daughter a hard look and Hermione glanced away, but only for a second.

'I can't let people know, Mother. They take their cues from us, don't they?' Hermione seemed less afraid to her mother than terribly tired. She leant over and put her head in Bellatrix's lap, and Bellatrix immediately started to stroke her hair.

'Yes, well, it's different in the family._' _She gave the girl a good poke on the shoulder.

'You **tell **someone next time. I ought to...something, at any rate.' She kept stroking the girl's hair, wanting her to talk about what was bothering her. Hermione was relaxing and starting to snuggle against her leg as she did when she was falling asleep.

_'No, you don't. We're going to talk about this.'_

Hermione snuggled closer. 'Mother...are you ever afraid of what peace will look like?'

'Afraid?'

'I don't think I'm going to be able to enjoy it.'

'Why not_?'_

Hermione hesitated. 'Because sometimes I think that I'm going to spend a lot of time waiting for the next bad thing to happen.'

Bellatrix remembered that long ago conversation with Narcissa where her sister had foreseen this very thing, and went rigid, feeling a cold chill that oozed down her spine. 'You won't either!'

Hermione sat up. 'Mother? I'm sorry, Mother, I didn't mean-' She cringed and Bellatrix threw her arms round the girl and held her with crushing force, rocking jerkily.

'Hush, girl. Everything is fine. You'll marry your young man and have babies and that cat will saunter about like it owns the world and Cunegarde will complain you don't visit her enough.'

Hermione laughed, relieved. 'I thought you were angry at me, Mother.'

'Of course not. You're my daughter and I love you.'

Hermione nestled closer. 'Would you tuck me in later?'

'Your father and I both, now go upstairs, you're eating off a tray tonight. I won't have you running about ruining your health with all this.'

It felt wonderfully comforting to have some else call the shots for a while, and Hermione obeyed at once, stopping only to pick up Crookshanks, who was exploring his new domain, rubbing his scent on everything he owned, which was all of it.

At the Embassy, Martin Krum handed his son a small glass of well watered slivov and said nothing. Viktor forced himself to be calm and tried again.

_'Because they must stay here, Father. Rumen is still running the estates and Penko is our go-between for the governments.'_

_'A boy of thirteen?'_

Viktor sipped his brandy, feeling it burn down into his stomach. _'There is no one else that can be spared. The Death Eaters are defending their homeland from invasion via the English Channel and the others are not suitable for the reasons we've discussed. And perhaps it will help my cause, after a fashion.'_

_'How so?'_

_'It will encourage them to see I stand for us in this. An older person might make them think I was merely a puppet.'_

Martin drank half his own brandy in a single sip. _'But an Englishman? How will that look to the Conclave?'_

Viktor set his own goblet down. He didn't want to misspeak, after all. _'It will look like exactly what it is, Father. Bulgaria has chosen this alliance and now we must follow through on it. Perhaps it will serve to remind them of that.'_

Martin finished the rest of his drink. _'Zhivka would not like this._'

Viktor's jaw clenched with convulsive tightness. _'No, Mother would not want it like this._' He knew, as well as his father, that what seperated them from her was the amount of skill and ruthlessness and cunning which they used to keep themselves safe, to keep everyone safe.

_'If we are to survive, must we not first be worthy of survival_?' Martin's eyes were diffusive with the alcohol he'd consumed and the memories of things he'd seen and done in the past year.

Viktor's shoulders were shaking a little. _'What would you have me do, Papa? Let them destroy us?'_

Martin looked at his son with love and sadness and horror all mixed together. _'I did not mean you, son. You are all I could have asked for in a lord, and in my son. But sometimes, I look at what we've become and I think Zhivka must curse my name.'_

His sixteen year old son, lord of the castle and hardened veteran, shook his head. _'You know that isn't true.'_

Martin, who couldn't remember how many people he'd killed in the last year, slumped in his chair and shook his head. _'Bring her some roses, son, would you? I am sorry I could not come myself. Make sure she knows_?'

Viktor rose. '_Of course I will_.' He hugged his father and Martin hugged back, loving him fiercely, so fiercely that for a moment he regretted nothing that kept his son alive.

Viktor stepped into the Floo and Martin watched him, wondering whether the boy would ever forgive him for what he'd had to become.

**Spoiler A/N: **

**A seneschal was a person who helped the lord of a castle. It meant a lot of different things depending on the time period, so for the sake of the story, we're defining it as something like the lord's right hand person. It's different than the steward in that the steward does the day to day economic tasks, and not exactly an assistant because the seneschal is a person of roughly equal birth, sometimes a lord in their own right.**

**Also, some of the inspiration from Martin's character comes from Gerald O'Hara in the novel 'Gone with the Wind.' Not in story terms, but very much in the basic idea of the personalities involved.**


	68. Chapter 68

**A/N: Love to reviewers and Countess Black**

**Rabastan quotes Yeats at one point. **

**I have no idea who first came up with 'The Column of Truth' and Google doesn't seem to, either.**

**A note on fashion: Wizarding fashion changes very, very slowly. Material is expensive, so people tend to pass things down and re-make them with current fashion in mind. This is what people did prior to the modern age.**

The Ministry buzzed like a bee hive. A thousand minor functionaries, scandal seekers, and random onlookers found reason to be in the atrium as the party of Bulgarians and high ranking Death Eaters came to speak to the Wizengamot.

Leading them was the boy, the Quidditch player, with the Lestrange girl on his arm. She'd done a neat trick, judged the lady onlookers, in choosing her outfit. She was wearing a dress of snow white, embroidered in deep larkspur blue, with a sleeveless robe of the same blue overtop it and her styled in a modish arrangement of braids, tied with bits of blue silk thread. She managed to suggest Bulgaria whilst looking impeccably English, and the vogue had started before the smell of her perfume had faded from the room.

Viktor was holding her arm as tightly as he could without hurting her. He didn't want to be here. His mouth was dry and his stomach felt hot and loose, like he had to vomit. When they passed the place his mother had fallen, he silently whispered a prayer for her soul, and that she protect them in this.

Hermione could sense his mood, and stepped slightly closer to him. 'I've asked Kreacher to set out that smoked fish we got this morning for lunch, cold, with white cheese and fresh bread. Would you rather a duck?'

Talking about normal things helped. He smiled down at her. 'No, fish is good. Uncle have sent for us bottles of good vine, as vell. Ve serve at lunch.' Not for them, of course, but for everyone else.

She'd also had an English style cake made, a Battenberg cake with lemon curd and marzipan to serve for lasts, along with the sweets Draco had told her about.

Now, of all times, it was important to keep up the small routines of life as much as possible. Ahead of them, an auror opened the door to the chamber of the Wizengamot.

The fact the outcome was commonly known didn't make it any less important that the show be a good one. The justices, in their robes and headpieces, listened with enormous seriousness, asking the questions they'd been given by Lucius Malfoy, and played their parts to the hilt.

There was only one possible outcome, but that didn't mean there weren't forms to be observed. Snape, as the representative of the Dark Lord, rose and extended a hand to help lady Krum rise.

He was permitted this liberty because of his relationship with the girl-Snape was a sort of unofficial godfather, and in a society that loved children, it struck people as perfectly normal that Snape should take an active role in both his godchildren's lives.

'My lord and lady, by your leave, we'll go to allow them to deliberate.' Viktor nodded and followed into the little antechamber that was set aside for such things. His eyes kept drifting to Hermione; he was proud of her, and to be seen with her. In her pretty robes, she reminded him of a kingfisher against the backdrop of the dark panelled room.

'Professor, we're to celebrate Viktor's birthday this afternoon. Would you care to join us?'

Snape had rather planned on relaxing a bit at Spinner's End, but he told himself that refusing would get attention he could do without. And the elf at Grimmauld Place did set a fine table. He pretended not to notice how pleased both children seemed by the answer. 'I ought to see to that wretched mongrel anyhow.'

Hermione giggled. 'Professor, Salazar is lovely! I know you know how much of a help he is to us. The children love him.'

'The least the filthy beast can do is pull his weight. Lounging insolently about, eating your food, teaching Bess all sorts of bad habits. Happy birthday, my lord Krum. You are sixteen?'

'Yes, sixteen.' They were used to Snape's random outbursts of snarling, and both of them found the way Snape seemed to consider the dog practically a human being very funny and endearing.

'Very good.' An auror came into the room, bowing, and the three, assuming their roles once more, went to hear the Wizengamot's verdict, which they knew in advance.

As it happened, Salazar was indeed teaching Bess his habits. She'd just done a circuit of the house with him (they each took a floor and checked everything thoroughly) and then returned to the foyer to rest together and have a silent conversation.

Bess was still considering the implications of having a Man form. Did he often walk on two legs that way?

He did, as it happened. It was, he allowed, dead useful in some circumstances, but it was easier to chase rabbits on four legs.

And thumbs?

Those were definitely one of his favourites parts of being human. That and speech, but humans could hardly smell anything, and they lacked a dog's sense of loyalty and play.

Bess accepted this. She wished sometimes that could speak to the humans, as she had a great many observations she felt could be of some use to them. But on the whole, she liked being a dog. She wondered, though, what had become of Salazar's first pack?

Salazar explained the Predator had come for them. He was the only one left. Bess nuzzled him and whined sympathetically-she understood the Predator. It had come during the last Big Heat and taken one of the humans, despite the best efforts of the dogs to drive it off with barking.

Salazar licked her muzzle. Dogs have no sense of their own mortality as such; only that the unseen Predator lurked about, and sometimes it won and sometimes they won. The first pack simply hadn't won, that was all. And then they slept in the foyer, and waited for their humans to come home to them, feeling that a change would come, and prepared to scare whatever needed to be scared to keep the pack safe.

The doors finally opened some time later and the human pack poured through triumphantly, barking words and noises at one another. The two pups came running, and the third one that was neither pup nor full grown dog but a combination of both the dogs found slightly disquieting.

They yipped excitedly, dancing round the others, until the whole group was herded into the food room, where the dogs could not follow. Bess grunted to show what she thought of this and then they settled down again, hoping to go into the garden after the meal and chase the little ones, and then have a group nap in the fragrant mud.

The humans were pleased as well. It had gone smoothly, and the children, already excited because it was Viktor's birthday, were doubly so on hearing their side had won. And they had gifts for him, gifts they'd paid for themselves and helped to select. How could life get any better?

The elves, knowing it was the Master's birthday, had gone all out. The cold smoked fish was lying in state on a great silver salver in the middle of the table, surrounded by garnishes and small bowls of crème fraiche.

Fresh loaves of streaming bread were cut and the fish ceremonially divided, along with a salad of asparagus and vinegared vegetables and the white cheese which had been sent from the castle's dairy that morning, wrapped in cloth and then submerged in strong brine, and served with the wine that had come in the same carriage.

It was a splendid meal, and the group did it justice. By the time the cake was brought out, the group was relaxed and even rather cheerful. At Draco's whispered suggestion, Ivan rose and tapped his fork on the side of his goblet for quiet.

_'*Snetzka, would you bring down the gifts, please?*' _

Viktor cocked a brow at his fiancee, who pretended not to see as the elf handed over the two books and the box, wrapped in Honeyduke's distinctive packaging. He carefully opened the twine.

_'*Did you choose this, children?*'_

_'*Drago helped us. Do you like it?*'_

_'*Very much. Perhaps when you've started English lessons, we can read it together.*' _Viktor was smiling more than anyone at the table had seen in a long while, passing his new book round so everyone could see. They were all appropriately impressed (especially Penko, who resolved to buy the Bulgarian translation for himself).

He opened the sweets next, and that box made a circuit round the table as well, as did the boxes of lokum and halva which had been brought from the castle. Many of the English branch of the family had surprised themselves by developing a taste for one or the other, and there was quite a long time spent munching on the delicious offerings.

The next thing was Hermione's gift, which was the usual shirt, and, to his surprised pleasure, a small leather case that held shrunk down necessities. A charmed needle to fix small tears, a comb and tiny phial of cologne, a single dose of headache potion, room for a few coins and all other sorts of useful things one never seems to have at hand when needed.

The rest of the family had things too, and he was most glad of the new boots his aunt and uncle had given him, though his father indicated quietly that he had something for his son after the meal. Then, finally, it was Draco's turn. He handed over his parcel with a suspiciously innocent smile and Viktor, half afraid, opened the twine.

Viktor blinked. '*_Trollish poetry? Why, Drago, how thoughtful of you. I'll have to share it with everyone.*'_

'*_Share and share alike, I always say.*' _Draco was grinning. The adults exchanged a slightly confused look and then decided that they'd be happier not knowing.

_'*I've marked a passage on page 96 that might be of some interest to you, Viktor.*'_

'_*Love song of a young troll"?*_' Viktor's normally impassive face was round with amusement, and as the startled family watched, the lord of Castle Krum started to laugh. A second later, Draco and Hermione joined in, and then Barty, and then the children, and then everyone, even Cunegarde, was laughing, or at least looking less sour than previously.

After the meal, the group broke up. The ladies departed for Lestrange House, where the clothes brought from Bulgaria were to be sorted and the choices about what Hermione would wear would be made. Many of them were enthused about this chance to henparty a bit. The ones who weren't went as emotional support, and also because they had very little chance of getting out of the thing graciously.

Viktor and Draco were to be there too, though Viktor would be joining them later. Draco volunteered to accompany Aunt Eugenia and Aunt Cunegarde for the carriage ride, and Yana offered to accompany Draco, so they went off in the carriage, bound for Lincolnshire.

The elves had brought the trunks from the castle, shrunk down, and spread the contents round the sitting room closest Hermione's bedroom, ready to mend and clean her selections, and those of the two young Masters, so they'd look smart for their big trip.

Crookshanks sauntered in to give everyone a good sniff. He went lady to lady, taking extra time with his friend the Old Old Woman, and his other friend the Little Girl, giving them both his scent so no one would bother them without knowing that they'd deal with him as a consequence.

He deigned to give the others a bit of his time as well, before ending next to the Old Old Woman, perched on a squashy velvet cushion, as was his right. He settled back and suffered the Little Girl to pet his ears a little, speaking excitedly to him, even permitting her toy to be settled on his pillow. He gave the yarn hair an experimental gnaw and settled back to watch the show.

Lyudmilla wasn't sure how she felt about unpacking Zhivka's clothes in this place. She found the houses here pretty but incredibly cold. Everything was polished to mirror gloss and the rooms were like boxes, designed to keep people in. She preferred the warmth of low-ceiling, wide rooms that allowed the whole family to comfortably coexist together.

The elves spread out the summer things, sorted by formality, and Lyudmilla, as wife of the steward, inspected them for damage or wear. A few had some imperfections that she noted to Snetzka, who as housekeeper took pride in keeping them all looking up to scratch, so they could be fixed.

Rinky was nearby, holding Hermione's workbasket, as Hermione herself mended a few small things that needed it, talking with her mother and aunts the whole time. 'Aunt Eugenia, you're sure you don't need an ottoman?'

'I'm fine, love.'

Cunegarde glared. 'She is not fine! Have that elf bring some cold water to soak your aunt's feet in, and also loomwort infusion to drink.'

Hermione turned to Aunt Narcissa, who swiftly distracted the old woman. Aunt Lyudmilla, having narrowed the choices down significantly, asked Hermione to come and choose her clothes for the trip.

It was hard going for the women in many ways, watching her do this. Before, the elves had dressed the girl in clothing appropriate to her station as an unmarried woman; someday soon Yana would inherit Hermione's old things, just as Hermione had got them from the last Krum daughter, Martin's great aunt.

Now, though her station had not changed, the emphasis had. She had to be immediately recognisable as chatelaine first and foremost, and that meant that when the clothes had been sent for, it had been Zhivka's things the elves had brought.

Hermione knew it, too. To appear before the Conclave, she chose a simple white chemise and a black sleeveless gown, scoop-necked, with showed off the fineness of the chemise underneath.

Lyudmilla had also had jewellery sent, and helped her select an appropriate necklace and belt to go with the outfit, and finally, after a long hesitation, a scarf for her hair, striped in silver to match everything else.

The other things were brighter, more festive, but the first outfit had set the tone. This was no pleasure trip, and the children would cease to be Viktor and Hermione and become lord and lady Krum the second their feet touched Bulgarian soil and they swapped out their English style clothing for all of this.

The clothes were only the most obvious sign, feudal power made manifest. The real test would what happened before the Conclave, and no one could help the children-lord and lady Krum, rather- but they could send them the only armour available, tradition and authority in the form of cloth. Sometimes that's the best we can do.

Martin would have agreed with that. He had picked at dinner and then, when Viktor returned with him to the embassy, spread out the maps again. He tapped one with his wand and the nine small Houses (well, their sigil animals) moved toward the Conclave in Sofia.

_'Hinova, Balev, Nanov, Sirakov, Veneva, Lilov, Paisi, Mitkova and Raev.'_

_'They'll all come?'_

_'The final response came this morning, Viktor. They're all yours. And Uncle Grigor has sent many of his own people as well._'

_'How many?'_

_'Three, but they speak for all of them, and his steward as well. Quite a little army, don't you think?'_

Viktor nodded. _'And they'll swear the oath?'_

Martin looked grim. 'They'd best.' He clapped his son's shoulder. _'You'll be fine_.'

_'Thank God for Uncle Rumen and Aunt Lyudmilla. They've done loads to help us.'_

_'Your uncle's phlegmatic, to be sure, but I've never doubted he loves us and loves the family.'_

_'I know.' _Viktor looked at the table a moment. _'Who amongst the small Houses will be a problem, do you expect?'_

Martin tapped the place where the rook sigil of Nanov flapped. _'Nanov, if any. Perhaps Paisi, if he feels bold. Of your uncle's people, I shouldn't think any._' He set down his wand and looked at his son.

_'The day you were born, Viktor, your grandmother-my mother, I mean, not your Grandmama-told me she'd had a dream about you. She said you'd have a life that was not easy.'_

Viktor didn't put much stock in those things, but he didn't precisely disbelief, either, and he sighed deeply. _'But not unhappy, Father.'_

_'No?'_

_'I believe we make our happiness._' He did, too. Stretching, he popped his shoulder. A lifetime of athletic activity had given him, he thought ruefully, a good many lumps and bumps that sometimes bothered him when it was too cold or damp. It was a slightly wet day, and so the shoulder-blade that had been shattered at thirteen was aching a little.

_'As do I. Our own luck as well, perhaps.'_

Viktor stretched again, resolving to have his valet rub him with some mint oil to ease the low aching. _'I don't know about that. Perhaps luck meets us half way.'_

_'Oh?'_

_'We've been lucky, I allow, but how much have we done to assure our own luck in things?'_ He thought of the hours they'd spent practicing, the lonely predawns he and Hermione had passed in planning and more planning, the things he'd done with his uncles to keep their tenants safe from the menace.

_'You have used luck to your own advantage, I would say._'

Viktor looked at the ancient drawing of Castle Krum, limned by some monk centuries past, and stroked the family keep with his callused fingers. _'I have had help, Father. That alone nearly makes it worth it. A wise man once told me easy lives are boring lives.'_

Martin reached into his tunic and handed out a box. _'Open it_.'

Viktor did. It was a strange thing, an ancient piece of glass with what looked like a few pieces of cloth behind it.

_'What is it?'_

_'Do you remember when Miraslova drove off the Bogomils, Viktor_?'

_'Of course. That was the first gift I ever gave Hermione. That book I mean.'_

_'When they lifted the siege, she personally led the women to dispatch the wounded. She finished the leader herself. This is something she cut from his cloak and saved_.'

Viktor realised how precious what he'd been given was. He was lord, which made him the steward of the family history. He fingered the broach reverently. _'Thank you, Father.'_

_'When you go to the Conclave, carry it with you. Perhaps Miraslava will help you make a little luck.'_

Viktor nodded and closed the box. 'Tinky' his new valet 'please bring this to Madam and ask her pack it in my things, vith my compliments.' The elf bowed and then vanished with the precious box.

Martin wished he had words of wisdom for his son. He didn't. He called for wine and decided that he'd just enjoy the lad's company a while, and so that's what they did.

Bellatrix was preparing too. All the children had been relieved to hear she was coming with them, and the ladies helped her pack as well. She would be bringing and wearing English style clothing, to emphasis Britain's role in the proceedings, and she packed her usual shapeless dresses in the usual dark shades.

Yana wandered the bedroom, sniffing the perfumes on the vanity and poking through the mysterious and lovely talismans of womanhood. She would someday use soap that smelt like flowers, she decided firmly, and lip paint, and kohl on her eyes.

'*_Aunt Trixie?*_'

Bellatrix put down her black shawl (the light one) and looked at the girl. '*_Yana?*'_

'*_When Hermione was my age, did she come in here to play?*' _Hermione had leant Yana several dolls she found pretty but not very welcoming; had it been her, she would have rather spent time in her, with the loads of things to look at.

_'*When Hermione was your age, your uncle and I were away.*'_

_'*Away?*'_

_'*That's right. She lived someone else, and so did we.*'_

_'*Somewhere else?*'_

_'*Yes.*' _Bellatrix handed the shawl to her maid and the elf packed it. It was delicate silk net, a gift from Narcissa. She was slightly surprised when Yana clamoured into her lap and settled like she belonged there.

'*_Where did she live, then?*'_

_'*With some people known to our family.*'_

_'*Why couldn't she live with Aunt Narcissa and her family?*'_

'_*It's very complicated.*' _She was past rage at the muggles, but she didn't like to talk about it much. It upset her daughter, and she saw no possible good coming of this conversation.

Yana frowned thoughtfully. '*_Adults say that a lot. Why is everything complicated?*'_

_'*It just is. One of life's mysteries.*' _

_'*Oh. Will you have to go away again? To the other place, I mean.*'_

Bellatrix actually smiled a little. '_*No, Yana. Not ever again.*' _Yana accepted this and climbed down.

Lyudmilla had come over, preparing to intervene, and heard enough to put most of it together. She sat down, very cautiously. _'*Bellatrix?*'_

'*_Lyudmilla?*'_

_'*May I ask?*'_

Bellatrix's voice was flat. _'*Hermione was stolen from us by the Order of the Phoenix-that group that's sponsoring the wolves. We only found her after we were released.*'_

Lyudmilla went white. '*_I am so sorry. I can't imagine what you've all been through.*'_

'*_No*' _said Bellatrix, still in that dangerously calm voice '*_But it's better now. Hermione is safe.*'_ She would keep her safe as well, if she had to personally kill every werewolf in Europe one by one, if she had to do it by hand.

'_*If there's ever anything I can do to help...*'_

'*_Thank you.*_' Bellatrix rose and went to check on the children, and reassure herself that her daughter was still there. Lyudmilla, seeing her retreating back, felt both edified and afraid, and decided to cast it from her mind and hug her own children in silent gratitude that they would not vanish from her.

Viktor arrived at the house with no incident, and the group passed an evening in pleasant domesticity, with a bit of singing and, the highlight of the evening, Viktor's reading of a few poems from his new book. It was a bad as one would expect.

Penko come home early, made his excuses, and gone upstairs, murmuring about a fictional headache. In actuality, he'd slipped down a dusty corridor between the walls and come out in Rabastan's room, where his lover was waiting. Penko shucked his clothes and slid under the covers, kissing Rab's mouth.

_'*How did it go?*'_

_'*Everything's as ready as it's going to get, dear heart. How do you feel?*'_

Rabastan sighed. '_*Gennie's uncomfortable now that she's so large. Any luck with that elf?*'_

_'*I've a few worth looking into. How would you feel if it was bilingual?*_'

'Bilingual?'

'*_If the baby is to live in Bulgaria, and be surrounded by Bulgarians, it ought to be able to speak Bulgarian. And it's possible my nephew will want to marry your child to one of his. It would ease the way.*'_

Rabastan nodded. _'*If you can find one, please do.*'_

_'*And Eugenia's maid is adequate, you think?*'_

'*_She thinks so. I think if she's happy, I'm happy in that regard.*' _Rabastan thought the thing looked a bit tatty, but he had the distinct impression that the Featherings hadn't been terribly wealthy, and it might have been her old nanny or something.

Penko was thinking much the same. He rolled so his head was on Rabastan's chest and sighed deeply. _'*I am so tired.*'_

_'*Do you want to just nap a bit?*'_

'*_No, I mean, __**tired**__. Of all this. I remember when Viktor was born, you know. I was almost the same age as Drago.*'_

_'*And now?*'_

_'*I am thirty years old and sending that boy-he was very small, and had a head of black hair, I remember- to ask my people to back him in what is turning into a continent wide war.*'_

Rabastan stroked his fingers through his lover's hair, which was loosed, hanging on his shoulders like a fall of silver silk.

_'*Things fall apart.*'_

Penko kissed him again. '_*They needn't. Not now.*' _And for a while, they were all right, just the two of them, in their bed, shutting out the world, and the ever widening hole in the column of truth.

The group left England early, so early it was still dark. Rodolphus and Martin and the uncles saw them off, along with a dour Snape and a sleepy but cheerful Salazar, and Bess, who whined until the carriage was out of sight.

They were quiet. It wasn't exactly an escape this time, but they were hardly headed for safety or comfort. Last year, it had been Viktor and Hermione who left England; this year, lord and lady Krum were going home to plead their case, with the seneschal Draco Malfoy and the lady's mother to chaperone, not to mention a small cadre of elves to serve their needs.

The carriage touched down in Sofia just before dinner. They were to stay in the town house that was usually Penko's, and the small staff lined up to greet them with excitement, and served a delicious supper of stew and bread.

No one was hungry. After the meal, the three main players in this odd play dressed in Bulgarian clothes. The elves were positively beside themselves in getting to dress Hermione in her new things, especially her scarf.

Appropriately dressed, they waited in the reception room as the first lord came in with his wife. Hinov dropped to one knee. 'My lord and lady Krum, House Hinova will be faithful to you, and all your heirs, and vows never to take arms against you, and to fight honourably in your defence and that of your sworn friends and brethren.'

' Rise, lord Hinov, House Krum accepts your oath. Let it be know that we will protect you and your people, and aid you in whatever way is necessary to maintain the peace and prosperity of our lands.' Hinov came and kissed the ring on Viktor's hand, and then straightened up.

'Andrei Hinov, lord Krum.'

'An honour, sir. My fiancee, lady Krum, and my seneschal, Drago Malfoy.' Draco nodded politely and smiled at the man's wife, who was standing next to him.

'Then it is true. Would it be expedient to tell my men to prepare themselves?'

Viktor's face was set, eyes sad and distant. 'It would be advisable. Do not panic them, of course, but it never hurts to be ready just in case.'

Hinov nodded. 'If my lord will forgive me, my wife and I were deeply sorry to hear of the passing of your lady mother. She was a fine woman.'

'Thank you. She was that.'

The rest of them went pretty much like that. At the end of the night, the boys retired to their room and Hermione and Bellatrix to theirs. Hermione was tired, even too tired to read in bed. She simply laid back and drifted, savouring Mother's presence. She almost never got Bellatrix to herself, and it felt good not to have to worry for a little while.

The cat came in and made a blatting miaow to let them know he was there. Hermione sat up, cooing delightedly, and the cat leapt up, kneading and purring.

_'You really like that old thing?'_

_'Of course I do. He's brilliant, and he loves us_.' He also cheered Aunt Cunegarde up, and even seemed to like Snape. She rolled so he could snuggle into her belly, which he did, with a snort of contentment.

Bellatrix thought the cat had worked out as well as it could. _'It doesn't bring you dead things or something wretched like that?'_

_'No, Mother. He does chase moths and things, but that's good.'_

_'Quite._' And he wasn't noisy. Bellatrix reached a hand over and smoothed the cat's head. The cat blatted once more and then settled in for a good sleep.

_'Are you scared, girl? About tomorrow?'_

Hermione yawned. _'Nervous, but you are Viktor and Draco will be there. I know I'm all right if you're there.'_

Bellatrix kissed her forehead. _'Go to sleep, my girl.'_

She spent a long, long time watching the girl, and felt her love for her, like ivy, grown over her, and was well pleased.


	69. Chapter 69

**A/N: Love to reviewers and Countess Black**

**Special thanks to Heart of a Wolf for her help with this chapter.**

**This chapter contains slight underage consumption of alcohol.**

**'No better friend' is a reference to Lucius Cornelius Sulla.**

**Lord Vidanov probably starts sounding slightly Scabior-esque. It's not intentional. I'm just no good at that sort of thing.**

**Princess wishes me to tell readers that a ginger cat is quite the finest thing a person can be. Seeing her life, I can't help but agree :)**

Though the building could hold thousands, it ordinarily held a fraction of that. Not today.

At nine AM, the traditional hour, when the herald (the son of a minor lord whose voice had not yet broken) sang out the name Viktor, lord Krum, over a thousand men and a handful of women craned their heads with interest.

The small group (for there was a thin blond boy behind them, wearing an iron pin which marked him as seneschal) seemed to notice not at all. The boy-lord helped his even younger fiancée into their place in the front box and they waited, bowing their heads when the bishop of Sofia rose to give the blessing.

After the bishop had settled back on his chair, Dinev (younger brother of the Minister, and father of Viktor's acquaintance from camp) rose. 'The lords of the Conclave recognise Viktor, lord Krum. Step forward and be heard.'

The boy-lord stepped from the box and took up his place in the middle of the concentric ring of seats. 'My lords, I come to you today with grave tidings, and a humble request. Seneschal, the petition.'

Draco handed it over and Viktor allowed his valet to unfurl it and read it in his deep, slow voice. 'I, Viktor, lord Krum, the four hundred and seventy-seventh of that title, do in the sight of God and the assembled, charge my uncle, Stefan Borev, with crime enumerated here, and vow on my immortal soul that the following is a true and accurate account of the said crimes.'

'That Stefan Borev, on the 24 day of July of 1993, assaulted a guest in my home for the purpose of obtaining information to sell to Romania.'

'That Stefan Borev, on being turned from my home in disgrace, did illegally cross the border into Romania for the purposes of defecting to the enemy.'

'That Stefan Borev joined with a band of rogue werewolves, led by the fugitive Nicolae Pavel, for the purpose of causing mayhem.'

'That Stefan Borev knowingly led the said werewolves to the World Cup in order to pursue that goal, heedless of the spectators that would be harmed or killed.'

'That Stefan Borev incited or helped to incite a riot which killed two hundred and three spectators, sixty one of them women and fourteen children.'

'That Stefan Borev willfully abandoned his elderly mother in doing these things.'

'That Stefan Borev has purposefully and maliciously sought to do harm to the alliance between Bulgaria and Britain.'

'That these same werewolves have knowingly committed crimes against the innocent, including the riots of December 1992 and an illegal guerrilla warfare campaign in Britain which has cost the lives of one hundred Bulgarian aurors and five hundred British ones.'

'I therefore petition and entreat those assembled to outlaw this man, to strip him of all titles, holdings and offices, and to make known his treachery that all men might persecute him to the ends of the earth as payment for his many crimes.'

'All this I, Viktor, lord Krum do solemnly swear this day, 8th June, 1994.'

The charges hung over the room like a shroud. The lords and ladies of the Conclave took their obligations seriously, and there were few matters more serious, aside from outright war, than doing what lord Krum had asked of them.

Dinev rose and clanged his small bell to get attention. 'The Conclave finds the depositions and memories corroborating this petition to be in order. How says the vassal lords of House Krum?'

'House Hinova swears it.'

'House Balev swears it.'

'House Nanev swears it.'

'House Sirakov swears it.'

'House Veneva swears it.'

'House Lilov swears it.'

'House Paisi swears it.'

'House Mitkova swears it.'

'House Raev swears it.'

Dinev nodded. 'The floor is now open for counter-arguments. Kliment, lord Vidanov of House Vidanov, rise and be heard.'

'I think I speak for many of us when I say that it's about bloody time you did something about that whoreson bastard.'

An audible gasp went up. Viktor stiffened. Wands had been seized at the door, but that didn't mean he couldn't grope for his, and did. 'Please, my lord, there is no need for that.'

'Like hell. That man ruined my sister and made my brother a cripple, and what did anyone do about it? You come in here with your Englishmen to warn us what'll happen if we don't go along. Why should we? This is your mess, Krum. You clean it up.' There was a little applause and much curiosity about how the boy would react.

'I am sorry for your losses. Truly, I am, but you are out of line.'

'"Out of line"? A beardless boy dares rebuke me? Just because your father's gone mad-'

Hermione had followed what was going on well enough to know that this could only end badly, and that she had perhaps two seconds to avert disaster. She leapt to her feet and the talking stopped.

'My lords, I...I...oh...' She did one of the hardest things she'd ever done; she let herself fall forward, knowing she'd crack her head on a railing. Eyes rolling, she went utterly limp, and Draco, lunging, caught her with a millisecond to spare.

'Hermione!' Viktor sprinted and took her from Draco. He could tell she wasn't really unconscious. What could she be doing?

Dinev cleared his throat. 'Should I summon a medi-wizard, my lord?'

Hermione's lashes fluttered. 'Oh. Oh. I just feel bad a second. I'm sorry.' Viktor gently set her to her feet. She was white as snowdrops under her married lady's scarf, and her even paler cousin leant over and murmured something in English.

'Lady Krum is not strong, my lords. May we continue?'

There was no possible way to delay the vote now. They had to vote before the group left the building, and the girl could be ill. Dinev wondered whether she was as frail as she looked or she was simply a clever actress.

'All in favour of outlawing Stefan Borev?'

'AYE.' Of the eligible houses, the vast majority-the necessary two thirds and then some-agreed to do it. Viktor felt his shoulders unknot for a moment, until he remember how angry he was at Vidanov.

'Opposed?'

'Nay.'

'The petition is granted. Stefan Borev is stripped of all lands, titles and holdings. Let the news of his crimes be circulated through the towns and cities of the world, and let him who'd give him aid or shelter on Bulgarian soil be outlawed as well.'

Hermione leant toward Viktor and whispered something in English. He couldn't believe what he was hearing. _'You vant to vhat_?'

She whispered something else, and he had to shake his head again, this time in wonder. _'I trust you_.' He spoke to Snetzka, who appeared before lord Vidanov.

'Please, lord, doing honour House Krum by coming to for lunch today.'

Vidanov stopped. 'What?'

'Master and mistress wishing your lordship is coming for lunch today at townhouse. Sharing wine with them, and meal.'

Vidanov couldn't precisely refuse, because a small crowd of minor lords were listening like sharks who smelt blood. 'Please tell lord Krum I'd be honoured.'

In the carriage, the wheels left the ground and Viktor found himself torn between being furious with Hermione for potentially endangering herself and pleased that lady Krum had averted a situation that he hadn't wanted to get involved in to start with.

He gave her a gimlet eye and started in. 'Hermione, you might have been hurt!' He was using Bulgarian; it was a little rude, perhaps, but he suspected Drago would understand this was a...well, not a marital issue, but something between them as a couple.

She shook her head. 'A fight would hurt more, Viktor. What they might say about us if we fight on Conclave grounds?'

'That's not the point!'

'Is the point!'

'You could have been hurt, Hermione. I mean it.' He frowned and she rested her head against him.

'So do I. We work too hard to lose this, Viktor. Maybe we hear lots of bad things for a while, but we don't fight them all, yes?'

He cupped her cheek. 'I should tell Aunt Narcissa about this.'

'No need for that.'

He chuckled despite himself. 'Giving me sad eyes doesn't work. I live with Yana, remember?'

She gnawed her lip for a second. 'That is true, yes, but I tell Yana you tease me. She get fighty with you.'

He snorted. 'And then Bess? So I'll have all three of you doing it?'

'Sounds good to me.'

He darted his eyes to Draco, who, contrary to seeming to mind, was slumped against the back of the seat, face even paler than usual. Hermione noticed to, and sat up.

_'Draco, do you have a migraine?'_

_'Not yet._' His face was tight and she could see perspiration gently beading his upper lip. She reached into her little bag and pulled out a phial. _'Drink this.'_

_'What it is?'_

_'Migraine potion.'_

_'Can't. It'll make me sleep.'_

_'Draco Lucius Malfoy, this second.'_

_'Hermione Bellatrix Lestrange, I said no.'_

_'Drago, take the phial._' Viktor resolved that Hermione would not be the only one getting a scolding from him that day and glared until Draco obediently took the phial and then laid back, breathing deeply.

_'How d'you know, Hermione_?' His voice was slurring a little with sleepiness and the sudden lack of pain.

_'To bring it? Stress gives you migraines_.' She had also decided to give him a talking to, and mention it to Aunt Narcissa. Viktor nodded approvingly and cast a silencing bubble so Draco could sleep until they got back to the townhouse. It would be a very short journey, but the elves would put him to bed, ideally until his migraine was better.

The elves did indeed take Draco directly upstairs to sleep off the pain, and so Viktor and Hermione had a few moments to themselves to prepare for their strange guest.

'Hermione?'

'Yes, Viktor?' She was giving a few instructions to the elves. 'What wine for lunch?'

'What are we having?'

'Lamb and potatoes. The red?'

'The five year old vintage to start, and then the newer. And lots of it, please.' He'd bring the fellow round if they had to pour half the cellar down his throat. Hermione seemed to have had the same thought, and asked an elf to bring up some chilled slivov to start with.

Then she called Rinky. _'Rinky, go to Snape and ask him for a phial of Sobriety potion, please. We'll replace it_.' It was very expensive, but she thought Snape would understand.

The elf returned with not one but two phials, and a terse note to the effect that they should pour the purple phial into the goblet of whomever they were hosting.

Viktor downed the sobriety potion and grimaced. 'Uh, terrible.' Then he touched her shoulder lightly. 'We did well today.'

'I think so too.' She sat down, letting one of the elves straighten her scarf and hold a mirror so she could refresh the very slight amount of tinted lip salve she'd put on.

He sat down next to her. 'Please don't scare me like that again.'

She slipped a hand into his. 'I can't watch someone hurt you, Viktor. Can't.'

'You want me to watch you get hurt instead?' He chafed her hand between his, looking as stern as he could. She swallowed hard.

'No. But I...' She suddenly took a deep breath and pressed her head into his chest. 'I can't lose you.'

He put both arms about her. 'You know you won't, Hermione.'

'I know' she said sounding miserable and determined 'but I am worry.'

'Worried. Don't be.' He hugged her more tightly, rubbing her back. 'Everything is all right.'

She nodded, still pressing her face into his chest. 'We are both safe.'

'And I love you.'

Her face came up from his chest, eyes brimming. 'Viktor!'

'You didn't know?'

She dabbed her eyes. 'It feel good to hear. I love you too.' They stayed that way until the elf announced lord Vidanov.

In England, Snape was waiting to see what his protégés had cooked up. He'd be willing to bet it was, if nothing else, interesting. He shook his head and whirled as the dog came in, looking sombre.

'Something the matter, dog?'

'Not as such. Gennie's not comfortable, she's so big now.'

'That generally happens when a lady's in the family way.'

'Isn't there something you can do?'

'Not really. She's got the nanny elf, and Elisaveta will help her.'

'That poor woman.'

Snape was inclined to agree. 'The baby will give her a focus.'

The dog nodded. 'Any news from Bulgaria?'

'The vote passed. He's outlawed.'

'Glad I don't have to be the one to tell his mother.'

'Sentimental today, aren't we?'

Black gave one of his barking laughs. 'I feel like I'm part of these peoples' lives. Everyone confides in the dog, you know.'

'Oh?'

'**Everyone**.'

'Anything of use?'

'Wouldn't I have told you?'

Snape conceded that point. 'If you know what's good for you. So the children tell you their little hopes and dreams?'

'If they do, I shan't reveal them. A confidence is a confidence. Unless it were something dangerous, of course.'

Snape found he could go along with this line of reasoning. If it soothed the dog to listen to prattle, let him have it to himself. 'Very noble of you, Salazar.'

'Any news of my brother? What became of him, I mean.'

'Nothing. I shall continue to search. May I ask a personal question?'

'If I said no, would it stop you?'

'Not for a second. Why are you so intent on this? I seem to recall you were none to shy about announcing you'd been disinherited.' Neither had Reg been, but he wasn't going to tell the dog what his brother had been bruiting about.

Black looked abashed and defiant at once. 'He was my little brother, Snape. I might have hated what he'd become, but...maybe you'd have to have a sibling to understand.'

Snape shrugged. 'It's your affaire. Just a bit a curiosity on my part.'

'Will you let me know what's going on if you should get some news?'

'We're going to dinner at Lestrange House this evening. The children simply can't wait to see you.'

'They're really nice kids.'

'They are.' They'd developed some sort of fascination with him, and sometimes followed him about, asking questions and generally making nuisances of themselves, but he found he couldn't summon much spleen about it.

Black stretched. 'I'm going to go and roust the gnomes in the garden. They've been making eyes at your tomatoes for days.'

Snape nodded and spelled the door open as Black segued into Salazar. The dog chuffed a thanks and took off after a gnome, tail wagging. Snape shook his head and closed the door quietly, wondering how a swot like Black had become the closest to a friend that he had.

In Sofia, Hermione was smiling. She nodded to the elf, who took out the soup and brought in the lamb, cooked with green onions and served with potatoes broiled tender, along with bread and cheese.

Viktor was smiling too. He refilled the guest's goblet and handed it over. He poured more for himself and Hermione as well, but her goblet was being kept full of water and he'd taken the potion and so felt clear-headed.

The guest was not so lucky. Viktor didn't know what was in the phial the elves had administered, but he was glad he wasn't the one drinking it. Vidanov had started out sullen and sober, got friendly and a bit sloppy, and was now sentimental and pissed as newt.

He turned to Hermione, nearly slopping his goblet on her. 'Sorry, m'lady. You remin me of a pitcher I saw of yer mother. Where is she?'

'Mother is sick today, my lord.'

'Thousand pardons, and I hope she feel bedder.'

'My lord' said Viktor, hoping the man was too drunk to be violent. 'Could we discuss what happened earlier? House Krum would like to make restitution.'

'It was a ter'ble thing. Yer uncle's a real bastard. Pardon me, m'lady. Yer Bulgarian's good. How'd you learn t'speak it s'well?'

'A friend help me.'

'Good. Good. Now what did Hous Krum want t'say?'

'Surely, my lord, there's some way we can rectify this?'

'Mebbe we can talk it over when I'm a bit...a bit...ohh.' He smiled brightly and then turned and vomited on the floor. An elf immediately cleaned it up, but even that couldn't stop the children's good mood. As lord Vindanov slid to the floor, they both grinned. 'Rinky, please levitate lord Vidanov into the parlour and onto a divan. Then ask a maid to watch until he's woken.' Viktor took her hand and the two went off to tend their other gardens a bit.

In Lincolnshire, Rumen read the letter with real relief. 'It's done.'

Lyudmilla set down her quill (her new nephew had a slight cold, and she was talking her semi-hysterical sister down) and nodded. _'Who's to tell her?'_

_'Let's both go.'_

Elisaveta was sitting with Eugenia, holding her hand whilst she checked her pulse. Lyudmilla went and knelt next the old woman. _'Elisaveta?'_

_'It passed, didn't it?'_

_'It did_.' The old woman shivered and clutched Eugenia's hand with convulsive tightness. Eugenia, reached up and held the woman's hand with her other one and caught Lyudmilla's eye. They shared an unspoken understanding about a good many things.

'_It's only right, if he did what Viktor said he did.'_

_'He did.'_

_'I know.' _The old woman shrank visibly. _'I will go and lie down.' _With her elf beside her, she walked for the stairs, a figure bowing inexorably under the thousand burdens of a life like hers.

Rumen swallowed. _'I'll go and write Martin. He'd want to know.'_

_'Of course. Rumen?'_

_'Yes?'_

_'We're extraordinarily lucky.'_

_'I know._' He went to tell his brother and hoped against hope their luck would hold a bit longer.

Vidanov woke after dark, head pounding. One of the better side effects of the potion Snape had sent was that it compressed the stages of drunkenness into a concentrate of each. Drunkenness was more pleasant, but the hangover was...less pleasant is putting it mildly.

So when he struggled up, mouth cottony, head pounding, the world compressed to a point of painful, throbbing light, he wasn't sure where he was, what time it was, or why he felt like he'd been mauled by a thousand enraged pixies.

'Lord Vidanov? Snetzka is getting lord Krum now.' The elf bowed and vanished, and appeared a moment later with Krum. 'Are you better, my lord?'

'No' said Vidanov, who felt, on top of his sickness, a dart of shame and horror. 'How much did I drink?'

'Quite a bit, but who's keeping track?'

Vidanov held his throbbing head. An elf appeared with phial of headache potion and one for stomach upset. He downed them both without hesitating. 'Now, lad, about this morning...'

'No need to speak of unpleasantness. House Krum is deeply sorry that whole awful incident ever happened.'

'Of course. And perhaps that remark about the chatelaine and the other lad was a bit of a low blow. She seems a very nice girl.'

'She is' said Viktor immediately 'quite the finest lady I know.'

'You're lucky in that. My own mother, God rest her, was a fine lady.' He dropped his head for a second, contemplating his long deceased mother.

'I wonder, lord Virdanov, if we might make a sort of accord in regards to the issue of my uncle?'

'How so?'

Viktor smiled. 'You've got lands that abut Romania. If you should hear anything, it would be your prerogative to deal with it, of course. But if you'd like some help, we'll always be available. **Always**.'

Vidanov nodded. 'I appreciate that. You must understand, I was very close with both my siblings.'

'I have two younger cousins I love dearly. It would be terrible if...'

'It was. And your uncle protected him. I know you were a boy and couldn't have done anything, but it was bitter to us.'

'I am genuinely sorry that happened.'

'As am I.' The man drank a bit more water. 'It's a hard thing, having to decide whether to start a civil war or let someone get away with destroying your family.'

Viktor gave him a look that spoke volumes. 'I've some experience with that, actually. '

'Not enough. Someday the time will come when you've given up as much as myself. Then, boy, you may talk.'

'We needn't turn this into a contest, my lord. We have both lost much because of Stefan.'

'You mentioned wanting to correct that?'

'I did. What could we do for your family?'

Vidanov's answer was immediate. 'I want that Death Eater you employ to come and train my men to defend the borders better.'

'Lemuel Scabior, you mean?'

'That's he. I'd want him for a month or so.'

'Done. I would, of course, send my people to you if you should need help.'

'Of course. Tell me, Krum, what makes you think the wolves will come?'

Viktor sipped his water. 'What makes you think they will not, my lord?'

'As I've said, I've no personal problem with your fiancé or her people. But House Krum invited this by joining with the British. Why would they attack the rest of us when it's you they're after?' His voice was utterly free of rancour. He genuinely wanted to know.

'Because Stefan is vengeful, and he'll blame us all for outlawing him.'

'Can he even get in the country?'

'He'll find a way, and when he does, he'll lead them to my door. If Castle Krum falls, my lord Vidanov, what are the odds they wouldn't want to try another one?'

'We've done nothing to them.'

'The Conclave voted to honour the Dark Lord's offer of friendship. It could have refused and joined with Romania. That alone might be enough for them.'

'You make a good case, Krum.'

'I believe it with my whole soul.'

'I've never doubted it. Your grandfather knew my father, did you know that?'

Viktor was slightly confused, but he nodded, going along with it. 'I didn't.'

'He had utmost respect for him, and your family. Father was there, you know, when your grandfather defied Grindelwald.'

'He did?'

'Yes. He spat in his face, knowing he'd burn for it. That was the sort of man he was.'

'My father's said.'

'Your father ought to be ashamed of himself.'

Viktor's hand tightened on his cup. 'It would be a shame to ruin such amiable concordance, my lord.'

'I agree, but look at it from our perspective. He's vanished and left a teenage boy in his stead. How would you think of such a man?'

'That he so valued his family he went to fight to preserve them.'

Vidanov knew a dodge when he heard one, but the boy, clearly, did not. 'Perhaps. House Vidanov agrees to your terms with a final proviso: should your wolves come, will you fight with us?'

'If they attack Castle Krum, will you answer our call?'

'No better friend, no worse enemy than House Vidanov.'

'House Krum will drink to that.'

The elf brought them both small glasses of slivov and they downed them, and shook hands. Then Vidanov took his leave, and Viktor, bemused, spent a long while staring at the cold fireplace, wondering what was true and what was political blather.

After, he rose and went to check on Hermione and Draco. As he passed the room where Bellatrix and Hermione were staying, his mother in law's head popped out, like a gopher from the ground. _'Hello, Viktor.'_

_'Hello, Mother. Drago is vaking up?'_

_'Just now.'_

_'Sorry you could not join us for lunch.'_

_'I wasn't' _she said flatly. _'Rather blind myself than listen to another damned politician. How did it go, anyhow?'_

_'They join us.'_

'_Oh_?' Bellatrix's eyebrows shot up. _'How did you manage that?'_

Viktor grinned. '_Alcohol_.'

She shook her head. '_Honestly_.' She popped back in, feeling pleased with all the children and their work that day.

Viktor went into the bedroom he and Draco were sharing. Draco was indeed awake, propped up on the pillows. Hermione was with him, working on a pile of mending, thimble on her finger.

_'How did it go?'_

_'Vell. He drink too much, then ve get him to listen.'_

_'That's good._' Draco looked better but still a little wan. He tried to sit up, using his elbows, but didn't quite make it.

_'Herm-on-nee-knee, maybe you go talk to Mother?'_

Hermione rose, raising an eyebrow. _'Come get me after?'_

_'I vill.'_ She took her things and made an exit as quickly as she could.

Viktor sat down. _'You didn't say you had headache.'_

_'No. How could I? We had something to do.'_

_'Yes, vell.'_

_'Yes, well, what? I'd a duty to do.'_

Viktor had to admit, the logic was excellent. _'Yes, but this is not first time, Drago. You know better. If you tell us, ve help you.'_

Draco huffed. _'It really isn't a big deal, you know.'_

_'Is big deal.'_

_'Isn't either.'_

_'Is. Vhy you don't tell anyone?'_

_Draco shrugged. 'Loads of reasons.'_

_**'Drago**__.'_

_'Well, there are.'_

Viktor looked sceptical. _'Like vhat, Drago?'_

_'Stop giving me that look. It's like Father.'_

_'Maybe you pay attention, then. This must stop_.'

Draco wasn't sure he liked being told off, Viktor or not. On the other hand, he was hard put to defend himself against what he knew he was valid criticism. He squirmed, face flushing a bit.

Viktor knew he'd hit a nerve. _'You know ve care about you.'_

_'Yes, I know.'_

_'You know you need to tell us vhen you are sick._'

_'I know.'_

_'Vhat ve do about it?'_

_'Do?'_ Draco tried to look weak and ill and had the sense he'd failed miserably. Viktor sat down, still looking cross.

_'I could vrite your father and tell him vhat happens. But he is busy, maybe_.'

_'It would be silly' _agreed Draco, not liking the sounds of this a bit _'to be bother my parents.'_

Viktor nodded. _'Then ve deal vith it. I vant your vord you don't do this again. You svear and I let you alone. But if I think you do this again, I get very angry vith you, yes?'_

Draco swallowed. _'All right. You've my word.'_

_'All right, then.'_

_'What are you going to do if I do?' _Draco wasn't fully sure he wanted to know, but it might be better than not knowing.

_'I tell children. And Barty. And they never leave you alone again_.' The children, in an ecstasy of concern, would doubtlessly make Draco mad worrying about him, asking him about his health, and Barty would be worse.

Draco sat up, eyes wide. _'You wouldn't.'_

_'Vould.'_

_'That is __**evil**__.'_

_'Vell, don't do it and you don't ever find out_.'

_'Hmmph_.' Draco could think of no intelligent response, so he settled on relaxing a bit. The cat of Hermione's came in, looking like an orange suet pudding. He leapt nimbly on the bed and started to pad Draco's chest.

_'He is good cat.'_

_'He looks like a pillow with legs.'_

_'Yes.' _Viktor stroked the cat's velvet ears and was rewarded with a purr and a sneeze. He thought that meant the cat approved, but it was hard to say. Draco looked distinctly uncomfortable with the cat on his chest. _'He weighs a tonne.'_

_'Means he is healthy.'_

_'Easy for you to say. What happened with that bloke?'_

Viktor summoned the chair and sat down to tell his seneschal and brother in law what was going on.

Crookshanks cared for none of this. His Girl had sent him to mind the sick one, and that's what he was doing. He'd spent the day watching the Boy, and he wouldn't abandon his post now.

He bent his head and rubbed some of his scent on the Boy's collarbones. The Boy laid back, and Crookshanks purred, kneading harder. Why did Humans care so strangely for their sick? He found it very odd that none of them had come to lay with this one, to protect him and share their energy with him.

He shook his head, blatted a miaow to make the Boy lie exactly as Crookshanks wanted him, and went back to work. How did they ever get along without him? He bent and started bathing the Boy. How did any Humans get along without a cat?

Not well, he decided firmly, and went back to work, determined to fix whatever needed fixing.


	70. Chapter 70

**A/N: Love to reviewers and Countess Black**

**Special thanks to Heart of a Wolf for her insights.**

**Viktor directly (mis)quotes 'A Game of Thrones'.**

**Spoiler A/N at the bottom.**

The eyes of the Wizarding world had turned to Bulgaria, and Bulgaria had not blinked. The ruling of the Conclave had gone out, and the rest of Europe took note, interested to see what would come of this. Because something would, there was no doubt of it.

In France, Eduard Ropion read the thing over and shook his head slowly. He carefully filed it in the small, well charmed cabinet he kept for such things, along with the dossiers he'd paid top coin for (unbeknownst to the players in that particular drama, it was the same fellow that had sold Snape his, and more or less the same information) and frowned, thin face contracting.

There was a knock on the door. Yseult poked her head in. 'Was that an owl, Papa?'

'It was for me, my darling.'

'Oh. I was hoping it was from Hermione.' She pouted slightly, and Eduard motion her over. 'Well, after a fashion, it was.'

Yseult shook her head, confused. 'Papa?'

'Do you remember that fellow the Bulgarian thought led the wolves to the Cup?'

'I do. Stefan Borev, is that right?'

'Yes. Well, they've outlawed him.'

'What's that?'

Eduard didn't like his daughter to know more about politics than was necessary. It wasn't fitting. But he liked her friendship with the Lestrange girl, so he told explained a bit about what had happened.

'Oh, no, poor Hermione.' Yseult frowned. 'Is she all right?'

'She fainted at the hearing, apparently.'

Yseult, strangely, giggled. 'I don't believe it.'

'It said so in the report.'

'I'm not saying they didn't see her faint. I'm saying she didn't actually faint. Hermione wouldn't.'

'No?'

'No.'

Eduard smiled. 'That's good to know, dearest. Run along now, like a good girl.' And so she did.

Britain, too, had noticed. At Hogwarts, Severus Snape was explaining things to the Dark Lord, who'd shot up three inches in the past six months and was the proud owner of a small, scruffy patch of fuzz he insisted was a moustache. Snape disagreed.

'My lord, it would be inadvisable to say the least.'

'Would it not inspire my troops to see me?'

'Of course it would, but your current form is simply too fragile, and the troops are accustomed to seeing your preferred alternate forms on the people they belong to, my lord.'

The Dark Lord huffed and settled back, arms crossed. 'What sort of leader fears to lead by example?'

'The sort who is too precious to lose, my lord.'

The Dark Lord rose, pacing. 'And the sales of my auto-biography?'

'Excellent, as they've been since it was published. The children's version is almost ready as well.'

'Ah, good. It pleases me to think that the children will able to age along with me, in terms of my work. Experience my triumphs at the age I did, and so forth.'

'Would I had had such a thing when I was young, my lord.'

The Dark Lord tipped his head. 'You were young when you came to me, Severus. Do you not recall?'

'I was sixteen, my lord.'

'I recall. Such an angry young man.'

'Yes, my lord.'

'And now, Severus?'

Snape blinked, like the wings of a beetle slowly opening. 'I live for duty, my lord, to Britain and yourself.'

'Of course you do. But are you still angry?'

'I outgrew my anger long ago, my lord.'

'Good' said the Dark Lord, and decided this young body was rather a problem. Every time he looked a woman, it seemed, he reacted. He had **spots** now. And his voice, absurdly, cracked sometimes.

All in all, it had been a good trade. He didn't regret it. But he counted the days until he was grown and could step into the light of the new day he, with his cleverness and cunning, had made for Britain.

In Bulgaria itself, the people at the centre of the maelstrom were not thinking about it much. Viktor had decided that the group had earned a bit of rest, and took everyone to Kazanlak, to the summer house located near the Valley of Roses.

It was festival time, and the smell of roses hung over the air. At that particular moment, Hermione was creeping. The person she was creeping toward was her fiancé, and she, in her leather shoes, thought she was creeping quite ably, all things considered. She'd stuffed her pockets with sweets for them to share, and she knew Rinky was above her, watching them. She felt safe, and happy, and playful as a kitten.

Ever since they'd arrived, Hermione had found herself feeling good. It was almost like a normal family, in some ways. No stress. No choices of consequence. No worrying. Just reading and playing with Crookshanks and smelling the roses which dotted every green surface like a pink carpet.

Viktor knew Hermione was behind him. He held his book a little more tightly so he wouldn't jump when she 'startled' him, and pretended not to hear her feet, which crunched a bit on the gravel as she got closer. He could smell her perfume, even above the sweet fog of the roses.

Hermione pounced. Giggling, she threw her arms about him, and Viktor, the world's greatest seeker, responded at once, setting down his book and turning to lift his fiancée up, bending to kiss her neck.

'I take it you like the valley?'

'Yes, very nice here.' Hermione was full of energy like she hadn't been in ages, and it showed. She buried her face in Viktor's chest, sighing happily. He sat down to rest her in his lap.

Viktor, too, felt better than he had in a long time. The pace of things here was slow, very little strictly needed to be done, and in consequence, they'd spent the two days they'd been there living, finally, as private citizens.

From behind them, a low miaow resounded over the garden, and Crookshanks, squashed face dark with displeasure, waddled down the path. Did they not know he was old, and couldn't chase them all the time? He worried when they weren't in his sight.

Hermione scooped him up. _'Hello, boy_.' The cat miaowed again but deigned to nestle back against his Girl, purring and padding. This was better. He snorted pointedly and the Girl's Boy leant over and stroked his ears lightly.

'I'm sorry we can't go and see the festival.'

'I am not' said Hermione at once. 'Enough people. We can just be calm now.'

He kissed her again. 'I think so too.'

She dipped into her pocket and handed him some lokum. It was mint flavoured, and he munched peaceably, watching her watch him, all big eyes, cloud of hair obscured under her scarf.

'You don't need to wear that, you know. The scarf.'

'I like it. You don't like it?'

He tilted his head. 'It's different.'

She scooted a little closer and handed him another lump of sweet. He took it right from her hand. His lips tickled her palm. Hermione's belly tightened, and beside her, Viktor felt himself reacting to the taste of her skin.

'What-what shall we do today?'

Hermione wished they could kiss some more. She liked how warm and nice it made her feel. Is this, she wondered, why women let men do it to them? She thought the whole thing sounded undignified, and Alise's cousin swore it was painful, but maybe if this feeling kept up, it could be sweet as well.

'Practice reading.' She sounded decisive, like she'd been thinking seriously about this issue. Perhaps she had.

'You're enthusiastic about it today.'

'I still do not know if Madam Mouse make pie for husband mouse's dinner.'

Viktor snorted. 'Wouldn't want you losing sleep over that, would we?'

'It is real problem.' Her eyes were sparkling, and he kissed the nape of her neck, which the scarf exposed to him. She shivered, nestling against him even harder, moving against him in a way that was confusing and strange and wondrous. He tried to force down his swelling erection and stroked her back lightly.

He gave the scarf a gentle tug, loosening it. Under it, her hair had been braided and pinned loosely up. She was too young for an adult hairstyle, but too old for braids.

'Would it spoil it if I gave away the ending?'

She considered. 'Yes. I must find out myself.'

'All right then, my lady, I bow to your command, as always.' She grinned and playfully poked his ribs, then looked more serious.

'Draco is still resting?'

'He is. It comes and goes, I think.' Viktor was mindful of the vow he'd extracted from Draco, but he was also aware that the younger boy was doing his utmost and didn't want to push too hard.

'He is brave to make us feel better, I think.' Hermione frowned. Wasn't the chatelaine supposed to fix these things, somehow?

'Your whole family is very resistant to medical care, though. Is it a cultural thing?'

'I don't think so. Draco maybe is afraid you think he is weak.' She seemed disinclined to say much else, and so he didn't either. After a moment, she sighed. 'Mum would've loved this place.'

'She liked flowers?'

'Roses.' Hermione handed him another lump of sweet and he chewed. She held her own in her hand, looking at it.

'Are you all right?'

She nibbled her halva. 'I am. Wonder if we should write Aunt Narcissa?'

'About what?'

'Headaches. They are worse now. It is bad.'

'If it isn't better by dinner, we'll call a healer.'

'All right. You maybe get fighty with Draco to make him do what healer says.'

Viktor nodded. 'I'm prepared.' He was, too. He hugged her a bit more tightly.

'Sure you're all right?'

'Yes. Glad we are here.'

'I am, too.'

Half an hour later, they were bent over the primer. Viktor had his hand on her back, rubbing gently as she struggled. 'The mouse went home and f-owwnn-d-found? his wife, making the pie. He gave her the lump of sugar and said "Thank you for making this won-der-ful meal for me, wife."'

Viktor leant a bit closer. 'And Mr. Mouse and Madam Mouse had the lump of sugar for pudding and were very happy ever after.'

Hermione closed the book with relief. 'Well, now I sleep tonight.'

'I don't know? That ending raises some questions of its own.'

'Questions?'

'Of course. Those mice are eating lots of sugar. Suppose their teeth suffer for it? Do mice have medi-wizards to fix teeth?'

Hermione flipped to the illustration. 'Viktor, mouses wear clothes. Look, little apron. If they wear clothes, they have toothbrush.'

'Mice. Well, how would they get there, then? There's a cat by the fire, look.' He pointed to the illustration, where a striped cat lay snoring on the hearth.

'They Apparate.'

'Mmm, it hardly seems very safe to me, to Apparate when you've such long tails to keep track of. They'd splinch themselves.'

Hermione rolled her eyes and offered her last piece of lokum. 'No more talking?'

He reached for the sweet and let her pull it away. 'So I don't have to read?'

'No, you read a chapter.'

'You only read half this story.'

'Making excuses?' Hermione grinned and tapped his wrist playfully and he found he couldn't even pretend to be cross with her. He laughed and tugged her closer.

'I'll read a whole chapter.'

He cupped her cheek lightly and asked his valet to fetch the book of the Dark Lord's letters they used as study materials. The elf brought it and he opened to their place.

_'Letter Seventy-nine, His Lordship to Achilles Lestrange._

_Dear Sir,_

_Your latest letter vas received by me vith greatest pleasure, and I congra-tul-ate you on the birth of your son._

_The subject gives me cons-idera-tion as to vhat our obligations tovards the smallest and veakest amongst us are. In nature, clearly, the strong should and must cull the least able of the herd, but humans are endowed by Nature vith the fac-ili-ties of reasons and thought, and must approach these matters differently therefore.'_

_'It is fitting that a man should govern his family as does the prudent prince his country? Muggles have some notion of dem-o-craa-ee in families vhich ve reject _as _unsuit-able to our lifestyles and to the nature of vizards and vitches.'_

_'Instead, ve must embrace the opp-o-site-; to rule a country as though it is a family, vith the leader as the father, his loyal cadre of as mother, and the people as children, to be both loved and disciplined vhen needed.'_

It went on in a similar vein for some forty five minutes. Finally, they were through, and Viktor set down the book with a real sigh of relief. Hermione cocked her head. 'Something is wrong?'

'No. Lots of words, though.'

Hermione giggled and did something terribly daring. She dropped her voice, looked round, and whispered 'Dark Lord likes to talk.'

Viktor did the same. 'That's true.'

Hermione couldn't get over the sense Mother would come in and scold her, or worse. She wasn't sure "or worse" really applied anymore, especially because she was chatelaine. But she was still Hermione deep down, and she'd not defy Mother, because she loved her.

She didn't exactly love the Dark Lord, however. 'My parents love the Dark Lord.'

'Yes, they do. How do you feel?'

Hermione was fiddling with her apron a little. 'I want to make parents happy.'

'That's not what I asked, love.' He'd never called her that before. She flushed a little bit but she liked it.

'I know. Mother and Father love him so much. He is not...they make many hard things for him. What he does for them?'

'Sacrifices, you mean?'

'Yes. They did not know before Alecto slap. If she had not slap, we never found each other.' Her grammar was deteriorating under the onslaught, but Viktor opted not to notice. She was perfectly comprehensible, and being very brave at the moment.

'Why did she slap you?'

Hermione looked down. 'I tell her off. She slap, cut my lip.'

That must have been a hell of a slap. 'Then what?' If he ever met Alecto, he'd make sure to mention what he thought of someone who thought it necessary to correct a child so brutally she bled.

'Snape test us. Then he test us again. Mother hug me and thank Dark Lord.'

Hermione abruptly climbed into his lap, snuggling against him, humming a little. This was a side of her he nearly never saw, and it felt both scary and reassuring. Sometimes he wished he could be as endlessly calm and patient for her as she was him; others, like now, he wanted her to crack a little bit and let him see the secrets parts of her soul.

'He is not...he is...'

'I promised not to tell, and I won't.'

'He is not kind. He hurt Mother sometime.'

'Hurt her how?'

Hermione spread her hands. 'I think...he does not care how she feel.'

'And your father?'

Hermione rested her head against his neck. 'Don't know. He never say.' She didn't know Rodolphus all that well, for all she knew he loved her. She hoped someday they'd get to know one another, but for now she had to conclude he was happy with his service to the Dark Lord.

'Your parents?' Hermione wondered how her inlaws felt about this. Viktor knew he'd have to step carefully.

'Mother was not...pleased...with some of the things that happened. Father understood a bit better, but it was hard.'

'Getting engaged?'

'Yes. Mother felt we were too young.'

'Mine, too. She cry a little.'

He couldn't imagine his fierce, proud mother in law crying. 'Did you cry too?'

'No' said Hermione instantly. 'I wanted marry you. Still do.'

He kissed her cheek. 'Me, too.'

After dinner the group had two visitors, one of whom was a surprise. Draco was still not well enough to get up, and he sent his apologies to the table. Viktor had had enough. Whilst Hermione was sending beef broth and gently worded threats about what would happen if he didn't eat it, Viktor was sending for Healer Yokov.

The old man appeared at once. 'My lord Krum?' He'd consented to come with the elf, curious about why he'd been called. God help them, was the girl in trouble?

'I am terribly sorry, sir, but my seneschal is unwell. He has persistent migraines. Would you look him over?'

'I will. My lady, his symptoms?'

Hermione gave him a run down. 'He say he is well. He does not eat. He sleep only when he has potion.'

'Has he been up at all the last few days?'

'Sometimes, but he is too... white. *_Pale_?* I send him back to bed. He pretend he is fine.' Her voice implied her general thoughts on that, and Yokov guessed the Malfoy lad had got his ears blistered at least once since this whole thing happened.

'I'll check him over.' It wasn't what he thought it was, at least. The boy was probably stressed and tired. Whilst he was at, he'd examine the other two as well, just to be sure it wasn't an illness they were incubating. Suppose they'd got a dose of poison from some political rival?

The patient was propped in the bed, face as white as the bed linens. He tried to sit up when he saw the healer. _'*Hello, sir.*'_

_'*Hello, Mr. Malfoy. How do you feel?*'_

_'*I've the same migraine I had three days ago.*'_

_'*Does this happen often?'*_

_'*Not like this_.*' He'd never had one that took this long to go away. The healer started examining him at once, feeling his glands and looking in his throat and eyes. He swished several diagnostic spells and frowned at the results.

_'*It is a migraine, and quite a large one. I'll send for the correct potions. Bed rest, and don't push it.*'_

_'*No, sir.*'_

_'*You aren't happy about this, boy. Staying in bed, I mean.*'_

'*No, sir.'*

'*_Good. Young fellows ought to be full of vinegar. Take care of yourself. No flying, nothing strenuous. What triggered it?*'_

_'*We had to go and give that petition.*'_

_'*That would do it.*' _The medi-wizard finished the exam and sent an elf for what was needed.

The next visitor came during the meal itself. Yokov had consented to stay after being promised he could examine the rest of them. The group was eating roast pork and salad when the Floo flared and Penko stepped through, looking tired and pleased.

_'*Snetzka, would you set an extra place, please?*' _The elf did it, smiling delightedly, and soon they were being amused by Penko's stories.

Bellatrix was quiet throughout the meal. She, too, was resting. She spent much time reading or wandering the gardens, feeling strangely empty. For the first time since she'd been incarcerated, she had actual time to think. She found that, without the pressing needs of being a Death Eater, she was almost a stranger to herself.

As soon as the dishes were cleared, Yokov nodded to Hermione, who rose silently. Bellatrix gave her a stern look; she needed an exam and she'd have one. Mothers did that, she thought, had their children checked over sometimes just because.

As soon as the old man was out of the room, she turned to Penko. '_*The Dark Lord?*'_

_'*Sends his complements, madam, and thanks you for your devoted service.*'_

_'*I am honoured.*'_

_'*Your husband sends letters, and your sister and her family. And some for Viktor and Hermione, of course.*'_

_'*The war?*'_

_'*Goes on. I've also letters from a Mr. Adelbert Nott and Mr. Galvin Goyle.*'_

_'*Excellent.*' _She laid back and smiled like a cat who'd just eaten the canary.

The healer looked Hermione over and pronounced her healthy. He'd examined her in a funny way, though; he spent a long time gently pressing on her belly, swishing spells and nodding to himself as to the result.

'Why you touched my belly? Is sick?'

'No. No, you're fine.' He seemed relieved, and Hermione finally got it. She sat up, indignant. 'People ask us all the time. Priest ask us, Mother ask us, you ask us. We don't until we get married.'

Yokov laughed softly. 'Of course not, my lady, but young people sometimes slip up.'

'I understand.' She put her feet over the side and stood up, straightening her clothing a bit.

'Draco is well?'

'Mr. Malfoy needs rest and calm and food. Is he skipping meals?'

'Tries to. I sit with him sometimes, or lord Krum, and then he eat.'

'Good. Keep doing that. All of you need more rest. Try to do relaxing things together. Play games or something.'

'We will. Thank you, Healer.'

'Yes, well.' He called the mother next, curious to know what the most feared woman in Britain was like when she was a guest in Bulgaria.

As soon as Bellatrix was occupied, Penko addressed his niece and nephew. 'The wolves are going to ground.'

'Going to ground?'

'_*Vanishing.* _We think they're heading back to the Continent for some reason.'

'Regrouping.'

'Quite so. And the ones the Dark Lord recruited are joining them.' Penko had been to the camps where the lunatic Greyback reigned like some sort of petty god, and he didn't blame them for wanting to leave. On the other hand...

Both children went pale. 'Then it's soon, is it?'

'We've some time, my lord. Maybe as much as years.'

'Or weeks.'

'Or weeks. What would you have us do?'

Viktor took Hermione's hand in his. 'Prepare the castle for prolonged siege. I'm writing my father in law this evening and asking him to host the children and Aunt Lyudmilla indefinitely, until we've an idea of what they mean to do at least.'

'Yes, my lord.'

'Would you be violently opposed to moving back to the castle, Uncle?'

Penko considered. 'I'd rather stay in Sofia. I might need to be our voice with Dinev.'

'Will he support us?'

'He will if he doesn't want us to...that would be up to you, actually.'

Viktor looked grim, but the girl looked even grimmer. She was, Penko surmised, contemplating the idea of watching his nephew fight.

The girl stroked his hand lightly. 'Which war do we win best?'

Penko took a second, but Viktor got it at once. It was disconcerting, like one mind in two bodies. 'If he refuses and does nothing, we all die.'

'If we march and do not do it, we die.'

'If we do it and win, then what?' Penko found himself increasingly uncomfortable with all this. It wasn't natural, a war council controlled by two teenagers dressed in adult clothing.

Viktor sat back, still mulling. 'We send him into exile and seize his lands, then force a vote through the Conclave declaring it all justified.' If the Krums seized the lands, the vassal lords of House Dinev would either join him in exile or swear allegiance on pains of eternal damnation.

The hair on Penko's neck went up. 'Viktor...'

'When one plays this game, Uncle, one wins or one dies.'

'Who taught you that?'

'Uncle Desmond. It was true of the Bogomils, it was true of the Turks, it was true of the Conclave of 1712, and it's true now. I'd rather be destroyed in trying to protect us than wait for the blow to fall.'

Hermione was nodding vigorously. 'If Dinev does right for us, it never happen.'

'Exactly.'

Penko wished Rabastan were here. He would...what? 'May I ask you both something?'

'Of course, Uncle.'

'Did you have something to do with Stefan's sickness over the summer?'

They exchanged a long look. 'Yes.'

'How did you do it?'

Another look. Neither of seemed the slightest bit abashed over it, and despite himself, he felt a kind of pride. The children had more than made the best of this; they had blossomed, and if what had bloomed was dark and poisonous, it was nothing they-nor he-had caused to be done.

To his surprise, he found it didn't especially effect his feelings for the pair, either, or Draco, whom he suspected strongly really was Viktor's lieutenant in all things. He reached out and gently smoothed his nephew's hair.

'We had an elf-don't ask which one-dose him as he slept.'

'What was it?'

'Better not to know, Uncle. It's nothing you did, after all.'

'Viktor, are you trying to **protect** me?' He frowned sharply at the boy, who seemed rather less fazed than he might have liked.

'Yes, Uncle. From charges, if nothing else.'

Penko nodded. 'And Hermione?'

'My idea, Uncle. I make it and give it to elf.'

'You practiced on that fellow from camp?'

'No. He attacked me first. I just made sure he didn't do it a second time, is all.'

'What did he do?'

'He called Mother a whore and then punched me.' Viktor's jaw tightened, and Hermione, eyes soft, stroked his hand again.

'Viktor...'

'Uncle?'

What could he say? The boy had once shown mercy and two hundred people died. They hadn't killed or maimed anyone, and the plans themselves showed a streak of real, refined cunning and strategy.

The girl rose as her mother came back in, looking grouchy. '_*Nutrient potions, indeed! I feel fine.*'_

_'*Mother?*'_

_'*Don't you give me that look! I know that look, and I specifically forbade your aunt from teaching it to you!*' _She huffed and sat down, and Hermione went to her, resting her head in her lap, relaxing all over.

_'*What did he say, Mother?*'_

_'*My bones. All those years in...I need potions to keep them strong.*'_

_'*That's not so bad.*' _Hermione smiled brightly and Bellatrix, refusing to be deprived of her rant, snorted.

_'*You mark this, boy. It's how she gets you. First the smiles and charm, and then she yeses you into doing whatever she wants you to do. It's ghastly. Ought to have paddled it out of her.*' _Hermione went pink but giggled a little too, nestling closer.

Viktor grinned and leant over to lightly poke Hermione in the ribs. _'*I'll remember that.*'_

_'*You better not.*'_

_'*I will.*'_

Hermione pretended to glower, and he laughed, wanting desperately to kiss her. Bellatrix straightened the girl's scarf and frowned.

'_*Viktor, go and let the medi-wizard look you over.*' _He rose and bowed to the ladies, not especially looking forward to this.

Yokov received him with a critical once over. 'Your arm has healed nicely?'

'Yes, sir.'

'Good. I was afraid you'd called me here because milady was in the family way.'

Viktor shook his head at once. 'Everyone does.' It rather irked him, actually.

'How long until she is of age?'

'Three years.'

'Ah.'

Viktor let the man take his pulse and the usual things. 'Healer?'

'Hmm?'

'If I confide something to you, would you swear not to mention it?'

'Of course.' He took his healer's oath very seriously, and anyway, who would he tell? His wife was dead, his children had all moved far away (one of them, exotically, all the way to America), and most of his friends were doddering and drooling whilst their daughter in laws fussed over them.

Viktor called his valet and drew his wand. 'A wizard's oath, then, witnessed by my valet?'

The healer was shocked. He meant **swear**? All the same, he drew his own wand and they swore. It was a strange, solemn moment.

'The wolves are coming. We might not have long.'

'Might?'

'I doubt they'll wait. Castle Krum is preparing for a siege. I would hire you to minister to our wounded, if you'd come.'

The old man thought about his flat in Sofia. He could move the things, he supposed, and it might be nice to be about people again. 'I'm a sports medi-wizard, not an emergency healer or a chirugeon.'

'I know, but I trust you. It will be hard, though. Dangerous.'

'I am too old to mind much about that. I accept your offer, young man, on one condition.'

'What's that?'

The old man smiled. 'Crush those sons of bitches.'

Viktor smiled back. 'Gladly.'

**Spoiler A/N: **

**Q: Why wouldn't Penko tell Bellatrix about the wolves?**

**A: Because she's the agent of a foreign power. She could theoretically leak information about their plans.**

**Q: Does he actually believe that of her?**

**A: No, but this is politics we're talking about, after all.**

**Q: What about Hermione? Doesn't she count?**

**A: No. As soon as she marries Viktor, she'll get Bulgarian citizenship. They sort of jumped the gun on this one, based on circumstances.**


	71. Chapter 71

**A/N: Love to reviewers and Countess Black**

**Special thanks to Heart of a Wolf for her assistance with this chapter.**

**I'm normally not the sort to ask for reviews. I find it distasteful, as a rule, and depend on readers to do it or not do it as is their preference.**

**Lately, though, I find myself feeling demoralised by the consistent lack of enthusiasm. I understand this is a bad time of year for people, and that not everyone is especially inclined to share their thoughts if they found the whole experience only fair to middling.**

**On the other hand, writers improve through honest critique. I am committed to providing readers with a quality experience, and would appreciate very much the help of those same readers in making this work as enjoyable to them as it is to me.**

**Please consider leaving a review. Every work of art is a collaboration.**

**Madea's Rage**

**October 1994:**

Severus Snape had somehow been roped into escorting a lunatic and an infant for a turn about the cold, bare gardens of Lestrange House. With the baby well heat charmed to keep him from taking a chill, Snape led the chattering Barty out the door and into the grounds, which, grey and lifeless, stretched like a shroud across the Lincolnshire vista.

Barty was nearly vibrating with excitement. He held the baby against his chest, sometimes stopping to show him something or kiss the fine silk threads of his dark, wavy hair.

'Look, Edric, a rook! Isn't that exciting?' The bird flapped lazily away, fat from a rich summer's feasting on gardens, though Snape sourly, much like his. Even the dog had been able to do only so much, and that was when he was in country.

'May I take him, Barty?'

'Go and see Uncle Sev, Edric.' Snape made a face but didn't correct the madman, and held the baby the way he'd seen shown, snug against him. Big eyes looked at him in wonder, and the baby cooed a bit before he started looking round at everything else.

'He likes you, Sev.'

'Children like my voice, before they understand what I am saying.'

'It's more than that. You ought to get married and have one.'

'No.'

Barty laughed as though he thought Snape were teasing. 'You won't be young forever. And we worry about you, you know, alone by yourself.'

'I have Salazar.'

'Salazar is a dog. He can't ask you about your day.'

'Nor can he ask me for money.'

Barty rolled his eyes. 'You'd think he meant it, Edric, wouldn't you? Yes, you would. Yes, you would.' The baby gurgled as though in agreement.

Snape gave the baby an awkward jiggle. He had to admit, part of him liked the warm, soft weight of the child in his arms. He looked like a tiny Lestrange, all right, with big brown eyes and a mop of hair that thickened every month.

He was a beautiful baby, and his parents were absolutely mad about him. He had loads of aunts and uncles who doted on him, servants and wealth. He was a lucky baby, to put it mildly.

And a pawn. Snape shifted the baby to his hip and felt his flail his arms excitedly, giggling, rugged like a little yeti in layers of flannel, wool and fur to keep him warm.

No matter what else happened, this child's path was made for him. He would grow up in Bulgaria, attend Durmstrang, play with the Krum children, marry the woman that would most further the Dark Lord's designs, father children with her and repeat the cycle.

The baby leant against him, suddenly sleepy. He yawned, toothless mouth gaping, and then put a finger in his mouth to suck. He felt as warm and as loose and as comforting as a cat.

'We get to see the children tomorrow.'

'They're hardly children now.'

'Hermione and Draco are only fourteen.'

Snape didn't press the point. Instead, he offered the baby to Barty, who took him gladly.

'Sev? Do you suppose the Dark Lord will come?'

'Anything is possible, to be sure.'

'I haven't seen him in a very long time. The Dark Lord. Is He angry with me?'

'Not at all. Just very busy.'

'Oh. If he needs help, I'd be glad.'

The sorry thing was, he meant it. Snape forced himself to look serious. 'I have never doubted that, Barty. Not once.'

Barty nodded. 'I know. Let's go inside, all right? Edric looks hungry.' And as though he'd just been waiting for Barty to say it, the baby started fussing.

In the house, it was controlled chaos, with elves darting this way and that, carrying the things that would be needed by the group. The baby minder elf came and took Edric to his mother to be fed, and Snape and Barty walked to the parlour, to find the brothers Lestrange speaking in soft, intense voices, Bellatrix sitting with them, face showing that species of joyful pique at which she excelled.

'Because it is not safe.'

'Darling' said Rodolphus 'if the Dark Lord says it is safe, then it is safe.'

Bellatrix gave him a look. 'Don't you dare imply I meant anything less, Rodolphus. I am merely saying that because He is so honourable and just, He sometimes forgets that those about him are not.'

Rodolphus relaxed a bit. 'Why not go to Him, love? He shall allay your fears, I don't doubt.'

'Perhaps I will, then. Will you oversee here?'

'Eugenia'd be happy to help, I'm sure.'

Bellatrix gave her brother in law a look. 'Don't you bother her. She's not well.'

'She's been a bit down at the mouth, I allow, but really, she'll be all right.'

An elf brought Bellatrix her cloak and she donned it. 'I'll return.'

She stepped into the Floo and Snape cursed in his mind. This could ruin his plans, somehow, but there was no way to stop it without obvious intrusion. He sat at the table, resigning himself to drift with the currents on this one, and accepted the wine the elf brought him.

Rabastan smiled at him, shining with paternal pride. 'Did you enjoy your walk?'

'I did. Edric is quite a healthy baby.'

'Isn't he? And smart, too, one can tell. He called me Da the other day.' Both other men exchanged looks, smothering grins at the clear evidence that Rab was smitten with his son.

On that front, Snape felt, he could take some comfort. He had engineered this child, but he had not brought him into a world devoid of love. He was a well loved pawn. Was that a mitigation? Should he ever be called to account for his deeds, would that save or damn him?

Rodolphus, being the older sibling, had no especial obligation not to mention this observation, and so he grinned at his little brother and said 'Rab, really.'

'He did.'

Rodolphus rolled his eyes and said nothing, letting his body language speak for him. Rabastan pretended not to see. 'Would you go and speak to Eugenia, Snape?'

'Is she well?'

'She's...quiet. I wonder whether you might see if she needed something? You're her cousin, after all. She trusts you.'

Snape rose at once. 'I'd be glad to. Gentlemen, excuse me.' As he left, Barty was excitedly regaling the men with the story of their walk.

Eugenia bid him in the moment she'd finished feeding her son. The baby snuggled into her neck and she felt a huge swell of love, as wild as the sea, and as fierce, and as uncontrollable, for the tiny, perfect person she'd created with her husband.

Snape felt a bit awkward, sitting down in what was clearly an intimate moment, but he reminded himself he had goals to further and forced himself to bow politely. 'Eugenia, cousin, what ails you?'

The elf came for the baby, and put him in his little cot before vanishing. 'I'll take care of him should he need anything, Zdratza, thank you. Tell the other elves the Professor and I require privacy.' The elf bowed and vanished.

'I'm fine, Snape. Why?'

'Your husband does not think you fine. He believes you unwell. Why, Eugenia, does he feel that way?'

The woman leant against the pillows and bolsters. 'I had a baby a few months ago.'

He gave her a look. 'You knew what was required of you, did you not?'

'That didn't make it easier.'

'Are you depressed?'

'I deliberately brought a child into this. How would you be?'

'I would know I'd struck a blow for a cause I claim to care about.'

If her wand hadn't been on the table he'd have been hexed. She glared murderously. 'Who the hell do you think you are? I lost everything, and you dare question my commitment? Just because your heart is a tomb doesn't mean the rest of us as cold as you.'

'Cruel times call for cruel men. There will be casualties. You are one.'

She was still glaring at him. 'And Edric?'

'If you continue to help me, he need not be one.'

'Do you swear it?'

Snape tilted his head. 'I'd rather the impression you weren't keen on the idea of a baby in the first place.'

'I wasn't, but this one deserves more than being sacrificed.'

'To be sure. I will do my utmost to see it does not become an issue.'

'Do you swear it?'

Snape took her hand in his. 'I swear I will find a way to see your son is safe as long as I can make it so.'

She nodded. It was perhaps the best he could do.

'You seethe with hatred for me.'

'I do.' She pulled back her hand and straightened her robes automatically, looking haughty enough to horrify and shame her, had she but known it.

'Why? I did not bring this world into being.'

'You did nothing to-'

'To save those children the Dark Lord would have burnt alive? He asked me to do it, you know. Dumbledore. Not that history will record it, but for what it's worth to you, he did.'

'You joined him.'

'The Dark Lord? I did, yes. I was a bright, angry child, and he knew it. What would you have me offer you, Emmeline? Some sort of panacea to make things right? I don't have it.'

'Eugenia.'

'Is it?'

She inhaled deeply. 'I don't know anymore.'

'Eugenia, because it must be. Your son's life depends on it.'

She nodded slowly. 'His life is worth saving.'

'And yours is not? Because make no mistake, if you should ruin your cover, you will die.'

'Mine...who knows?' She laid back. 'Something to help me sleep, cousin?'

'Perhaps. What will you do for me?'

'What do you want?'

'Act normal. If you are depressed, I will treat you, but if this is merely having a wobbly, then stop at once.'

'I am not having a wobbly.'

'Prove it. Elf' Mippy appeared bowing 'fetch my bag.'

As Snape was raking one of his spies over the coals, Bellatrix was being bowed into the presence of the Dark Lord by a few scared looking junior aurors. She gave them a ghastly smile and they each lost a shade in their faces.

The Dark Lord was slouching louchely in a chair by the fireplace. 'Bella. How good to see you.'

'And Yourself, my Lord.' She kissed his hem and rose, kneeling so they were face to face.

'What brings you here tonight? Is something the matter?'

'My Lord knows we leave tomorrow for Durmstrang.'

'The Twi-wizard tournament, is it?'

'It is, My Lord.'

'How wonderful.'

'My Lord, You know I would never doubt Your wisdom.'

'Of course you wouldn't.'

'I would do anything to show the world Your might.'

'I have not doubted it. What do you propose?'

'Might it not show the Europeans Your power if you were to...suggest another date for this?'

'I am not sure what you are getting at.'

'These Europeans are sly, my Lord. They might take advantage of Your kind trust in them to betray us somehow.'

'Am I not slyer, Bellatrix?'

'Of course you are! But You are so great that small minds do not always see it. It would show them Your power if You made clear that you will not tolerate any sort of treachery.'

'If there is treachery in the air, dear Bella, then surely I might rely on you to sniff it out?'

'You know You might, my Lord!'

'Then why do you fear?'

'They have proven they will stop at nothing, my Lord.'

'And nor shall we. Surely, Bellatrix, this is not some sort of sentimental issue on your part?'

Bellatrix swallowed hard and forced herself to sound calm. 'Pureblood children are so sensitive, my Lord.'

'They are, aren't they? You've explained to them how important all this is, have you not?'

'Of course, my Lord. Every day.'

'Then what is the problem?

Bellatrix blinked. 'My Lord, this is going to draw them to us, and the children are targets.'

'Then it will add urgency to our task, will it not?'

Bellatrix went white. 'My daughter...'

'Once, Bellatrix, you vowed to raise her to love me as much as you to. Have you not done so?'

'I have.'

'Then let us call this a test of your teachings. Good evening, dear Bella.' Bellatrix rose and lurched from the room, face a mask.

Rabastan listened to what Snape had to say and nodded slowly. 'Of course. Thank you, Severus.'

He went and found his brother. 'Rodolphus?'

'Hello, Rabastan. What's the matter?'

'Snape just talked with Eugenia. She's worried about Edric.'

'Worried about him?'

'Desmond was quite sickly as a baby. She's worried Edric inherited the same imbalance in his humours. Snape thinks he's fine, but...'

Rodolphus, who knew a little about wives with irrational beliefs, nodded sagely. 'I understand.'

'Is there some way I could ask you to tend him if he wakes? He's in the nursery. I want Eugenia to sleep the whole night tonight.'

'Will you be going out?'

'Probably.'

Rodolphus nodded. 'Just be careful, Rab, and if you should need anything...'

Rabastan snorted. 'You do know I'm forty three, don't you?'

'And?' said Rodolphus, who still thought of his younger brother as a skinny, scabby little person who followed him about and wanted to borrow his things.

That same person, who was six feet tall and not the first bit scabby, shook his head ruefully. 'If anything happens, let me know.'

'Of course.'

Rodolphus went to the bedroom he shared with his wife to find her reclining on pillows, staring at the ceiling. 'Something the matter, Trixie?'

'No.'

'Are you sure?'

'Yes.' He told her about Edric and she nodded. 'Fine.'

'Are you quite sure everything is all right?'

'**Yes**!'

The baby fussed at two thirty that morning, some four hours before they had to wake, and so Rodolphus swam back to conciousness to the thin, piercing sound of the baby's cries. Beside him, his wife stirred and then came awake at once, as was her wont. She sat up, jammed her feet into her mules and took off for the nursery before he had cleared the sleep fog from his brain.

By the time they arrived, the baby minder nurse had given him the bottle, and Edric was feeding with vigour. Rodolphus was slightly startled when his wife sat in the rocking chair and allowed the elf to hand over the baby; she'd always claimed to dislike infants and their noises and smells.

He sat down in the chair next to the rocker and gave his nephew's cheek a stroke. Flawless lineage, good looks, a sweet temper. What more could they ask of an heir to the family name?

The baby reached a tiny hand out and seized his uncle's finger, holding it. Rodolphus smiled at him. 'There's the good boy, Edric.'

He was done, so the elf took the bottle, and Bellatrix looked helplessly at the infant. What did she do now? She settled for some awkward patting and then looked at her husband. 'What now?'

Rodolphus didn't really know either, and finally said 'Give him to the elf. It will know.' She did, and went back to their room, face set and strange.

'Tell me what's troubling you?'

Bellatrix's face was thunderous. 'I'M FINE! STOP ASKING!'

'You're my wife. I care about you.'

'I know.' She sat down in a chair in front of the fire and stared into it, eyes dark. 'Do you ever wonder what Hermione looked like as a baby?'

'Do I...?...it's crossed my mind, I expect. Did the baby prompt this?'

'Edric is fine.'

'Never said he wasn't. That's not what I asked.'

'What if he did, then?'

'Hermione is my daughter as well, Bellatrix.'

'DON'T YOU THINK I KNOW THAT?'

'Please don't shriek.'

'THEN DON'T ACT AS THOUGH I'M BEING UNREASONABLE!'

'Of course not, sweetheart. I'm just curious what prompted this, is all.'

Bellatrix called for some water. It didn't surprise her husband, given the sheer amount of screeching she'd lately done.

'This Tri-Wizard thing strikes me as unwise, is all.'

'Didn't you speak to His Lordship about it?'

'I did, yes.'

'What did He say?'

Bellatrix told him what had been said. Rodolphus nodded, smiling with relief. 'You see, love? Everything is going to be perfectly fine.'

She said nothing, face set. Rodolphus leant over and gently cupped her cheek. 'Don't you think so?'

'I have perfect faith in His Lordship.'

'Of course you do. And He's said our first task now is diplomacy.'

'I KNOW WHAT HIS LORDSHIP SAID, RODOLPHUS!' Bellatrix's chest was seething with feelings that had come together as rage because she couldn't let them be anything else.

'Do you need a moment to calm down, love?'

Bellatrix looked even angrier. 'I AM NOT HERMIONE, DO NOT USE THAT TONE WITH ME!'

'Then stop shrieking. Had Hermione done, I'd have smacked her and sent her to her bedroom by now.'

Only Rodolphus could have said a thing like that and lived. His wife, eyes still alive with rage and bloodlust, settled back slowly.

'It's not as though you could, anyhow.'

'Could what?'

'Smack Hermione.'

'She's a child. If she needs a smacking, I'll put her over my knee.'

Bellatrix laughed a little. 'She's seen werewolves kill her mother in law. She **has **a mother in law. We're beyond all that, Rodolphus.'

He shook his head firmly. 'She is our little girl, no matter how old is she.'

Then why couldn't they protect her? Bellatrix was torn between the desire to hit something and a strange, foreign urge to... do something, at any rate.

Rodolphus felt the need to smooth this over a bit. Something was clearly bothering his wife, and he wanted to help her through it, even if she wouldn't open completely up to him.

'You know, those muggles' personal effects would be in a warehouse someplace.'

'So?'

'There would be baby pictures. Should I have them found?'

'Yes.' He bent and kissed her head gently. 'Hermione loves you, and so do I.'

'Rodolphus...' Bellatrix looked strangely vulnerable for a second, almost like Hermione.

'It will work out.'

He understood this was her way. 'It will, yes.'

It had to. If it did not, the implications were too horrible to contemplate.

They were not the only people contemplating that vein of thought. In London, Penko and Rabastan were lying nude in bed, staring at the ceiling, which had a very good mural.

'That fellow in red is Borislav Krum, my illustrious ancestor. He brokered a peace between...someone or another.' Penko shrugged and ate a grape from the tray between them.

Rabastan rolled a bit to look at him, raising an eyebrow. 'Didn't you pay attention to your lessons as a child?'

'Only the ones I thought interesting.'

Rabastan clucked. 'Naughty of you.'

'Not at all. That sort of thing is for the lord to concern himself with. I had to learn the political end of things, and that's what I did.'

'And most ably, too.'

'You're flattering me? What have you done that I ought to know about?'

Penko laughed. 'Everyone reacts to me that way, for some reason.'

'Can't imagine why.' He gave his lover a wry look and Penko retaliated by tickling his lover on the ribs, which was his most ticklish place. Rabastan yelped and squirmed violently.

'Penko!'

'Yes, darling?' He stopped and Rabastan, still laughing, got his composure back, breathing deeply.

'That was cruel.'

'Not at all. Merely political. See, I did learn all my lessons.'

Rabastan pretended to ignore him. 'So we leave tomorrow.'

'Today, now.'

'Today.'

'How do you feel about it?'

Penko knew the Dark Lord was a touchy subject, so he stepped carefully. 'I would be far happier if we had a better idea what the wolves were doing.'

'I would too. What does Viktor say about it, love?' Rabastan knew Penko was in regular contact with his nephew.

Penko looked at the ceiling and past it. 'He doesn't like it. Too many people in too small a place.'

'I'd be surprised if they travelled that far north, wouldn't you?'

'I keep hoping.'

Rabastan slipped a hand into his lover's. 'We'll all be there. It will be fine.'

'It will never be fine again, Rabastan. All we can hope for now is that no one will be killed if they come.'

Rabastan frowned, brow creasing. 'I'm not used to hearing this from you, Penko. Why didn't you tell me earlier?'

'You've got enough to deal with right now.'

'As do you, apparently. Tell me, please.'

Penko inhaled deeply. 'When this happens-and it shall-it's going to be bad. If we're lucky, it will be a minor civil war.'

'That's lucky?'

'Yes, it is. Unlucky is a major civil war. House Krum could win, I suspect.'

Rabastan rolled gently to scoop Penko up and hold him against his chest. 'That's bad, sweetheart?'

Penko relaxed into him, stroking Rabastan's hair in a way that always calmed his lover right down.

'For House Krum? Perhaps not.'

'Then I'm not sure I understand why you're worried.'

'We'd have to wade through an ocean of blood. And suppose we do win? What next?'

'That would depend on Dinev, would it not?'

'It would. Perhaps he'll side with us.'

'You don't think so?'

'I don't know.'

Rabastan nuzzled closer and kissed the top of his lover's head. 'No matter what happens, we'll get through it, love.'

Penko nodded slowly. That was almost what he was afraid of.


	72. Chapter 72

**A/N: Love to reviewers and Countess Black.**

**Special thanks to Heart of a Wolf for her continued help and support. She worked miracles on this chapter :)**

**Also, my special thanks to reviewers. It really does help.**

It was too quiet. The Snatchers, with a mixed force of aurors from numerous countries, interested adults and sixth and seventh years from all four schools had swept the forests and valleys within fifty miles. Nothing but birds, deer and gorgeous views, which they were all too nervous to appreciate.

At the school, thousands of people were mingling, groups of boys and girls, men and women, spread out over the grounds, talking, laughing, intriguing, making rendezvous and gossiping. The wolves should have been all over it. Still, nothing.

The rest of Europe was silent as well. Snape didn't like it. When someone is making noise, it is possible to track them. Silence is danger, Snape believed with his whole heart, and cursed Pavel's cunning in turning their own expectations against them.

Things stayed quiet for a long while, long enough for Viktor to flatly refuse to put his name in the cup. 'Too dangerous.'

Moody's eyebrows shot up. 'Truly, lad?'

'Yes. I've got too many responsibilities, and so does Drago.'

'Draco is too young like it is.' Death Eaters or not, Moody-Feathering didn't want the Malfoys to see their only child die in what he privately thought was a stupid contest anyhow.

'It'll likely go to Arbanas, then, or Lofstrom.'

'There's nothing for it, Headmaster.' Viktor looked resolved, and his Headmaster and Uncle in law nodded understandingly. 'Good choice.' And it was.

Honestly, Viktor was enjoying himself too much to want to compete. The family was there, the most beautiful girl in the world loved him and neither of them was being called to make life or death decisions.

So they spent their evenings practicing duelling, including hexes and curses they didn't teach at Beauxbatons. Often accompanied by her parents or the others, they and Draco duelled for hours, worked on technique, debated differences in their fighting styles, and played a bit.

The healer had come as well, and he had found a student in Alise. He spent time in the afternoons, teaching both girls things he thought they ought to know. Yseult declined to join them; blood made her feel faint. Hermione showed some skill, but the healer was more worried about Alise. He himself had once been a useful charity case, and he wanted to aid her however he could.

Evenings, Viktor and Hermione often borrowed Edric and took a walk. The adults encouraged them to play with the baby, soothe the baby, enjoy the baby. If everything went well, they'd have a baby of their own in a few years' time, after all. It became a familiar sight to the denizens of the grounds, seeing the tall, taciturn Krum and his little, pretty fiancé walking slowly about, one of them cuddling a bundle of blankets and furs.

In turn, they got used to being stopped half a dozen times so knots of students, male and female alike, could admire Edric. He was, as Uncle Rabastan was fond of pointing out, quite a handsome and clever little fellow, and he rewarded his admirers with smiles.

_'Edric is very big now_.' Viktor shifted the boy onto his other hip. Edric cooed and reached for a tunic button, which winked enticingly just out of reach. Hermione nodded and adjusted his little cap.

_'Vas it very bad, helping vhen he vas born?'_

_'No, not very. Healer Yokov was there, after all, and Grandmama is very good at that.'_

_'She is. I vas sorry she could not come.'_

Hermione nodded. _'It was safer to leave her with the children and Aunt Cunegarde.'_

_'I know. And she is not vell_.' Ever since they'd returned from Bulgaria, she'd seemed smaller and smaller to him. Like his father, she was the ghost of herself now.

_'It feels funny without Barty, doesn't it_?'

Viktor jiggled the baby. '_Vell, yes, but nice to have some adult time.'_

_'I think so, too._' She leant up and pecked his cheek. Sometimes it surprised her how much she liked Viktor. He made her feel safe all over, always, because she knew how much he loved her, and how much she loved him. More than that, though, she just liked him. He was kind and funny and **there**. She didn't worry he'd go Elsewhere.

Viktor was having very similar thoughts. The more time he and Hermione spent together, the more he loved her, and the more he found imagining their lives together pleasurable. He'd go to sleep beside her every night, and wake with her every morning, and in between they'd always take time to read and write together, and someday he'd teach her to fly if it killed him.

They heard feet crunching the gravel, and both of them turned, drawing, Viktor instinctively moving to shield the baby. It was only Tamm, looking terribly shy. 'H-hello' he said, voice cracking.

'Come and sit down, Anu. How have you been?' Hermione smiled at him, and his face went violently red. 'I, ah, no, well,I mean, I, er, have something my mother sent. For him. The baby.' He held out a small pouch and then quickly ran back the way he'd come.

They both grinned at his retreating back and Hermione cautiously opened the pouch, which proved to contain a single bead on a strand of red waxed string. Viktor got it at once. _'It is evil eye bead. To protect Edric from bad vishes from people_.' He gently steadied the baby whilst Hermione attached the little necklace, which had been carefully charmed to prevent the bead coming loose and being swallowed, even if the baby somehow got it off.

Hermione sighed and rested her head on Viktor's shoulder. _'Are you going to attend the Yule Ball?'_

He raised an eyebrow. _'You do not vish to go?'_

_'I do. But if you don't want me, we could make our excuses.'_

_'And play vith baby all night?'_

_'Or games, or listen to Draco's trollish poetry.'_

Viktor made a noise that indicated his general thoughts on trollish poetry. _'I vill go if you go.'_

_'But do you want to?'_

He would rather have hacked off his own arms with a rusty butter knife. _'Yes, ve should go. I put on nice tunic, make ...talking?...for an hour.'_

_'Conversation.' _

_'Conversation. Maybe it show your friends I am not a rustic.'_

Hermione put her arms round him. _'They don't think that. No one thinks that.'_

_'Moreau think that.'_

_'Someone with a moustache like that doesn't get a vote.'_

He laughed and pressed a kiss on the top of her head. _'No? If I grow bad moustache, I don't get vote?'_

Hermione pretended to contemplate. _'I'd have Crookshanks gnaw it off as you slept._' She missed Crookshanks very much, but she knew he was safer in England.

Viktor laughed again. _'I tickle you, then.'_

_'Oh, no_!' Hermione and pretended to fend him off. Edric's eyes opened and he whined, hoping they'd remember he wanted to nap and snuggle again (sometimes, Uncle Barty fell asleep on a divan with him, and Edric had rather hoped these two cousins would do the same).

_'It's probably past his bedtime, should we bring him in?_'

Viktor stood and handed the baby to Hermione, who cradled him as they walked. 'Aunt Eugenia looks a bit better to me. Not as pale.'

_'Is the fresh air_.' Viktor had a secret, quasi-religious conviction that cities drained vitality from people. If he could have, he would have talked Uncle Rabastan into moving his household to Castle Krum, where Edric could breathe clear air and grow up amongst the dogs and have fresh milk every day. Aunt Eugenia, too. It seemed wrong to him that she had no women to keep her company, and help with the baby.

More footsteps. They both stiffened and drew, then relaxed when it was only Snape. His face made them stiffen again, almost as one. _'My lord and lady, your presence is needed immediately in Headmaster Feathering's quarters. Draco is there already.'_

_'Something happen?' _

Snape didn't answer, just turned and walked toward the castle. Hermione clutched Edric, who, sensing the change in mood, started to whimper. His nurse appeared, bowing, and Hermione handed him over with a quick reminder to be a good boy. Then she started to jog, and so did Viktor.

They arrived five minutes later, both of them pink cheeked. 'What's happened?' There would be no cancelling of the charms; everyone had to know in the shortest possible time.

Rumen's face was white. 'It might be nothing, Viktor.'

'What might?'

'There is a...a communications blackout with Sofia.'

'What?'

'And some other places as well. We can't seem to...well, we can't get a hold of Grigor.'

Viktor went so white he looked like a ghost. Hermione darted forward to steady him and Viktor reached for her hand.

'Dinev?'

'We don't know.'

'Where's Uncle Penko?'

'He's trying to get them via Floo.' Rumen explained what they did know; that Penko had been owling all day in order to conduct some business, and had got no reply. He'd also posted a letter from Elisaveta to her brother, merely wanting to inquire about his gout. Nothing had come back, nor the owls sent to the capital.

Viktor forced himself to look brave, far braver than he felt, to be sure.

'It could be nothing, as you've said. Would you please ask him to try another Floo? It's possible this one is malfunctioning.'

'There's one in my office' said Desmond Feathering, who could sense, with his keen auror's senses, the stench of something seriously wrong wafting from this situation.

'Thank you, sir. Drago, round everyone up, please. I'd like to have a family meeting now.'

Five minutes later, the whole group was squeezed into the sitting room, which was generous in size but really not made for over a dozen adult sized people. Viktor asked Rumen to outline the situation and he did.

'It might be nothing.'

They heard a soft cough and Penko stepped into the room. He looked yellowish, sick. 'No.'

'You're sure, Uncle?'

'I contacted England to be sure. Both Floos work. Bulgaria has gone dark.'

From next to Rumen, Lyudmilla made a strangled sound; her father and siblings were still there. Rumen patted her hand for a moment and then was all business.

'How could the whole country be cut off?' This from Hetty, wishing she'd paid more attention to Snape's lectures about statecraft.

'They'd have to have taken the Ministry in Sofia. That's the masterpoint for the Floo system. It would be easy to do it once that was done.'

'And the owls?'

'It's possible one got lost' said Penko 'but three of them? What are the odds? At the same time the network goes down?'

An elf appeared, holding a tray of hot tea, and passed out the mugs. No one drank; all of them were engrossed in inner contemplation. Viktor finally put his head up and found the part of him that was lord Krum.

'What about the castle? Any news?'

'We sent Snetzka. Nothing visible is happening. She also went to Castle Borev, but the wards are in full effect and repelled her.'

'Is she all right?'

'It bloodied her a bit, but she'll be all right.' The elf appeared, bowing, limbs bandaged, and Viktor gave her a stern look.

'What happened, Snetzka?'

'Snetzka is going home first. Everything is being fine. Going next to Castle Borev. Being...wrong.'

'Wrong how?'

The elf shook her head, ears swinging. 'Snetzka doesn't know.'

'Did you hear noises?'

'Yes, noises. Sounds like people, but Snetzka is not seeing. Maybe are being in cellar? Or deep in the keep?'

'What about Sofia?'

'Streets is empty, Master. Quiet there, too. No good.'

'No' agreed Viktor sadly. 'No good, Snetzka. How were you hurt?'

The ancient elf stood as straight as her aching bones would allow. 'Trying to get close to Castle Borev. Master Grigor is needing.'

'Yes, he is, but don't risk yourself if you know it won't do any good. We couldn't get on without you.' She'd been his nanny, and he couldn't stand the idea she'd been hurt needlessly. He reached for her little hand and the elf gave him a look of mingled sternness and pride. 'Is Snetzka's job.'

'You knew the wards would reject a foreign elf, Snetzka. You've not got the right crest on.'

The stalwart little elf would not be cowed. 'Better Snetzka than Master. Snetzka taking care of Master when he was baby.'

'I know. That's why I can't have you risking yourself. I wouldn't dream of allowing anyone else to care for Hermione's and my children.' It was precisely the correct thing to say, and the elf, mollified, bowed and subsided. Distantly, the Beauxbatons curfew bell chimed once. Hermione half rose and then sat back down. 'Viktor?'

'We need to stay here. Father, would you please write Madame Maxime and ask her to excuse Hermione from class for the foreseeable future?'

'Of course.' Rodolphus wrote the note and sent an elf with it, and the distinctly cool note he received back asked for an audience. They invited her, and the woman stepped in twenty minutes later, still perfectly coiffed.

'I must say, this is most irregular.'

'Yes, it is. Madame, may I ask you to contact Minister Moreau, please?' The speaker was the boy, who was sitting next to the Lestrange girl, face like stone. Olympe's pulse slowed.

'I take it there is a serious emergency.'

'Yes.'

'I will contact Aurelien at once. He may wish to Portkey here, Headmaster Feathering.'

'He's welcomed, of course.'

'Is there anything else I might do?'

The girl spoke up. 'Would you please have my lessons sent, Madame? I don't want to get behind.'

Olympe looked down at her and felt the terrible tragedy of this, the sense that things were being set in motion far beyond her control, of being tugged by currents that would lead, inevitably, to pain and death.

'I will, and I'll see that Mademoiselle Sproga and Mademoiselle Ropion are alerted as well.'

'Thank you, Madame.'

She turned and went to summon Moreau, to tell him to come and deal with...whatever is was.

Draco spoke up. 'What about the women?'

'The women?'

'It is safer for them to stay here or go to England? Or somewhere else? We've properties in other countries. Father?'

'We've places in Germany and Italy that might be very suitable. Or Paris, or even the place in Wales.'

Viktor sat down on a chair, making sure Hermione had sat first. 'Uncles?'

Rumen had also sat down. He seemed to have aged ten years since the conversation started. 'It's up to you.'

'Uncle Rabastan?'

'England. Anywhere else might decide to try and sell them if...'

'We lose.' Where would they be safe? Lestrange House had been breeched, and Malfoy Manor was as well known, if probably a bit better defended.

Eugenia gave her brother a look. 'Des? Why don't we see if Uncle would take us?'

'Uncle Erasmus?'

'Why not? He'd probably like the company, and very few people know of our connexion.'

Viktor nodded immediately. 'Hermione, what do you think?'

'If you don't think he'd mind, I think it would be an excellent idea.'

Eugenia called for paper. 'I'll write him at once.' She rose to check on the baby and then write poor, senile Erasmus, who would no doubt be thrilled to host these people, whom he wouldn't recognise from Mordred.

'What about Father?' Viktor directed the question to his uncles, very softly. Rumen and Penko leant closer.

'What about him?'

'He is not well enough to accompany us.' It was a flat, sure statement of fact, and both brothers Krum flinched a little, because it was true.

'No, Viktor.'

'Then perhaps, if he'd not mind, he could accompany the women and guard them?'

'I think that would be fine.'

'How much money have we got, Uncle Rumen?'

'Money?'

'We might need to bribe our way back in.'

'Five thousand cash and ten in draft form.'

'Is the draft worth anything?'

Rumen swallowed. 'Not if Sofia's fallen. The Ministry runs the bank.'

'Five thousand might get us in.'

Penko shook his head. 'We'd need more if we wanted to get a party to Castle Krum. You're rather recognisable, Viktor, let alone Hermione and Drago.' Portkeying was out the question; the magical signature would ping at once at the Ministry, and they'd be traceable in minutes. They didn't want to draw too much attention too early.

Which also ruled out carriages. Very few Wizarding Bulgarians could afford one, and the odds were they'd be attacked, or just shot down, the second they crossed into Bulgarian airspace.

And the borders were closed against attacks via elf, which made it impossible for the to Apparate a human across an international boundary.

'What should we do?'

Hermione had been listening. 'I've jewellery we could sell.'

'No' said Viktor flatly. 'Not unless we've no other choice at all.' It would be selling family history, selling Zhivka's gift to Hermione, selling Yana's birthright as a Krum. It would be acknowledging that they had no future, and now, no past.

'What, then?'

Draco spoke very, very softly. 'Father will help, and Uncle Rodolphus.'

Viktor was loathe to ask for money, but not asking would almost assure they'd spend a good deal longer as charity relatives. He nodded, swallowing, face red. Rumen saw it and said 'Let me, Viktor. You plan everything else.' Viktor nodded. He couldn't do that on top of everything else. He couldn't.

Snape drifted over. 'By your leave, my lord, I'd go and see his lordship. He will want to know about this situation.'

'Please do.' Snape bowed and went to Portkey home, to try and manage the Dark Lord before anyone else could get to him. He had not planned for this. He hoped his machinations could sustain them a bit longer.

Eugenia came back in. 'Uncle'd be honoured to have us. He wants to spend time with Edric anyway, so it will be fine.'

'Thank you. I will send two of the dogs with you.'

'I appreciate that.' She went and sat next to Lyudmilla, who hadn't said very much for a while. Viktor turned back to his war council.

'How should we go home? They could be watching the air.'

Hermione raised a finger to show she'd a point. 'Uncle, when news of this gets out, everyone is going to panic, aren't they?' Desmond nodded.

'It's a safe bet.'

'Not just the Bulgarians, but everyone, because they'll think the wolves are coming. What if we used that?'

'Used it, pet?'

'What if we smuggled everyone out under cover of the panic that's going to start when word spreads?'

The adults were quiet a second. 'Well done, Hermione. That's precisely what we'll do.' Penko felt that weird blend of pride and horror at how sly the children were.

'Is Aunt Hetty going?'

Hetty spoke up from her place on the other side of the whey faced Lyudmilla. 'No, Hetty is staying here.'

Her husband cocked his head. 'You needn't.'

'You are my husband, my place is with you. And some of the students have nowhere to go. They need us.'

Moody-Feathering felt a little flower of respect and liking open in his chest. Brave girl, his wife. Tough as a runespoor's hide. He smiled at her. 'Very well. Your aunt is staying here with me.'

In England, Snape was bowed into the presence of the Dark Lord, who looked very grumpy to have been woken from his sleep. 'I trust this is important, Severus.' Beside him, Jonas Avery and the false Mulciber looked solemn. Shacklebolt, thought Snape irrelevantly, had really managed the eyebrows nicely. He looked like one of those owls one sees, with the huge brows twitching as though they'd a life of their own.

'We've reason to think Bulgaria is falling, my lord.'

'Falling?'

'We have lost communication. Something is amiss.'

'Most unfortunate. What do you suggest we do?'

'We must assume that Dinev is either killed or compromised, my lord. My recommendation would be to ready our aurors to go and help the Krums.'

The Dark Lord frowned. 'That would leave us quite vulnerable to attack, would it not?'

Snape was not a pious man, but he mentally implored any rogue Snapes or Princes who might be hanging about to gild his tongue for this next part. 'My lord, Bulgaria helped us in our hour of need, and see how they fled before us. Surely, if we returned the favour, the wolves would do likewise a second time.'

The Dark Lord's face was pale under the thick, Potter-ish mop on his head. 'Who would defend us if we sent away our aurors, Severus?'

'Britain's best wall is Britain, my lord. Your people would be honoured to defend you themselves.'

'Surely, my lord' said Avery in his low, soft voice 'but mightn't it be safer to offer help to the Bulgarians some other way? Money, or sanctions, or...something?'

'Money, Jonas, perhaps, but sanctions would be useless. The wolves have no economy to disrupt, for one. For another, there's a good chance they've killed one head of state already. That alone is deserving of punishment, my lord.' Snape would strangle Avery with his own intestines if he mucked this up.

'Of course. Return to Durmstrang and assure the boy of our friendship and favour.'

'Shall I tell him we have readied our troops?'

'Not until we know the situation, Severus. But do have Gringott's offer him, oh, ten thousand galleons.'

'Thank you, my lord.' Snape bowed, seething that he could not just legilimise the Dark Lord and be done with it. He backed out, hoping for a miracle.

He also took the liberty of sending for the Krum dogs, whom, stunned and well rugged, were being transported in a Hogwarts carriage to Durmstrang. He found things basically as he'd left them.

'Still no word?'

'None.'

Snape sank down in the chair and took the mug of tea the Lestrange girl handed him. It was black as ink, without anything at all in it. He sipped it and found it delicious.

'Well?' Bellatrix seemed exhilarated, eyes bright, makeup smeared wildly. It made her seem more beautiful, like a ruined angel.

'His lordship wishes me to tell lord Krum of his great friendship, and offer of ten thousand galleons to aid in this endeavour.'

'What?' Bellatrix's face twisted. 'That's it?'

'For the moment.'

'That can't be right.'

'It is.'

'You misunderstood Him, clearly.'

'Bellatrix, stop it.'

'You stop it.' She looked ready to screech when Hermione touched her arm. 'Mother?'

'Girl?'

'I've a bit of a headache. Would you rub my neck?'

'Sit down, then.' Snape would ordinarily have enjoyed the sight of Bellatrix acting motherly, but he found himself looking away to give the women privacy. Let them have this. It might never be like this again.

The owl came at dawn, along with the carriage and a chipper looking Moreau. He and Gibbon, headmaster of Hogwarts, came in and were apprised of what was happening.

'France will do what it can, of course.'

Gibbon nodded. He could do nearly nothing. 'I'm sorry, lad. Really and truly, I am.'

'Thank you both. What about the other students?'

'Parents will want to take them home.'

Moody-Feathering stepped in. 'We need to work this out, Gibbon. You, elf, get Maxime back in here, please.'

It was safest for them to stay. The parents would need to leave, but the school was impregnable, whilst everywhere else was not. They set about finding a way to explain that, and stopped only when the owl came.

It was a very handsome owl. A snowy white owl, with the Borev crest on it's legband. Viktor took the letter, hands shaking a little. He slit the seal and read it out.

"Viktor, so-called lord Krum, from Stefan, lord Borev, greetings.

Despite your best attempts, I have claimed the title that is mine by rights. You would be wise not to return to Bulgaria. This is your sole warning.

Stefan, lord Borev."

Viktor's mouth filled with bile. He swallowed hard, feeling the burn. 'It's finally come.'

The others were silent. Lyudmilla had started to weep, and Eugenia embraced her, and then Hetty. Viktor set down the letter. 'Father?'

Both Martin and Rodolphus looked, but Viktor went to his own father. 'I'm sorry.'

'Sorry for what?'

'I need you to tell Grandmama her brother has died. And Stefan has...'

Martin nodded. 'I will, Viktor.'

His son stood straighter. 'Your blessing, Father?'

'Always.' Martin had agreed to go with the women, knowing what it meant. His heart was breaking, even as it swelled with pride and pleasure at his son's decisiveness and resolve.

'All right, then. We leave at nightfall. Snetzka, I want the ladies packed and ready for when the panic hits, they'll be leaving then.'

The fireplace crackled. 'Snape?' The cornfed, handsome face of Jugson was limned in burning coals.

Snape knelt down at once. 'Hello, Mamercus. His lordship?'

'He is recalling the Death Eaters. The girl and Malfoy Jr might stay with the Bulgarians, but everyone else needs to come home.'

'Right now?'

'His Lordship fears an attack. He needs you, all of you.'

'This second?'

'He's given an hour's time.'

The room was like a crypt. 'As he commands, Mamercus, we obey.'

So forty five minutes later, Bellatrix and Rodolphus hugged their fourteen year old, perhaps for the last time. 'Take care of Crookshanks for me?'

'We'll see you very soon, darling.'

'Tell Aunt Cunegarde I love her.'

'Be safe, girl. Remember who you are.'

'Yes, Mother.'

Bellatrix hugged her tightly, all fierceness, all rage. 'I love you. Don't you dare get hurt.'

'No, Mother. I love you too.'

Rodolphus gave her a kiss on the cheek. 'I love you, Hermione.' He wished he'd said it more. He wished he'd said it ever, before now. Hermione snuggled into him as she'd done less frequently these days.

'I love you too. It will all be all right.' They stepped through the Floo and were gone.

Draco, too, bid his parents farewell. 'We love you so much, Draco.'

'And I you.'

Lucius dropped his head so his mouth was by the boy's ear. 'We'll come for you all.'

'I know.' He did, too. In spite of everything, Draco could hope, and sometimes hope is all we have.

Narcissa said nothing. Her eyes were full of love for him, and something he could not name nor tried. He held her a long moment and then she, too, stepped in, following her husband.

A day later, under cover of a frigid pre-dawn, a small party crossed the border into Bulgaria, bound for Castle Krum, and war.


	73. Chapter 73

**A/N: Love to reviewers and Countess Black**

**Special thanks to Heart of the Wolf for her help and encouragement this chapter.**

**The spellings in this chapter are not consistent with the others, as this machine is not mine and autocorrects anything other than American English.**

**Also, NB: Orthodox priests can and do marry.**

Along with hundreds of others, they trudged through the falling snow, wrapped in layers to protect them from the vicious wind knifing through the trees. Their presence brought no open speculation; like the others, they were walking in order to survive another day. Every so often, the girl would dig in her bundle and pull out some bread or a wedge of cheese and hand it to one of her companions. None of them said anything. They simply walked on, feet crunching, faces carefully blank. Sometimes they stopped and helped.

Once an old woman collapsed, and the taller of the two boys ferried her to the cart where the elderly and the dying were laid to spend their last miserable hours shivering under blankets so crusted with white that even warming charms could do very little for them. Both the two lads took turns pulling along with the other men, as the weakest amongst them moaned and sighed and wept tears that froze to their faces. On their third night in the column, a woman gave birth. The girl, still silent, stepped forward and helped the old women that also stopped, as the woman heaved and shrieked and died, her child still inside her.

The boys helped dig the grave, and knelt when one of the priests who'd fled with the group prayed for the two souls, that the place the two found at the end of their journey was warm and dry.

Draco Malfoy found as he walked, his fear had melted away. He'd been very afraid when they'd split from the men in Skopje and struck out for Castle Krum, to rendezvous in a month's time.

'Can't we just Apparate?' He thought of having asked that when he'd thought he had problems and shook his head. Rumen had answered immediately.

'No, they'll have put traces on our magical signatures. Not yours, perhaps, but the rest of us. We'd have them on us in a second.'

'What about having the elves do it?'

'They'll have thought of that. The elves magical signatures are on file with the Ministry.''What about our elves?'

'Needs to be a Krum elf or it won't be able to penetrate the wards, and it could only make one trip.'

One of them would be left behind, and that couldn't happen. Strangely, he didn't have problems now, in a sense. His whole being was devoted to surviving, and that gave the world an amazing purity, a kind of singleness that it had never had before.

As he walked, he prayed. He'd always been taught that the unworthy dead went to the Great Wastes when they died, a place of eternal cold and ice. He understood now; he shuddered at the very thought. So he prayed, relentlessly, for an end to their misery, one way or another.

Hermione, walking with Viktor, leant back and handed him a strip of coarse dried meat they'd got from the Macedonians. He popped it in his mouth and chewed, sucking the salt from the tips of his gloves. He nearly stumbled and was stopped by a farmer with one arm.

He nodded his thanks and kept walking. His legs were lead, the muscles carved onto bone. He just kept lifting his feet, watching his boots flash up and down, so caked with snow he almost couldn't see the dragon hide. He thought they'd started to blister, and then bleed, but since they were too cold for it to hurt, he found he didn't mind much, after all.

The column stopped as the first wolf appeared. Seemingly from nowhere, a half dozen of them stepped from the forest. 'Who is in charge here?' The one armed man and the priest stepped forward along with a few others. 'I am headman of a village of Poibene, and this man is our priest. Others here are from Gabro or Saranci.'

The wolf stepped closer, smiling. Neither man moved. 'We're looking for some people. Five men and a woman. Some of them are English.'

'None of us knows any Englishmen.' That the priest.

'Are you sure, Father? There's money in it for you.'

'No one like that is here.'

'Why have you all left your villages?'

'You people burnt them.'

The wolf was still smiling. 'You're mistaken, my friend. It was the English who did that. Still, lord Borev will compensate you, of course, once these English spies are caught. If you should see them, bring them to Castle Borev and we'll work something out.'

The others were winding their way through the column, stopping to shine the lighted tips of their wands in the faces of the people, sometimes shoving and making remarks, sometimes laughing.

Hermione felt a rough hand on her head, ripping the scarf from her hair. She instinctively went to cover her head, fearing the loss of her heat, when the hand cupped her chin and jerked up her face.

'Aren't you the pretty one?' She hoped desperately that exhaustion and fear had driven Mother from her face. She stiffened, dropping her eyes.

'Modest, too. How charming.'

'Leave her alone.''What's it to you, lad?'

'That's my wife.''Wife? Young, aren't you?'

'Eighteen.'

'And the girl? Why does she not talk?'

One of the priests stepped closer. 'My daughter in law does not keep company with strange men. It is the way of our village.'

'This is your son?'

'Yes, my oldest.'

'What's your name, boy?'

'Hristov.'

'Your first name.'

'Vladimir.'

Viktor found he felt very lucid. His heartbeat was calm and normal, and he knew, as he knew his true name, that he would kill this man if he had to. All of them, if he could. He looked at Drago, who was tense beside him, like a dog smelling a rabbit.

'It would be a shame if something bad happened to your wife, wouldn't it?'

'Leave my wife alone.'

'You know, fellows' said one of the wolves conversationally 'this man doesn't sound like he's from Saranci to me. More like Varna.'

'That's interesting' agreed a second. 'Take off those gloves, lad.'

Viktor shook his head no. 'My hands got burnt when the village was fired.'

'It's not because you've a lord's ring on, is it, boy?'

Viktor saw Draco raising his wand, very slowly, and gave a single nod. The wolf leant closer.

'No? I'm not sure I belie-' Draco struck, and as though at a signal, Hermione, too, spun and downed the one closest to her. The headman had also drawn, and though he had no formal training, his signaled his people to move in and they managed to prevent the wolves' escape, bound them, and brought them to where the priests and the headman waited.

The headman held up his single hand for silence. 'We have to move quick.'

The crowd hummed. He turned to Viktor. 'Well, lad?'

Viktor nodded. 'Yes.' He slipped off his glove and showed them the ring, which he had dared not remove.

'Your call, then. You've that right.'

Viktor drew himself up. 'Guilty. We need to hide them so they won't be found.' At his feet, the bound wolves squirmed, unable to speak, pleading for their lives. Viktor looked down at them and felt nothing.

'I saw a ruined cabin a few miles back. We could leave them there.'

'Yes.' Viktor bent and seized the first one. 'Can you take us, sir?'

They stacked them in lines, mouths still moving, begging for quarter from the people who were least likely to give it to them. One of the men looked at Viktor. 'My lord, should we finish them?'

'Please, sir, don't call me that until we're safe. And yes. Let's take their clothes and then vanish the bodies. Would you want me to do, or…'

One of the men stepped forward. 'Six of them, six of us, my…I mean, lad.'

Viktor could feel a chasm yawning from under him, a sense of crossing a Rubicon. He could not hesitate; if he faltered, they could all be lost.

He stood over the first one, raised his wand and fired a piecing hex right into his chest. The man gasped, twitching, and the others moved their mouths harder, squirming. Viktor gave him another to be sure he was dead and then the others fell on them.

They stripped the clothes and shoes from the bodies before they vanished them, and then rejoined the others, who had waited. Hermione had put her scarf back on. She looked at him, all soft, melting eyes, and Viktor's eyes welled. He hugged her, hard, against him.

It was all the answer Hermione needed. She never asked him and he never said. In this, as in all things, they understood one another very well.

The group made camp that night a few miles from the wolves' makeshift tomb. The headman of Poibene and the priests immediately drew Viktor aside, and got Hermione and Draco at the same time.

'You all right, lad?'

'Yes. Thank you for helping us back there.'

'Bastards took our food and burnt what they couldn't carry. Old lord Borev would never have tolerated that.'

Viktor knew Uncle Grigor was absolutely furious at the idea of these atrocities being connected with him, even slightly.

'No. No, he wouldn't.'

'They dishonoured some of our women, too, and took the young men with them to the castle.'

'That's why you couldn't Apparate elsewhere?'

The man's voice was dry. 'Too many old folks and children we couldn't leave nor carry. We ain't- there's nowhere for us to go.'

Hermione's eyes were stinging. She swallowed hard and felt for Viktor's hand. He squeezed hers in his own. 'Suppose I knew a place.' His voice was sure.

'By the sea?'

'Yes.'

The headman nodded. 'Probably you'd want a vow.'

'Yes. And a person might need to fight, if he came.'

'No man of Poibene has ever run from a fight, my l-'

Viktor held up a hand. 'Vladimir. It is not safe to be…anyone else right now.'

'And the lady?'

'My wife Anka and her brother, Penko.'

'They don't talk much.'

'Penko is deaf.' Hermione's Bulgarian was actually quite good, but she had an accent that made people take notice, so she didn't speak. As for Draco, he'd spelled himself silent so he couldn't give them away.

'The rest of your party?'

'Safer to split up.'

One of the priests spoke carefully. 'It would seem safer to me to disguise oneself, and to travel by a more…comfortable…means than this.'

Viktor nodded. 'We'd taken precautions, but we could only get as far as Backja before they starting stopping wagons. We saw you and thought no one would notice a few more. The carter drove off with our things.'

The men nodded sagely. 'About this vow…'

'You've made one to my -the old lord?'

'Exactly. Him and not that bastard's sitting in the castle. Sorry, my la-dear. Release us and we'll swear to you.'

'No need. He's not the lord, he's an outlaw.'

The man knelt and swore his obedience, and behind him, a line formed as people prepared to do the same.

Viktor looked at the column of terrified and weakened old men and women with children in arms, on their endless march to nowhere. 'Varna is quite a long way from here. The people might not make it.'The priest came closer. 'God provides.'

'If the lord were here, what would he do, do you think?'

Viktor wished he knew this was a good idea. He wished he wasn't exhausted and hungry and worried about the others, and that he didn't have a creeping feeling that this nightmare wasn't going to be over when it had none of that. He had to guess, and hope. Mama, he murmured in his heart, if you're listening, help us, please.

'He would send a few men to see whether Castle Krum has been taken. If it hasn't, he would Apparate everyone there and send men for his uncles.'

'And if it has?'

Viktor inhaled deeply. 'Then he would find another way.'

The men seemed to accept this.

'How long, would he think, we must wait? People will die start dying soon. Some have already.'

Viktor wished he had some water. He looked to Hermione and mouthed the word and she handed over their small canteen, nearly dry. He took a tiny sip and handed it to her, giving her a stern look until she drank some as well.

'We need to be close enough they won't notice all these people Apparating en masse in enough time to stop it.'

The headman and the priests nodded. 'A lord's word is a terrible serious thing.'

'It is, isn't it?' Viktor felt lightheaded, and tired. Hermione's hand in his was the only real thing in the world, he thought, as the clearing took on a strange sepia tone and then was white again.

One of the priests leant over and touched his shoulder. He recognized him as the man who'd saved him from the wolves. 'Father?'

'Talk a walk with me, my son?'

Viktor let go of Hermione's hand and trudged after the priest. The priest looked at him with eyes ringed in shadows and deep with compassion. 'Is there something you wished to confess?'

Viktor understood and knelt, and was relieved.

When they returned, they discovered that four of the people in the cart had died. It was too cold to bury them and fire would draw attention. The headman looked to Viktor, who mentally swore. Hadn't he done enough terrible things tonight?

'We'll have to vanish them. I am so sorry.'

One of the men, who'd just lost an elderly father, protested. 'How will they rise when the time comes if they've no bodies?'

The priest who'd heard Viktor's confession answered. 'The same way we know we will go home soon, Naum. Faith.'

As they were tending to their dead, Draco was carving a rough cave in the snow, as his was the only magic of the three which would not bring the wolves down on them. He made a little den for them and heat charmed it and enchanted the blankets so they wouldn't get cold and wet. Viktor crawled in first, then Hermione, then Draco, who sealed the entrance of the cave up and curled into the nest of cloaks and furs they'd made. He huddled close to his cousin as she, in turn, nestled into Viktor.

'The brave little cat tonight?'Hermione nodded. She was dizzy, and her muscles were cramping from all the walking. 'That sounds good.'Viktor dropped his voice, wishing Draco could understand.

'Once there was a brave little cat, who helped her mistress by catching mice every day. One day, the brave little cat...'

In England, there were precious few stories being told, though loads of cuddling. Not for warmth, not like the wretched people of Poibene, Gabra and Saranci, but cuddling all the same. In Lincolnshire, Rodolphus Lestrange was giving his wife a package tied with twine. She hadn't been bothering with makeup, and her eyes looked tired to him as shelistlessly raised a brow.

'Rodolphus?'

'Pictures. If you want them.'

She sat up, tearing the twine off with her sharp little fingernails.

'Of course I want them!' She opened the paper and a sheath of glossy, motionless prints spilt out.

Rodolphus sat down slowly next to first one showed a chubby, giggling, fuzzy headed toddler, smiling at the camera, a few white teeth on display. Next to her, a tall dark haired man was waving. 'The woman must've taken this one.'

'Quite.'

Then there was one at the sea shore. Hermione, in a little pink jacket and trousers like a boy, her hair in two frizzy little pigtails. She was with the woman this time, and looked supremely happy. She was perhaps three.

'She looked very like you as a baby, didn't she?'

Bellatrix sucked in air. 'She did. I see Daddy in her, do you? About the eyes?'

'A bit. Mother's chin, though.'

'I see it. That woman was not unattractive.' She meant the muggle.

Rodolphus secretly thought she looked like Bellatrix, not in any one part but in toto. 'No. They cared for her, at least.'

Bellatrix slammed down a hand onto the duvet. 'That is not the point!'

'Of course not.'She picked up a picture of Hermione as a baby, being bathed in the sink, both muggles laughing. The baby had a little crown of suds in her thick hair, and she was waving a little fist as a sign of pleasure.

'The Dark Lord' she said softly 'will call us soon.'

'Yes.' He could think of nothing else to say about it. They'd been in Britain nearly a week, waiting. The Dark Lord had sent them nothing, said nothing, did nothing. He'd called Snape to him and left the others in was holding the picture, still, and then set it down. She picked up another one and held it out.

'Christmas, looks like.'

'That must be the cat.' A small grey cat was stretched in Hermione's lap, looking lazy and happy.

Bellatrix nodded.'Buttons. It's name was Buttons.'

'Buttons?'

'She was five!' Bellatrix felt abruptly defensive, like he'd attacked Hermione, somehow. Hermione...she bit down on her lip, looking very like the girl finally could her husband take no more. He scooted closer and took her hand.

'Don't, Trixie. Don't.'

'You don't!'

'Don't' he said, pulling her closer. 'They'll be all right.'

'No they won't! They're lost and it's winter and we can't help them!'

Rodolphus tugged her into her chest. 'Shhhh. Shhhhh.'

'I will not!' 'You know' he said very softly ' that the Dark Lord is coming up with a plan right now, don't you? He's working to see that everything is safe, and when He's sure, He'll send us to them with aurors, and we will crush anyone who gets in the way. We will. Because He is backing us, and we cannot fail.'

'No' she said almost stonily 'we cannot, can we?' It was another two days before they were summoned.

By then, the group in the forest was down another three, and Hermione didn't think she'd ever be warm again. She'd another problem. Her courses had come at the worst possible time, and she could feel blood freezing to her thighs as she marched endlessly on, trying not to faint, trying not to die in the snow as had a dozen others.

And they were low on food. A few of the younger, fitter men ranged ahead of the mass, trying to find any little creature that had not gone to ground. Their success was mixed, and anyway, the first food went to the children and the old people, who needed it most. But for how long? They were millstones, useless mouths that wouldn't last another week in this white hell.

She sped up a little and fell in beside "Vladimir". He squeezed her hand briefly and kept talking with the headman, whose name was Gruev and the priest spent a good portion of every day having, long soft conversations with him, that she could barely follow due to their accents.

'Soon?' Gruev was watching his family and friends die, and he wanted to know it would be over soon, one way or another.

'Soon. As soon as we find a large enough clearing.'

'We need to make several trips.'

'Of course.' Viktor gave her hand a squeeze, which she returned, feeling a fresh gush of blood plop lethargically onto the stiff, foully stained rags she'd had to pin in her knickers with straight pins in lieu of magic. Her lips were too cracked to smile, but she felt, to her own surprise, something like calm. Viktor was here. That meant she was safe.

'Love? Are you well?' She nodded, and he gently put a hand under her elbow to study her. From behind them, a thin, wavering cry sliced through the column.'Spas!''My son! My son!' Both of them turned, and went, with aching slowness, back the way they came.

A woman was bent over a tiny form, shaking with misery.'Madam, what's wrong?''I can't! I can't hold him! Spas!' The little boy didn't move, but his chest was working, very faintly. Hermione, reminded of Edric, bent and tugged the little boy into her arms.'We need to go now.'

'I know.' Viktor lifted the mother into his arms until the cart could be reached. She lolled weakly, much too hot despite the snow that blanketed them all. How many of them were this weak? How many would survive another night? Hermione was right, he decided, and motioned to Draco. 'Gruev.' Draco spoke virtually no Bulgarian, outside a few courtesy phrases and swear words, but Viktor decided their luck had held thus far. Perhaps he could push it a little further.

Gruev came back, empty sleeve flapping. He made a noise of interrogation, and Viktor said simply 'The next clearing. Now, tonight.'

Draco was in a nightmare, that was all. He trudged endlessly on, taking the child his cousin had appeared with when he saw her, wanting, still, to be a gentleman. He felt funny, hot and cold at the same time, but that was all right. When he closed his eyes, Grandfather was there. He smiled and told Draco how proud he was ofhim, and not to follow him.

What a strange thing to say, he reflected, settling the baby-was it Edric? Did Hermione have a baby now?- under his coat. He hoped the extra heat would make him warm enough. Poor little mite. He wasn't moving. Had Grandfather come to help the baby?

A hand touched his arm, and Draco hunched over the baby, whose breathing was a sputtery rattle near his heart. He heard Viktor. 'Gruev.'

Gruev was helping the priest. Draco tugged his empty sleeve and pointed back, and then swapped places with the man. The priest smiled at him and patted his arm in thanks. When they died, he wondered, would he be able to speak to the man? Would a priest know about why Grandfather had told him not to go with him? Someone was touching him. Not the priest, he thought.

'We' said Viktor slowly 'go. Go home now. Yes?' Draco nodded. Home, yes. To England, with Mother and Father. They would fly, as they had a million years before. Hermione would scold them for scaring her, and take care of her mysterious new baby. How nice, that Edric would have a playmate now. Viktor took the fellow's hand and gave him instructions and then they were gone from the clearing.

Draco could see his Grandfather. His eyes were open. He tried to move toward him, and Grandfather shook his head.

_'Just a few moments more, Draco. I promise._'

_'I want to come now. It's cold here_.' Was he speaking out loud? Was it all in his mind? Why was it so bright in the clearing? He couldn't hear the baby's rattling breath anymore. Perhaps he'd gone to sleep.

_'I know it is, love, but we need you to stay here for right now, all right_?'

_'Can't. Dying_.' He was, wasn't he? He was dying, and that seemed all right to him. He'd had a damned good life, and Grandfather was there to keep him company whilst they traveled.

_'Hush, you know I love you. Just stand right there, that's my good boy_.'

_'Love. F'th'r and M'th'r?'_

_'Need you to live, Draco. Don't go to sleep, darling, just keep looking at me. Draco, open your eyes.'_

_'Right_.' He let his head drop forward. The baby felt warm now, at least.

_'Draco Lucius, open your eyes this second_.'

He did, and saw that someone was there, and they took his arm, and as they Apparated, he saw Grandfather wave at him, smiling.

Yokov had been in his chambers when the summons came. He grabbed his bag and ran, and when he saw what looked like three ruffians-one, shamefully, in a cassock like a priest's, he drew his wand.

'Healer, it's I.'

'Prove it.'

'You fixed my arm for me after that bludger snapped it the day after Hristov and I fought. We gave you a wolf cloak for it.'

The old man lowered his wand. 'My lord, thank God!'

'There's more coming.' The other men vanished, and returned, and then it was like hell had opened and spewed forth a scene out of Bosch; the wounded and dying, the starving and elderly, children and the maimed stumbled about the hall, shedding layers, screaming, crying.

The girl, in a filthy scarf and equally dirty cloak, was shouting orders to the elves to try and make sense of the chaos. In minutes, the worst had been put nearest the fire and triaged, and the others were eating soup and porridge, drinking buckets of water, disrobing behind curtains to bathe and let the elves clean their filthy clothing.

'Where are your uncles?'

'You haven't seen them?' Under his new growth of beard, the boy's windburnt face seemed too tired for emotion. He was staring blankly, shifting on his feet to try and relieve the aching in his muscles.

'Where's Drago?' Abruptly, he shook his head. Yokov wondered whether he'd shut down emotionally, trying not to think about what might have happened. Perhaps that was best.

Draco was the last one they'd taken from the forest. In his mud caked coat and hat, he stood, clutching what the healer prayed with all his heart was a bundle of dirty rags but knew, deep down, was not. He could see frost caked curls protruding from the top of the coverings.

_'Draco?'_

_'Hello, Hermione.'_

_'The healer's going to take the baby now, all right?'_

Draco held the pitiful little thing tighter. _'He's cold.'_

Viktor gently clapped Draco's shoulder. _'No, Drago. Baby vill never be cold again.'_

Draco felt so hot. So hot. _'Promise?'_

'_Promise_.' Draco's shoulders slumped and he handed over the child, who had, the medi-wizard could tell, been dead for quite a while. _'He felt warm. In my arms. Did Grandfather come for him, not me_?'

Viktor raised a brow and Hermione shook her head. _'Draco, you're sick. Let Snetzka put you to bed, all right?'_

Draco shook his head and then went limp. The healer put his wand away. 'Elf, take Mr. Malfoy and put him to bed. This is no time to argue.' No one could dispute that, and they all plunged back into the fray, to fight the latest battles in an endless line of them.

In Scotland, the Lestranges were being bowed into the presence of the Dark Lord. Bellatrix had rimmed her eyes thickly in kohl, and she smelt of jasmine, dark and dangerous. Rodolphus gave her a smile from the side and then they were bending to kiss the Dark Lord's hem.

'Hello, Rodolphus, Bellatrix.'

'My Lord.' Her eyes were bright and Voldemort smiled at her, cocking his head. He had a pimple on his chin, quite a big one.

Beside them, Malfoy had also bowed. He looked paler than usual, white as snowdrops under his immaculately styled hair. 'My lord.'

'Lucius, how good to see you. Tell me, what news of Bulgaria?'

'None, my lord. We've heard nothing.'

'Nothing? What do I pay those spies for, then?'

'We've reason to believe the children are alive, my lord, as well as Rumen and Penko Krum and Lemuel Scabior.'

'"Reason to believe", Lucius? What reason would that be, again?'

'Our last reports indicate they'd made it inside the country.'

'That must be nearly two weeks ago, is that right?'

'Ten days or so, my lord.'

'Hmm, most troubling.' The Dark Lord nodded to the elf, who handed out wine. No one drank it.

'Severus? Your thoughts?'

'I believe we should strike whilst the iron is hot, my lord. If the children have not made it to Castle Krum by now, they will soon.'

'You really think so?'

'Feathering's training is beyond compare, and Miss Lestrange is the very image of her mother. If that does not recommend her abilities, I do not know what would.'

'Quite so, but I am eager to see…what's that, Metellus?'

Travers looked nervous. 'My lord, those protestors are back. They're throwing rocks.'

'Rodolphus, make an example.' Rodolphus bowed and walked out, handing his mask to an aide who appeared. He was not worried. Hermione would be fine. He knew, in his heart, that she was all right, and that the Dark Lord's plan would save her, and all of them. He walked faster and drew his wand.

'Anyway—thank you, Metellus—I am eager to see how this unfolds.'

Bellatrix saw Malfoy stiffen. 'My lord, I do not understand.'

'We must test those below to us to prove them worthy of their places. Let the boy prove he is worthy of our friendship and then we will see. If he can repel the wolves long enough to send us a message, perhaps we will change our mind.'

All three Death Eaters went utterly still. 'M-my Lord?'

'Bellatrix?'

'The children…?'

'Surely, Bellatrix, you have faith in our judgement?' Snape wanted to hit the little bastard, who'd been using the royal we lately. It grated, or would have had been not been so angry and…afraid?

'Yes, yes, of course. But Viktor is only sixteen, and the other two are even younger. Surely a small group of us—I could do it, say—could go and help?'

'Give up our strong right arm? No, no. This is the testing ground of our beliefs, don't you see? An army of Purebloods, led by a Pureblood, can triumph over rabble, no matter how many? One Pureblood is worth ten of the Romanians' mongrel scum.'

'Of course, my Lord, but, please, my daughter…'

'You've always known it might come to this, have you not?'

'I…'

Lucius Malfoy never forgot what happened next, or told anyone but his wife, and her only the first bit. Bellatrix threw herself to her knees and dropped her head to the Dark Lord's shoes.

'My Lord, please!'

'Lucius, help Bellatrix up.' Lucius bent over his tiny sister in law and gently helped her to her feet. She twisted against him, back heaving, and something black was splashing on him, and then he realized it was kohl, because Bellatrix was crying, crying hard.

'Please, my Lord!'

The Dark Lord looked impassive. 'Your service to us makes us wish to forget this…forgetfulness of yourself, Bellatrix. Take her away, Lucius, I have never been able to abide the sniveling of women.' He waved, and Lucius gave Snape a final pleading look and gently guided the sobbing Bellatrix from the room.

He dragged her into the closest antechamber. 'Bellatrix…'

Somehow his arms were about her and hers about him, and he, too, was crying a little. Their children could be dead and they had no way to help them, or know it. What did they do now?

Rodolphus, having made short work of the rock throwers, was directed in by an elf. He almost couldn't believe his eyes. 'Bellatrix? Lucius?'

Bellatrix jerked back from her brother in law and stood up straight, a full foot shorter than Malfoy. 'We need to tell Cissy.'

Lucius swallowed hard. 'We'll make offerings, all of us.'

Rodolphus didn't need to ask. He felt his eyes tearing, and knew he'd weep as soon as he was in private. 'Let's go home.'


	74. Chapter 74

**A/N: Love to reviewers and Countess Black**

**Special thanks, once again, to Heart of the Wolf for her help and insight.**

**I borrowed a line from a review I really liked by a much appreciated reviewer, A. Deca. I hope you don't mind, dear heart :)**

Sirius hadn't seen Snape genuinely angry, as an adult, in he didn't know how long. Perhaps never. As soon as he entered the room as Salazar, he knew. He could smell rage radiating from him like fumes, hot and thick, and changed back immediately, going to the small cabinet that held their liquor and pouring Snape a snifter of brandy, neat.

Snape drained nearly a quarter of it before he spoke. 'Things have taken an unforeseen turn.'

'Turn?'

'His lordship has decided not to help them.'

'The Bulgarians?'

'Yes. And specifically the boy and the others in the castle.'

Sirius felt his gorge rising. 'He means to just, just **leave them **to their fate?'

'He's using this as a test. He says if they prove themselves worthy of rescue, he'll consider it.'

Sirius sat hard on the divan, blinking. 'My God.'

Snape drained another quarter of the glass. 'And there's nothing I can do for it. There were witnesses, it would arouse suspicion if he abruptly changed his mind.'

Sirius took the brandy the elf had made him and drank half of it. 'What can we do?'

Snape shook his head. 'I need time to think. If you've any inspirations, do let me know, dog.'

Sirius nodded. 'Do they know? Trixie and Rodolphus and the rest?'

'They know.' Snape looked as though he'd aged ten years since that afternoon. Sirius stood and stretched.

'Why don't we go to Grimmauld Place?'

'Whatever for?'

Sirius shrugged. 'Huge library there, for one. If I had some maps to look at, I might be able to figure something out.'

'Do you have some sort of tactical genius you've forgot to mention until now?'

'No, but I can turn into a dog.'

Snape nodded slowly. 'Did you, Black, just offer to infiltrate a castle surrounded by hundreds of miles of hostile guerilla fighters who also happen to be werewolves?'

'No, I just hadn't mentioned the dog thing for a while.'

Snape rose and motioned toward the Floo. Anything, even an evening spent making a lunatic plan with the jackass dog, was better than sitting here helplessly, waiting for the children to somehow conquer or die.

Other people felt the same. At Feathering (which, unimaginatively, was the name of the family estate), the mood was funereal. The Death Eaters, sans Barty, had locked themselves in the library and had yet to come out. Sometimes voices could be heard, usually Bellatrix's strident screeching and Malfoy's soft, calming drawl in reply.

Barty, Edric in tow, had taken to wandering the grounds, followed by a Snatcher. Normally, he would spend the early afternoon in the garden, baby on his hip, determined to make sure Edric got loads of fresh air and whatever fragile sunlight exists in the coldest winter on record since 1703.

Not today; today, Bartimeus Crouch was a man on a mission. He dressed in nicer robes than usual, had the elf give him a very close shave, and sent it for a bottle of wine from his father's cellar, and some of the incense and fruit he needed as well.

Toting Edric, he followed the elf down a tiny, narrow corridor and three flights of twisting, nearly pitch black stairs. As soon as they'd got to the basement, an elf lit a few tapers and Barty handed Edric to her to start the ritual.

Eugenia, too, felt the change. She hadn't seen her husband in more than a day, and suspected she had a while to wait. When the elf told her Barty had taken the baby downstairs, she felt a frisson of alarm and went to find them both. Barty seemed to adore Edric (and in fairness, Edric felt the same, from what his mother could tell), but Emmeline had liked Alice Longbottom very much, and that made her want to check.

She walked as rapidly as she could down the stairs and was startled into immobility by what she saw. Bent over the altar, Barty was sitting on his heels, gently coaxing Edric into dropping a small handful of incense onto glowing embers she recognized as a sacrificial fire.

'Good boy, Edric. Now, we close our eyes and what do we say?' Barty squeezed his eyes shut and intoned the blessing softly as the elf quickly cleaned the baby's hand to see he didn't eat any incense.

'And the ancestors are listening to us, so what now?' The baby gurgled, little face solemn, and Barty praised him and murmured the next part of the ritual. He opened his eyes when Edric fussed for Mummy, and rose to hand the baby over at once. 'Hello, Eugenia. I hope you don't mind.'

'Not at all.' She felt a sense of surreality, as a man she'd helped convict smiled and gave her son an affectionate wink. The baby giggled, kicking, and then looked at her, giving her a toothless smile of such sweetness that it hurt to see.

'Any news?'

'None.'

Barty nodded, eyes distant. 'Rodolphus says His Lordship has a secret plan, and we have to have faith.'

She bet he did. 'I hope so.'

'Would it help, do you think, if I went and spoke to His Lordship in private?' The image of that, poor brain damaged Barty trying to convince that psychopath of anything, made her look away, torn between horror and dark, terrible sense she betrayed herself when she felt pathos for this man.

But how could she not? They were locked together in this enterprise, wanted the same thing. And he loved them. That was the worst of it, that Barty Crouch loved them and wanted to be with them because they were the only family he'd ever have again.

'No, Barty. We need you here.'

He nodded, as though he expected that answer. 'As long as you're sure, Gennie, that's good enough for me.'

Eugenia held her baby tighter and wondered if rock bottom always hurt this damned much. 'Did you want some privacy for your devotions?'

'You can stay. You can help, even.' He held out the wine, and Eugenia, whose parents had been staunch C of Eers, whispered an apology and poured it, hoping her parents, wherever they were, would help the children, and Edric, and all of them.

Snape left the dog near midnight and went to Feathering. He stepped through the Floo and found himself in what seemed to him a sepulcher. As soon as she saw him, Bellatrix leapt to her feet.

'WELL?'

'I take it' said Snape tightly 'that there is no news?'

'No' said Lucius Malfoy from a wingchair by the fire. 'There is no news.'

'I will do whatever I can, of course, but that is only so much.'

'Anything you can do, Severus, anything at all…' Narcissa rose, tears in her eyes, and went to him, touching his arm. They were exactly the same height. Her eyes were the same grey as Bellatrix's, but soft and warm.

'Severus' said Rodolphus, who looked as though he'd been weeping 'why has Our Lord…I don't understand.'

'Nor I, Rodolphus.' Snape felt genuinely sorry for the man, for all he tended to find doctrine tiresome. He gently passed Narcissa off to her husband and sat in the other wingchair.

'If they were not alive, we would have heard.' Assuming the wolves had killed them. They could have starved or frozen, or worse. He didn't say that, of course, because it would be fuel on a conflagration that was ugly enough as it was.

'What is our next step, then?'

'I've a man who can go and try to get to them to help them.'

'A man?'

'A private factor I've been holding in reserve. I am not at liberty to divulge more.'

All of them accepted that without question. Snape wondered whether power had ever seemed so grubby as it did then, holding the most powerful people in Britain in thrall with their love for their children or husband.

'What then?'

Snape wished he had an answer. 'Would that I knew.'

Bellatrix could take no more. She drew on him, and he was on his feet, hoping he didn't have to hurt her. 'YOU DID THIS, YOU HALFBLOOD SON OF A BITCH! YOU SOLD MY DAUGHTER TO HER DEATH!'

She pulled back her arm to swish and spun, shocked, as her wand whipped toward Narcissa.

'Stop it, Trixie!'

'GIVE ME MY WAND!'

'No.' Narcissa sat down, daring her older sister to take it by force, and then the women were in one another's arms. There was no weeping this time, thankfully, but Snape, who'd once have given ten thousand galleons to see Bellatrix break down now looked away, feeling dirty at the thought of intruding on her pain.

'If you should hear anything…'

'Of course.' Snape left them to their private agony, trying not to admit that he had a better idea of how they felt than he might have liked.

In Bulgaria, Stefan Borev was finding out he liked being lord less than he wanted to admit. He was heartily sick of the damned werewolves, for one. _'*I still don't see why you hard to burn all those villages.*' _

Pavel sighed. '*_Because we want them thinking the English did it. That way, when they invade, the people will rise against them_.*'

'* _Still can't believe Dinev agreed to that_.*'

Pavel gave him a look. '*_We've discussed this. You need Dinev to revoke that petition.*'_ The parcel of lands the fellow had been promised no doubt sweetened the deal.

'*_I suppose.*' _Stefan sat down on the chair he'd claimed as his. '_*Sofia's quiet?*'_

'More or less.' Pavel stretched, shoulders popping, and rose when one of his people came back into the room.

'_News?'_

'_None.' _Six of the wolves they were calling had vanished a few days past, and no trace could be found of them. That made Pavel nervous, as did the jackass he'd helped claim his title. Still, needs must is needs must.

The other wolf jerked his head toward the door. _'Costin wants to see you, Nicolae._'

'All right. Excuse us, my lord.' Pavel and the other wolf left the jackass brooding over the empty hall.

'_He's making me edgy_.' They were speaking Romanian. The wolves they'd sent out amongst the peasants were Bulgarian speaking, but they'd figured Borev could make due with translation charms.

'_Costin? Whatever for? Has he been drinking? I told you to watch that vodka, Eugen.'_

'_No, Borev. He's an idiot.'_

'_Yes, he is.'_

'_And all those conscripts are going to riot.'_

'_Yes, they are.' _Pavel sounded totally calm, almost serene, and clapped the younger fellow on the back. _'_

_Trust me, Eugene. It can only work out for us_.'

Eugen looked at the camp of tenants and wolves that was Borev's army and said nothing, the feeling that they were damned slowly snaking through his bones.

Near Varna, Viktor was wondering much the same thing. He rose as Hermione came into the room, looking sweaty and tired and pale. 'Is the fever down?'

'Little bit. Healer gave him potion, but…' she made a gesture and Viktor nodded wearily. They were low on potions. They were low on bandages. They were low on places to sleep. They were low on time itself.

And more were coming every day, every hour, all of them coming to his protection, all of them needing food and medicine, carrying their few possessions on their backs or in their arms.

Hermione sat down at the table and tucked in to the banitsa and ayran which had been left out for her, and some slices of cold ham and bread with cheese. She had had perhaps four hours of sleep a night since they'd arrived, and that was an optimistic estimate. It seemed like every time she tried to sleep, or eat, or bathe, an elf would come and tell her some headwoman from one of their villages were there, needing medicine for a sick child or help calming a hysteric or food for those who'd run out.

Viktor touched her cheek and she jerked from her reverie. 'S-sorry?' She had nearly fallen asleep eating.

'You're tired, Hermione. I was going to have a nap. Do you want one as well?'

She nodded, finishing the last few bites of her meal, still gnawing her crust of bread. Viktor looked about the hall and offered his arm. She took it, head reeling, and followed.

Every bed in the castle was full. The bedrooms were full of lords, and Viktor's old room was Draco's sickroom. He was very little better, and there had been no question to them he would get his own bed and the services of an elf.

Viktor opened the door to the master bedroom and they were greeted by Bear, who rose on his ancient legs and came to greet them, tail slowly feathering back and forth.

Hermione bent and stroked the dog's velvet ears. She'd been the one to breach the elephant in the room, finally, as they prepared to retire the night they'd arrived. 'Viktor, where you want me to sleep?'

He'd set down his mug of tea, stroking his cleanly shaven face. 'Sleep?'

She'd nodded, damp hair bouncing, curls sending little sprays of water everywhere. 'Sleep. We need bedrooms soon for lords, yes?'

'I'm lighting the beacons tonight, yes.'

'Where I sleep, then?'

'Where do you want to sleep?'

Hermione sat down her cup and looked at him levelly. 'We sleep near each other, so is safer.'

'Yes' he agreed, feeling suddenly a touch light-headed. It had been one thing for them to sleep together curled up for warmth in the snow, but what about now? Did he have an obligation to protect her virtue, or her safety? Did his family's unhappiness matter in the face of their potential death?

She nodded, sipping her own tea, seemingly prepared to say something. She didn't. What was there to say? The moral calculus of their universe had been realigned, profoundly, and sharing a bedroom was hardly a ripple in a universe made up solely of swells.

Bear gave one of his hoarse barks and Viktor obediently dropped to his heels so the dog could sniff him. He opened his arms and the dog slowly reared up to give him a lap on the chin and a sad whine; he didn't like the confusion and the new, strange people invading Bear's castle.

The dog went to his place near the fire, stretching out on his belly in the heat. Hermione had had the screen brought in, and she staggered behind it to change. In her nightgown, she got into bed and moved over so Viktor could get beside her.

Officially, he was sleeping on a pallet on the floor. Unofficially, the bed was huge, and whilst he always made it to the pallet in the end, Viktor often spent some time with his fiancée, cuddling and planning.

Hermione nestled into his chest, feeling her tiredness in her bones, in the way the room was spinning dizzily. 'I wish we hear from my parents soon.'

Viktor stroked her hair. 'I do too.' They were low on everything, the situation could only get worse, and the wolves had not even come yet. Hope was their only currency now, and when the purse was empty...he wrapped his arms a bit tighter about Hermione.

_'Snow Vhite_?'

She nodded. _'Once upon a time, there was a girl who_...' Under a selkie fur, the lord and lady of Castle Krum comforted one another with fairy stories and then slept. Even as they did, wheels were moving, but they cared for none of it; they only dreamed on in the soothing closeness of the person that had become home to the other.

In England, Snape had finally come to a decision. He left the dog in Grimmauld Place and went back to Spinner's End, sending Mippy for the box he kept the rat in. He'd convinced Scabior at Beauxbatons that he should take poor Chum, who surely would not survive the rigours of travelling, and so Scabior, looking miserable, had handed over his little friend.

Snape picked up the rat, who blinked sleepily, whiskers working. 'Change back.'

Pettigrew rose from the floor, shaking out his coat in a show of bruised dignity. 'Hello, Severus.'

'Pettigrew. I've a task for you.'

'What it is?'

Snape made himself stay poker faced. 'You're going on a little holiday.'

'Holiday?'

'To Bulgaria.'

'Bulgaria? With the wolves?'

'No, the Bulgaria without the wolves. I need you to sneak into Castle Krum and bring proof the children are alive. After that, you'll infiltrate Castle Borev to let me know what they're up to, and then return here to get your next assignment.'

Pettigrew went grey, so grey Snape half thought he was having a heart attack. After a moment, the rat straightened up a bit. 'You want me to go amongst the wolves?'

'As a rat, yes.'

'But...'

'You didn't hesitate to do it to me, rat.'

'Couldn't you send Sirius?'

'No.'

'No?'

'I'm holding him reserve.'

'Suppose' said the rat with asperity 'I should do a runner.'

Snape smiled, using his taller statue to bend a bit into Pettigrew's face. 'That's what I'm reserving Black for. Go ahead and do it; I'll send the dog for you.'

The Wizarding world was waiting, breath baited, for someone to make the first move. At Durmstrang, the mixed populations of three schools was quiet. They waited, mourners at a wake that hadn't happened yet, considering what they knew of the three amongst them who were gone.

Already, they had achieved a slightly mystical air, and anyone who'd ever had dealings with them was called on to discuss it at length. Naturally, the people that had actually known them refused comment, and pulled together in silence, heads down.

One of these was Yseult. She and Alise spent hours together, not talking about it. Her father had elected to stay on at Durmstrang, which had become an informal thinktank about the events in Bulgaria, and she finally asked him about the troubling silence from Britain.

Eduard took off his spectacles and rubbed his eyes gently. 'It's a complicated situation, darling.'

'Yes, Papa, I know. But I wonder why he doesn't help them?'

'The British' said Eduard after a moment's thought 'are very into their whole doctrine. I'm sure your friend's said?'

Yseult shook her head at once. 'She never talks about it.'

'Oh? Curious. Her parents, you know, are heroes of the movement.'

Yseult nodded, a trifle impatiently; everyone knew who Bellatrix Lestrange was, after all. 'Their doctrine says they can't stop the wolves?'

'It says people who can't resist a stronger force deserve to lose.'

Yseult went pale, but only for a second. 'Can we help, then?'

Eduard didn't like his daughter's thinking too much on these things. Girls, he felt, should be butterflies; light, airy, graceful, decorative, fragile. This would coarsen her and make her afraid.

On the other hand hand, she knew the Lestrange girl well and the boy slightly, and who could say what was proper in times like these? 'If the opportunity presented itself, perhaps France might.'

She rose and kissed his cheek. 'Then I shall have to watch for one, and tell you if I should see it.'

'You do that, kitten. You do that.'

The rest of the school was dark and quiet. Any question of their being a Tournament had vanished with the group that had departed north; the few students who tried to protest had been rapidly schooled in the tastelessness of games in the face in international events, led Kask the Estonian and a few others who'd fought wolves back in December of '92 and had few illusions about what was going on in Bulgaria, or the likely outcome.

Yseult heard the first bell and picked up her pace a bit. She made it back with ten minutes to spare, and joined Alise in their room. Alise was writing a letter. She'd been crying.

'Alise?'

'I'm fine.'

'Aren't.'

Alise set down her quill and shook her head. 'I can't.'

Yseult had put her foot down with Hermione, and now she would it with Alise as well. Standing, she put her arms round the other girl and hugged her, stroking her hair. Alise closed her eyes, tears running down both cheeks.

'We promised we'd be honest, remember?'

'I do.'

'Well?'

'Afraid, is all.'

'So am I. But I think...I think they'll be all right.'

Alise let her head drop. She was at risk of losing not only a dear friend but her fiancé as well, and the spectre of that loss, of losing her future security and the potential disaster it could entail for her grandmother and herself.

'I'm a horrible person.'

Yseult snorted. 'You? No, you aren't. That uncle of Viktor's is a horrible person. You're just worried.'

Alise inhaled deeply. 'It is terrible to be helpless.'

'We might not be helpless forever, you know.'

'What do you mean?'

Yseult gently released her from the hug. 'I don't know, but something's going to happen. I feel it in my bones.'

As it happened, the third member of the group was also being released from a hug, though not in the same way. She heard Snetzka's gentle, insistent voice and tried to roll, only to find Viktor's chest was in the way. She sat up, gasping, and shook him by the arm.

He groaned and muttered something-Viktor was a very heavy sleeper- but then opened his eyes and sat up.

'Milord, Milady, Snetzka needs. Is being messenger downstairs.'

Viktor went pale. 'A messenger from whom, Snetzka?'

'Stefan Borev, Milord. Messenger is waiting, wants to come and speak.'

Hermione was white as a sheet beside him. He kissed her gently, rose and asked the elf to get him a fresh tunic and trousers.

Hermione rose as well, and donned clean clothes, and even a little perfume. Someone knocked on the door of the chamber, and Sirakov's croaking voice came drifting in.

'My lord and lady, we await your pleasure.'

Viktor nodded to Snetzka, who held out a fur-lined robe. Stepping into it, he allowed her to drape a gold chain across his shoulders. He wished he hadn't shaved his beard; it made him look older.

The elf opened the door, and the lord and lady of Castle Krum, flanked by their vassals, went to receive the messenger from Stefan, heads high.

The messenger was a small, thin man in unremarkable clothing. He bowed on seeing them, holding out a scroll. 'My lord and lady Krum, lord Stefan Borev bids me bring you this message.'

Lord Mitkova retrieved the message and brought it to Viktor, who didn't open it. 'Be welcomed, sir. Please, honour us by sharing a meal.' The man, as a messenger, was sacrosanct; it was literally unthinkable to offer him violence or discourtesy, even in war time.

The elves set out places for them and the group sat down and ate. Nothing was said over the meal, which was delicious. Instead, once the dishes had been cleared, the messenger rose, thanked Hermione courteously, and said 'I bring word from Stefan, lord Borev.'

'You bring word from Stefan Borev.' Viktor nodded, and the message was brought forth and handed back to the messenger, who unrolled it and read in a clear, loud voice.

"Viktor, so-called lord Krum, from Stefan, lord Borev, greetings.

You have disregarded my warning. The great affection I bore your mother, my beloved sister Zhivka, compels me to mercy; leave now and we will not pursue you.

Stefan, lord Borev."

Viktor's face did not change. 'May I ask you, sir, to wait an hour? I wish to consult with my council.'

'Please, my lord, take all the time you need.' The messenger sat down, and Viktor gave the nod to a few of the sons of his vassals, who called for wine to pass time with their guest and enemy before they could return to trying to kill him.

They had turned the lady's solar into an ad hoc war room, and so the nine nobles and the two teenagers made their way to it and sat down. Hermione could tell Viktor was angry. He breathed deeply, fist knotted. 'My lords?'

'We await your words, my lord Krum.'

'Compliance is obviously not an option.'

The others nodded. Under the table, Hermione touched Viktor's wrist gently. He forced himself to relax a bit.

'What would you have us do?' Paisi plucked at his tunic nervously even as he asked.

'We've known it would come to this. If anyone would leave, now is the time.'

No one rose. The silence was the plainest thing any of them could stay.

'What about milady?'

Viktor turned to Hermione. 'I wish with my whole heart you would go. More than anything.'

She slid her hand onto his under the table. 'I am chatelaine of Castle Krum.'

The lords caught the look that passed between them. She would stay, then, possibly to die with them, if she was lucky, or live, if she was not.

'Britain, my lord?'

'There is no doubt in my mind, lord Sirakov, that my in-laws are working feverishly to help us, as is Severus Snape. We've all the advantages here; we're in fortified castle on land we all know.'

'Most of these people aren't Bulgarians, and the ones that are will be conscripts. We can use that.' Nods all round.

'The first thing will be to use our advantages. Suggestions?'

'Their supply lines' said Lilov, at eighty two the oldest of their number 'will be problematic for them. They'll want to supplement it with foraging. We must make that impossible.'

'Have you any idea of how, my lord?'

'Send parties to get every bit of food and any other usable thing from the deserted villages, my lord Krum, and then torch the rest and poison the wells.'

Viktor swallowed hard. 'And the people who live there?'

'They will sink or swim even as we do, my lord. They'll have no need of wells or houses if the wolves win.' Nearly all of them were at the castle, and those who weren't would be dragged back by force, if need be.

'Will you see to it?'

'My men and I.'

'Start now, please.' Lilov rose, bowed and was gone.

'Scouts to access their position.'

'Can I rely on you for that, lord Balov?'

Balov, too, rose and left.

'Reinforcing the wards round the castle, especially the courtyards with people in them.'

'Lord Nanev?'

Hermione felt a little shy, being the only woman in a room full of men, but she pressed on. 'My lord, conscripts don't want to fight.'

'Yes, of course they won't.'

'Why we don't make signs tell them come here? We forgive them if they help us.'

The remaining lords nodded approval. This shy little Englishwoman, they decided, was perhaps hardier than she had seemed.

'Excellent. Lord Mitkova, could I ask you to oversee that? And a sack of gold coins to whomever tell us how to get Stefan.' Mitkova rose and went about his task.

An elf appeared and announced lord Vidanov was there.

Viktor stood to receive him. Vidanov had not technically had to come, bound as he was by verbal agreement over too much liquor. That he had said a good deal. Vidanov bounded in, windburnt and excited.

'They're moving. I just heard from my son in law near Pernik, they're on the move.'

'The wolves?'

'Thousands of them!'

'Then we must hurry.'

Lord Paisi half raised a hand. 'My lord, if something should happen...'

'Do not be afraid to speak.'

'Who will command if you are not able?'

'Lady Krum.'

'Lady Krum is chatelaine, but she is not your lordship's legal wife. There could be dissent if some did not like taking orders from a woman. Your pardon, my lady.'

Hermione nodded graciously. 'No need.' Her eyes darted to Viktor, who slowly nodded Bulgarian style. She was chatelaine, but if something happened to him, that didn't entitle her to be the war leader as well.

Unless...it was lunatic. It would have to serve. He hoped Hermione would forgive him.

'My lady and I must speak alone. I will see you all hear in an hour's time.'

Alone, they studied one another. 'We need England.'

'Draco. We have Portkeys. We send him to ask for help.'

Viktor cupped her cheek. 'And you still will not go?'

'No.' Her eyes were calm and flat and unafraid, and he wondered what he had done to deserve her.

'Can you have Yokov get him strong enough to go?'

'Half an hour.'

He stopped her from turning away and pressed his lips to hers. 'No matter what anyone else says, you are the wife of my heart, and I will keep you safe if I have to kill all those damned wolves myself.'

Hermione pressed herself into his arms. 'You are best husband I could have. I love you.' They went and spoke to Vidanov and a few others about what had been said, and then went to send Draco to get them the help they needed so desperately.

Yokov gave Draco enough of their dwindling supply of potions to make it safe for him to travel. He protested on hearing his cousin meant to say.

'Hermione, no. You have to come.'

'I can't. These people need me.'

Draco nodded, still feverish and very, very thin. 'I know. I'm sorry.'

'Hush. You're coming right back.' She smiled as she said it, and he did too, because he could tell she didn't believe it.

He did; they wouldn't be overrun because he felt his sheer force of will refusing that idea, all the enormous strength of desire Draco was capable of focusing onto that one small point of light.

Shaking hands with Viktor and giving Hermione a final kiss on the cheek, he tapped his Portkey with his wand and said the words he'd chosen to activate it. 'Trollish poetry.' He was gone in a flash, like he'd never been there at all. Viktor and Hermione moved closer to one another.

Draco arrived at Malfoy Manor to find it empty. Grabbing some Floo powder, he headed for Feathering, arriving just as the group settled in the parlour for after dinner time.

They looked up as he stepped from the flames, and Narcissa, knowing him at once, started to weep. 'Draco! My baby! You're alive!'

'Mother! Father!' Lucius was closest the fire, and he had his arms round his son in a bear hug, crying as hard as his wife. The Lestranges gathered round as well. 'Where are the others? Where is Hermione? Where are Viktor and the other men?'

Draco managed to shake off the adults. 'I need to see the Dark Lord at once. The wolves are coming. Everything is going to fall. We need to go now, tonight, to help them.'

Someone sent an elf for Snape, who appeared and had to restrain himself from giving Draco a hug. Draco handed him a piece of parchment. 'From Viktor. We have to go! They need us!'

The Dark Lord wouldn't see them until morning. Draco, still sick, was tucked into bed, both parents glued to his side. His aunt and uncles, too, wanted to hear about what had happened, asked over and over to hear about the other two.

It was a terrible night. The Dark Lord finally deigned to receive them at nine the next morning and Draco, dressed in borrowed clothes of Rumen's, bowed low and presented his case.

Even as they spoke, the wolves were arriving. They Apparated by the hundreds, most of them dragging two scared conscripts, and then went back for more, setting up camp five kilometres from the castle.

Had they been closer, they would have been able to hear strange noises. Music, singing, and then, strangest of all, bells. The Bulgarians in their number would have recognised it all at once and made the correct deduction.

The celebration (for that's what it was) honoured the marriage of Viktor, lord Krum, to his chatelaine, Hermione Lestrange.


	75. Chapter 75

**A/N: Love to reviewers and Countess Black**

**Special thanks to Heart of the Wolf for her help.**

**This chapter contains some behaviours I have addressed in depth below, as they are spoilers. Be warned, there be gore here.**

**Also, I researched the nature of Bulgarian wedding customs and Orthodox marriage services as carefully as possible for this. If I have given offensive, please forgive me, as it was accidental. Please let me know so I can fix whatever it is.**

Draco, stuffed with potions and dressed in a borrowed tunic and trousers (his boots had stood up splendidly, proof that buying quality is its own reward), bowed low and kissed the hem of the Dark Lord's robes. He'd only ever seen him in Potter's body once, and it was creeping him out, seeing his old nemesis' face with the Dark Lord's voice coming from it.

'We are so pleased to see you, dear child. Tell me, how fare our friends in Bulgaria?'

'I've a letter, your lordship, from lord Krum, begging your help.'

'Severus, bring us the letter.' Snape took the letter and slit the seal before he handed it to the Dark Lord. He waved it away. 'Read it out.'

Draco's head was spinning. He felt dizzy and faintly nauseous, and he wanted to lie down again, with his parents in the next room where he could hear them speaking.

"Voldemort, Lord of Britain, from Viktor, lord Krum, greetings.

Our situation is dire. Dinev has sided with the wolves and my people's need is terrible to behold.

The great love Your Lordship has for those who are his friends is known to all people; in our hour of need, Bulgaria, House Krum, and the innocents under my care all cry for Your Lordship's mercy and aid.

Viktor, lord Krum, and Hermione, lady Krum."

The room was vibrating with hope. Beside Bellatrix, Rodolphus felt tonnes lighter. He'd been right. His Lordship would save the Bulgarians, the wolves would be crushed, and the children would be restored to them. He'd finally take his family on that holiday, and get to know the girl better, and...

'Most interesting, Draco. Your father seems to think the three of you walked across the country?'

'Partway, my lord.'

'In the snow? I find that hard to believe.'

Snape stepped up beside his godson. 'It's true, my lord. I've Draco's memories right here.' He produced a phial and nodded to the elf, who produced the pensieve and placed in front of the Dark Lord.

When the memories had been viewed, the Dark Lord put his head up and smiled. Draco felt a cold chill go down his spine. He made himself stand straighter. He was seneschal of Castle Krum; if he could do that, he could do this.

'Most interesting, Draco. Truly, your resolve is meritorious. And that of your dear cousin and her fiancée, of course.'

'Thank you, my lord.'

'Why did they not heal you at the castle? Surely the Bulgarian understands your worth compared to those...people.'

'He is a father to his people, my lord, even as your lordship is to us. Many of them were far sicker than I.'

'Mmm, most laudatory. Why was I not told about all this at the beginning?'

'My lord?'

'We agreed to befriend Bulgaria, that is true, but why were we not told about this whole feudal arrangement until it was too late? I recall none of these men being called lord anything.' He sounded sullen, annoyed.

'The Bulgarians often prefer to downplay that aspect of things abroad, my lord. It is rarely germane to things, after all.'

The Dark Lord gave Lucius a flat look. 'Not rarely enough. Severus, what do our allies say?'

'They await your lead, my lord, as in all things.'

'Quite. I wonder, Severus...how many men could they be relied on to provide, do you expect?'

'Men, my lord?'

'To fight. It is high time the allied countries showed us how much they value our friendship, is it not?'

Bellatrix went pale but before she could protest, Snape did it for her. 'My lord, the allies could not possible field a large enough force in the amount of time we need them in. Our aurors are primed and ready to-'

'We've said we need them here. We would, of course, provide some of our best in order to lead the others. I assume you' he indicated the Lestranges and Lucius Malfoy 'would want command of such an enterprise? And Rabastan, I should expect.'

'That would be' said Lucius, lips numb with shock and horror 'most kind of you, my lord.'

'Very well, then. It's not as though any of you will be of use to us here, the way you've been carrying on.' He waved them out without another word, and out they went.

No one spoke until they were at Feathering, where Narcissa and Lyudmilla waited with the children, Barty and Cunegarde, not to mention Erasmus Feathering, who thought muzzily that these people were friends of his niece's. He tried, with valiant if confused courtesy, to be a good host to them, and they repaid him by politely failing to notice when he dozed off mid-sentence.

As soon as the hugs had been given out, the group went swiftly into the smaller parlour, leaving Barty and Cunegarde to entertain the others. They were joined by Martin, who slipped in quietly and sat down next to Lyudmilla.

Draco avoided both their eyes. Telling Aunt Lyudmilla that he didn't know where Uncle Rumen was had been one of the hardest things he'd ever done. The only thing worse had been watching Uncle Martin's face as he used the pensieve to relieve Draco's memories.

Rabastan finally broke the silence. 'How many wolves are there, Severus?'

'Several thousand, at least, with the addition of the defectors from Greyback's pack. An untold number of conscripted peasants as well, and there's the possibility Dinev could send men.'

The group went still for a moment. 'How many do we need?'

'Conservatively, five thousand. More would be better.'

'That would still leave us outnumbered, wouldn't it?'

'There are men in Castle Krum.'

'Shepherds and farmers, not warriors' said Draco immediately 'and half starved. They can't be counted on, godfather, not really.'

Draco had a strange sensation: adults were taking him seriously. They were weighing what he had to say and giving it serious thought. Snape nodded at him and said 'We'll call on the Albanians, and the Estonians, and a few of the others.'

'How many would that give us?'

Snape wished he didn't have to do this. 'A few hundred, perhaps as many as a thousand.'

'Between them all?'

'Many of those countries are not well off, Draco.'

'What about France?'

'They might be willing to help us, yes.'

'And the Swedes? They **owe** us.' Draco could feel tension creeping into his neck, making the tendons crackle when he moved.

'I'll get in touch with Anders Lofstrum' said Rabastan, whose face was like milk. He missed Penko terribly, and felt a stew of guilt and relief that his own son was safe. He wanted to help, but what could he do?

'Thank you, Rabastan.'

Lucius Malfoy was nodding too. 'And I'll write Ropion. Perhaps he can help, somehow.'

Draco was biting his lip, deep in thought. 'I've a plan.'

'What sort of plan, Draco?'

'No one is going to like it.'

'It's all right, love.' Narcissa smiled at him, heart aching. Her baby, her baby was alive. For how long? And the others? Would she bury them both? Bury them all?

Draco made his voice as level as he could and then laid out the plan.

Even as desperate plans were hatched in England, a strange thing had happened in Castle Krum. A tall, thin pole had sprouted from one of the inner walls, crowned with an apple which had been spelled silver. A woven kerchief dangled in the wind, whipping about the pole, snapping crisply in the knifing air.

Inside Viktor and Hermione, hand in hand, new wedding rings gleaming mellowly, sipped from the cup of wine the priest held to their mouths. The chapel was not large, and the only people in it were the lords and their families, and the headmen of the villages, their wives and children stiffly attired in their best.

The Krum wedding crowns were still in the vault at the bank, so substitutions had to be devised from herbs and the last of the roses. They hovered over the heads of the bride and groom, being gently changed by Vidanov at the right moments.

Hermione's heart was full. Under her feather-light wool veil, she could feel tears in her eyes. She looked at Viktor, who seemed suspiciously damp-eyed as well, and winked. He winked back, and then, with a choir of priests chanting, they took their first steps as a married couple, circling the altar three times and then returning for the final blessing.

The priest raised his hand and chanted the words that ended the ceremony, exhorting them to remember their obligations to one another. Hermione squeezed her husband's-husband's!-hand and he squeezed back, and then it was over. 'Let you live!'

It was an appropriate ending to the ceremony, thought Viktor as they processed out. They had undertaken this with the knowledge it was the ultimate failsafe, the final way to try to keep things from falling apart.

Not everyone was completely in favour of the idea. The priest, for instance, had been quite set against it. They had argued strenuously about it, and both of them, in one of those odd twists, had been basically right.

'My lord, it is not wise.'

'It would save bloodshed, Father, should I die.'

'Milady is fourteen years old.'

'Milady will need your support after I am killed, Father, just as she needs to be my wife, not my fiancé, in order to assume command.'

'You may not die.'

'We must plan for the worst, Father, and that means my successor must be absolutely plain. A marriage would do that.'

The priest sat down shakily and studied the young man, picturing the little fellow he'd taught to write his name in big, shaky letters, and to say his prayers, and to make little men of bark and string to amuse his cousins with. Was this the same person? He rather thought not.

'My lord, please!'

'Father?'

The priest rose and made his way slowly to the lord, who towered over him now. 'It is not right.'

'Nothing about this is right, Father. But I love Hermione, and the rest of you, and that means I must plan for you all, whether I would or no. Do you see?'

'If you should lose...'

'Then I've asked her to negotiate with them for the release of the women and children, and also all the priests and old men.'

'And herself?'

'She's worth more alive than dead. Her parents are the third richest people in Britain.'

'Suppose milady is in the family way by then?'

The lad's voice never wavered, even if his face flushed slightly. 'God willing, we won't have to deal with that.'

The priest felt every second of his age. He'd never seen a lord off to war, that was true, but he'd sent his boy-man's-grandfather off to confront Grindelwald, knowing he would never return. He sensed in the grandson the same iron resolve, the same quality of refusing to bow to fate. Like an oak, this man could be broken but would not bend.

'I have watched you grow, lord Krum from a little boy in clouts to a fine young man. You remind me very much of your lord grandfather, rest him.'

Viktor felt his eyes tear. 'Thank you, Father.'

'If he were here, he would not like this.'

'I know. But would he understand it?'

'With every fibre of his being. I will do it, my lord, despite my misgivings, as long as you make me a promise.'

'What would that be, Father?'

The priest put a hand on the younger man's arm. 'A man once said that those who hunt monsters must take care not to become one.'

'I understand, Father.'

The priest dropped his voice. 'You know how to affect the consummation, do you not?'

The lord nodded, pink faced, and went to get ready.

There was a final tradition. Hermione looked up at Viktor, and he smiled down and tried, very gently, to bring a foot onto hers. Tradition held that the person who stepped on the other's foot would lead the marriage, and both of them laughed a little as they tussled, not really meaning to win. Viktor might have been the world's greatest Seeker, but he also loved Hermione too much to try very hard, and she finally brought a slippered foot down on the top of his, to the cheers and claps of the assembled people.

Hermione noticed an elf appear, and saw Viktor speak softly to it. It bowed and vanished, and then, borne on a tide of people, they were carried toward the hall and the celebration within.

In ordinary time, there would have been a feast. The lords and tenants would have feasted on whole roast lamb, potatoes, fresh bread, cheese, sweets, honeycakes, and wine in rivers, flowing freely.

Then dancing, the strains of music that was ancient even when the Thracians rode these lands, singing, games, increasingly inebriated toasts from the fathers of both bride and groom, clapping, sweets for the children.

But that was before the wolves. It could, they both knew, be a very long time before they were relieved from the outside; the food had to be husbanded carefully. So whilst there was no feast to celebrate, it was understood that, once things were better, there would be a grand one, and if they could not nourish their bodies, they would nourish their spirits.

So as the lord and lady received good wishes in the hall, and drank a toast there was music, which followed them even as they made their way to the bedroom. Many of the tenants had brought musical instruments with them, and the sound of songs, songs from Varna, songs from Pernik, songs from the Rhodope and songs from Sofia, strains of all kinds mingling as the people drove out the terror and worry for a few precious hours.

The crowd followed them to the door of the bedchamber, where Viktor's priest waited with the others. He stepped forward, following them into the chamber. Hermione felt herself blushing as a group of ladies, the wives of headmen, came forward and helped her undress behind the screen, whispering advice as they did it.

'When his lordship comes to you, don't refuse him.'

'Don't struggle.'

'It only hurts a little.'

'Pretend you like it.'

Viktor was going through much the same thing, as the lords gave him their own advice. 'Be gentle with her.'

'Tell her she's beautiful.'

'Don't go too quickly.'

'See she's enjoyed it as well. Makes a man's life easier.' This from Lilov, who was old and had been married three times. Vidanov dropped his head and murmured into Viktor's ear. 'Treat her well, lad, and she'll repay you tenfold. And don't push! This is a thing that needs for care.'

In a nightshirt, Viktor ducked under the covers, along with Hermione. The priest shuffled forward and blessed their bedding, praying that the union be fruitful before, finally, mercifully, shooing the others out. Then they were alone, except for Bear, who'd slept through the festivities in protest.

Alone at last. Alone, legitimately. They had space now, a kingdom of their own which only they could inhabit. Viktor stretched out and touched her hand lightly. She touched back, and then rested her head on his chest. It felt different now. A small action had acquired an air of possibility which she felt keenly; they could, if they chose, complete things in this bed, finally know the mystery that hovered about the edges of their interactions, the elephant in the room of their lives together. Would it hurt? Would she like it? Would he like it?

An elf appeared, and bowing, proffered them a light supper, with goblets of sweet wine to drink. The elves had saved some of the last luxury items in the castle, and served them all. It was a tasty, thoroughly odd feast.

_'I am sorry_.' Viktor finished chewing his hardboiled egg and set down his fork.

'_Sorry_?'

_'Vas not much of a vedding. Borrowed dress and no parents, I mean.'_

_'No, but we're married now. That's what counts. And when everything is better, we'll have a party and everyone can come.'_

He nodded. _'Yes, but now Yana vant baby from us.'_

Hermione looked stern. _'She'll need to wait. We have to finish school first.'_

_'Yes, of course. But you tell her that.'_

_'All right, but you're telling Mother and Father we're married_.'

He play-shuddered. _'Not a fair...thing.'_

_'Trade?'_

_'Yes. Not fair at all.'_

_'Yana will look sad, though.'_

_'Mother hex! Father maybe hex too, but Mother hex first.'_

_'And your family. Aunt Lyudmilla looks like she might hex us.'_

_'We carry children vhen ve say. Then no hexes.'_

Hermione giggled. _'I do wish they could have come.'_

_'I do as vell, but ve make right choice.'_

_'I know.'_ She rested against him for a moment, eyes filling, and then sat up again. _'What were you telling the elf?'_

Viktor looked slightly abashed. _'I ask them carve in tomb for muggle parents last night. Vanted to make sure vas done for tomorrow.'_

Hermione's arms were round his neck. _'Thank you! I think...they must have come, don't you think? If they could. So we weren't alone, not really.'_

_'No. And Mother, too, comes. Roses, did you see?_'

She nodded. Her eyes were damp again, and so were his, and they embraced tightly. An elf discreetly took the tray (they were finished anyway), and then quietly turned the lights down.

Viktor gently rolled his wife on her back. She was boneless in his arms, relaxed, and her sheer trust made him a little afraid. He bent and kissed her neck. She smelt like roses and snow and soap, like home.

Hermione was warm all over, and her bones felt like liquid, soft and loose. She shyly laid back. What did she do? Where did her hands go?

Viktor held her closer to him. _'I vould never hurt you.'_

_'I know.'_

_'You are afraid?'_

_'No. Nervous, not afraid. You?'_

He looked wry. '_Shouldn't be. Everyvon give me advice. Lords give me advice. Priest give me advice. Barty give me advice.'_

_'Barty gave you advice about it?'_

_'Before Cup. So ve vould not be alone together_.'

Hermione tried to nod but couldn't. It was too funny, the mental image of poor dear Barty giving Viktor a talk about that. She snorted helplessly.

_'Did it help?'_

_' Vith not being afraid? No. Am afraid.'_

_'Why?'_

_'Don't vant to hurt you.'_

Hermione sighed deeply. _'Viktor, you aren't going to hurt me. People have been doing this forever and they all survived, didn't they?'_

_'Yes, but is…'_

She cut him off with a kiss. His eyes widened, and it was all he could do not to press her down onto the bed. Instead, he reached up and found her hair, running shaking hands through it. His mouth was dry, but the rest of him felt hot and shivery and alive.

Hermione was shaking too, but it was good shaking. She kissed him again and closed her eyes. Her heart was pounding like a drum. It rushed in her ears, loudly, like the tide.

They froze when the elf appeared, bearing twin phials. One for her, one for him, and bearing a short note from Yokov. It would, he'd written, help.

It did, but mostly it was a learning curve, and they went together, slowly, into the undiscovered countries of their bodies, and found one another there, and worked together as snow fell outside the windows and the people downstairs danced for hours.

After they bathed and twined in their bedding, awake in the womb like darkness of the bed furs. _'It vas…'_

_'Yes.'_ It was warm in the bed, and safe, and they slept.

Outside the world of the bedroom, all was cold, and nothing was safe. Lemuel Scabior had never been so chilled, not even in Azkaban. He huddled by the bow of the ship, shivering, next to Penko Krum, the basket that held the shrunk down dogs between them. Krum seemed to be sleeping, or deep in thought. The other one, Rumen, was bright eyed, watching everything nervously.

The fellow who was rowing them was from some village way up the coast. They'd spent a tense, terrible week in Skopje to give the kids some time to get ahead, and then they'd crossed the border and headed for the coast. They'd Polyjuiced themselves and taken a train starting from different points, being sure not to be seen together. Now, as the sun rose, they were nearly there.

Abruptly, the man they'd paid to row them stopped a good ten metres from the shore and said something to Rumen. The man, who from what Scabior could see never reacted to things, looked unhappy, and there was a rapid fire argument before Penko solved things by calming drawing on the man, gesturing to Scabior, who did his best to look intimidating. The man went pale and rowed them closer. Rumen handed him the agreed upon sack of coins and then calmed Obliviated the captain, before he jumped out and led the others up the small spit of beach toward the castle.

A sentry called out from a tower, and Penko answered him, stopping and holding up his hands. Voices rang out from inside the castle, and a small party of men Apparated near them, wands at the ready. Penko held out the letter the lad had given him, and one of them slowly came and took it. Scabior knew he could take any of these blokes without a problem, or all of them, maybe, but at Krum's nod, he permitted himself to be bound and Side-alonged to the Keep.

A hew and cry had been raised, and they met by Flower and her Bulgarian, both looking curiously bright eyed for that hour. The lad said something and Rumen answered, and then they embraced. Someone cut Scabior's binding and he turned to Flower, who suddenly blinked and then smiled at him.

_'Scabior! You've cut your hair_!'

He nodded sadly. _'Too recognizable, mores the pity. Sheared me likes a sheep, they did_.' He frowned, and she giggled a little bit.

_'You must be starved. Have you any news from home?'_

_'Wish as I dids, but I aint eard from anyone since we lefts.'_

Flower called an elf and it took their filthy coats and hats, and a meal of hot stew and bread was being set out. Strangely, the Bulgarians seemed not to notice much. The lad said something to Flower, and she nodded.

_'Scabior, we need to meet with the uncles. You don't mind, do you? We'll see you right after.'_

_'Minds? Not ol Lem, Miss.'_

_'There's a bath for you, after you've eaten. We'll send for you_.' Then she joined her Bulgarian and off they went.

Rumen had sensed it as soon as he came into the same room as his nephew and niece. A sea change of some kind, he thought, and felt a frisson of alarm. Viktor looked as though he'd been awake a while, and the girl had smiled at him, as unafraid as always. He wondered if she cried at night, and if so, for what?

'You purport to be Rumen Krum, sir. They tell me you've a letter with my seal.'

'I do, my lord.'

'May I ask you to prove it?' He stepped closer. 'I am still your…'

'Little bear, and my liege lord as well.' Viktor's face lit up, and the men embraced. Rumen felt how much thinner his nephew seemed.

Penko embraced Viktor as well, and then their nephew said 'We've much to discuss. Perhaps I could impose and ask that it do it before you've slept?'

'Perhaps whilst we eat?'

'Of course. Hermione, would you mind if Uncle Rumen and Uncle Penko took a meal in the solar whilst we discuss things?'

'Not at all. Would prefer a bath first, maybe?' Both men chuckled. 'That would be lovely, sweetheart.' She came and embraced them both, filthy or no, and leaving the strangely smaller looking Scabior, they went upstairs. After a quick bath and a shave, the men were eating roast lamb stew, listening as the children recounted the story of their march.

'And you say Drago is home now?'

'He is. Ideally, the Dark Lord will send people back with him.'

No one said anything for a moment, until Viktor seemingly steeled himself and said 'It came up at a meeting about the problems of succession if I should die.'

Neither man said anything. Whatever was coming, they both sensed he thought they wouldn't like it.

'Ivan is still my heir, of course, but should I be killed, Hermione is the leader of Castle Krum.'

'We know, Viktor. That's never been at issue.'

'We were worried about some of the lords. They might resist taking orders from a woman.'

'What was your solution?' Penko thought he knew. He hoped he didn't know. He hoped very, very hard. The lord and lady looked at one another and Viktor said softly 'Hermione is my wife in fact of law as well as fact of sentiment.'

'You got **married**?'

'Yes, Uncle.'

Rumen choked on his mouthful of stew and Penko, cursing his right guess, nodded slowly. 'I see.'

'It was the best way.'

Rumen was still sputtering. 'Best-way?'

Hermione spoke up. 'If castle fall, Uncle, maybe wolves let me make private…*_surrender_?* to them. Might save women and children, yes?'

'And yourself?'

She gave him a look of such flat resolve that a chill went down Rumen's spine. 'I am lady of Castle Krum. I go with castle.'

He nodded. Technically speaking, neither of them could say anything to the lord and lady, but his teenage-**married** teenage-niece and nephew? He inhaled deeply and groped from words.

Penko had no such problems. He rarely asserted himself with Viktor or had to; Viktor had been such a shy, eager to please child, and he'd always adored Penko, and wanted to be just like him.

So Penko, remembering all too vividly the Martin/bottle of slivov incident, clapped his nephew's shoulder. 'Talk a walk with me? As my nephew, not the lord.'

'Of course, uncle.' The two set off, both of them feeling a mixture of emotions they would have each been hard pressed to quantify or explain.

There were still speaking thirty minutes later when the younger son of lord Mitkova ran in, panting, and gasped something about trouble in the courtyard. Viktor took off at a run, Penko followed, shouting at others to give way.

They could smell the smoke before they saw the fire. Two tents were burning, and the screams of women for their children and men for their wives were terrible. Through the smoke and running bodies, Viktor looked for his wife, calling her name. Then there was no time; the fires were spreading.

Panic broke through panic, enough that some people started to form a sort of fire brigade, and soon hundreds of voices were joined in creating a powerful shielding charm, which helped smother the flames, and dousing the rest with water, or great clouds of snow.

Viktor relaxed as he caught of sight of her, holding a child's hand. She came toward him and opened her mouth when suddenly she stumbled forward, gasping. He heard the nauseous crunch of bone as ribs shattered, and to his amazement, she spun and swished her wand at the mousy little fellow who was, improbably, aiming at her.

The fellow ducked and sent another curse their way. Viktor dodged it and swished a hex at the man, hearing Hermione's breath rattling hideously next to him. He could hear Penko as well, shouting at the tenants, but the world was only his wife and the man, and himself.

Hermione's world had shrunk even further. It was only her wand and the man's, and she gathered her will, forcing back the darkness which threatened to encroach on her, and threw the strongest jinx she knew at him.

She never forgot the next part. His head snapped back as the Severing Jinx hit him between shoulder and neck, a rich spray of red disfiguring the snow. He dropped, writhing, blood rattling thickly in his ruined windpipe. Hermione took another step, seeing the way his hands opened and closed on themselves, his eyes flicking open and closed, blinking. His mouth was moving. 'Please' he mouthed, 'ple….'

She stood still. It was clearly a fatal wound. He was beyond help, and even if had not been, a small calm part of herself was saying, almost offhandedly, he deserved none anyway. He'd tried to kill her, and had failed, and now she would kill him.

Beside her, Viktor raised his wand and she put out a hand. Every movement was like fire, like breathing in agony itself. But her mother was Bellatrix Lestrange, and she would not quail nor flinch. Hermione raised her wand and stepped closer, darking whirling about her. Her aim was true and his eyes slid shut as she finished it.

Hermione felt arms round her, and she leant into Viktor's chest and let herself faint, trying to remember, as darkness stole over her eyes, to keep her knees together, like a Pureblood lady ought to.

**Spoiler A/N:**

** This chapter was a bit fraught for me. On the one hand, I feel the inclusion of the consummation of the marriage shows us how far removed Hermione and Viktor are from where they were when they first met, and the fact that, despite their chronological ages, they are, in the meaningful sense of things, not children anymore.**

** On the other hand, theirs are a series special, unique (even in-universe) circumstances that are unlikely to be repeated. So I'd like to go on record as saying that I am not advocating anything here. Simply letting events play out in a way that is consistent and artistically honest, and that best serve the story I'm trying to tell.**


	76. Chapter 76

**A/N: Love to reviewers and Countess Black**

**Special thanks to Heart of the Wolf.**

**Note: Anyone who's read my work for any length of time probably has a pretty good idea what I think about prejudice, especially racism and sexism. I genuinely can't think of anything stupider or less reasonable than hating someone because of something they literally have no control over.**

**However, sometimes those things are part of life, however ugly, and so some nasty slurs get used in this chapter. **

**Also, this chapter is dedicated to David Sharpe, founder of P2V, an organization dedicated to helping veterans deal with trauma by finding them shelter dogs to help with emotional issues.**

**I'm still using the borrowed, auto-correcting machine, so I apologise once more for the spellings.**

Propped on pillows, Hermione drank her pain potion and called for Scabior. Elf at hand (how she missed her faithful Rinky!), she received him in her dressing gown. He bowed, looking disconcertingly boyish with his short hair, and sat in the chair she indicated.

_'Reckon yer too old fer me t call Flower now, yeah_?'

Hermione smiled a little. _'No, I don't mind.'_

_'Ow you feelin? You doan urt nowhere?'_

_'My ribs still ache, but Healer Yokov fixed them. He says it will be a few days before I should move, but they didn't puncture my lungs, at least.'_

_'Good. Doan want t ave t tells yer daddy about that on tap a the other.'_

Hermione nodded. _'Viktor is telling him that.'_

Scabior chuckled. _'Doan blames you.'_

_'I do have to tell the children, though.'_

_'Miss Yana'll be sorely disappointed t've missed the weddin. As will Miss Sproga, I shud think_.'

She nodded, blushing a bit. It disconcerted her that Scabior, of all people, could get her squirming after a few casual words. She paused and then asked the question she'd been wanting to know.

_'How do you do it, Scabior?'_

_'Do what?'_

_'I killed that man. He died because of me.'_

_'No, Flower. E died because e came ere an attacked you. It's not like you went an attacked im first, is it?'_

_She shook her head. 'He must have set the fires to get us in the yard.'_

_'Prob'ly e did.'_

_'I was out there already. Uncle Rumen wanted me to show him where the tents were leaking.'_

_'Did you means t kill im, Flower?'_

She looked miserable, all big, damp eyes, mouth trembling. _'I don't know. I wanted him to stop. And he wouldn't have, would he?'_

_'No. E wud've killed you.'_

_'Or Viktor. And there were all those people there. He might've hit a child or an old person.'_

_'E was bankin on it, no doubt, that no one wud dare t strike im with all those people in the way.'_

Hermione sniffled. She wouldn't have cried in front of anyone else, but Scabior was one of the first people she'd met in her new life, and he had once, after all, caught her when she was trying to run away. So she felt only slightly silly when she burst into tears.

Scabior had expected it. She'd called him because she associated him with her father, he expected, and home, and normality as far as there could be in her circumstances, and she wanted him to tell her she was still a good person.

_'T-there was blood ev-everywhere! He was m-making noises and moving and-' _she cried harder, and Scabior leant over and took her hand.

_'You dun the right thing, Flower. Weren't no other way it cudda gone.'_

She nodded, still sobbing but starting to calm. _'But how do you do over and over?_'

Scabior patted her hand gently. _'Flower, sum men is nice and sum aint. I aint, but I am damned gud at bein not nice. May as well do sumthin that'll elp other people if I'm gunna be a bad man anyhow, yeah?_'

_'I've never thought about it in those terms before.'_

_'S'true. That man you killed, mebbe e were nice and mebbe he werent, but he attacked a lady alf is age in the middle of a crowd a wimmen an children. Doan seem nice t me.'_

_'What about that auror?'_

It took Scabior a moment. _'Flower…e was one a them.'_

_'He wasn't hurting you, though.'_ Her voice was totally empty of recriminations, like she was talking about what to have for dinner. He waited a moment and then explained as gently as possible.

_'Not right then, mebbe. But aurors knows as much Dark magic as the rest of us, you know. More, sumtimes, and e would've used it. If I'd let im go e wuld ave fought more an killed sumone else, so I ads to do it. I'm rite sorry you seen it, though.'_

Hermione was too, but she wasn't going to say that. _'Were you afraid?'_

_'A the auror? No. I was afraid you'd be urt if you dint put down that wand, but…it's all past now, innit?'_

_'That's true.'_

_'And doan worry none bout that bloke. He aint worth it_.' Scabior released her hand and rose.

_'Scabior?'_

_'Milady?'_

_'What did they do with the body?'_

Scabior's eyes darted to the side. _'Doan worry none bout that either, milady. It's took care a.'_

Hermione let it go. She laid back, sleepy from the pain potions, and closed her eyes, wishing her husband would visit her soon.

The body had indeed been taken care of. It was lolling from the walls in a gibbet that the elves had brought from a deep dungeon and hung without comment. The cold air kept it fresh, but the dogs, smelling fresh blood, lingered beneath it.

Their number had expanded greatly in the past days. The dogs which had been brought from England had been resized and let loose to guard. Besides Bess and her siblings, the villages lucky enough to have Krum dogs had brought them, and now fifty one magical strain Karakachans wandered the castle, patrolling and comforting people with their slow, steady presence.

Children, especially, were soothed by the appearance of such big, furry playmates, and even the dogs who might have preferred napping found themselves being hugged and clung to by traumatized people who needed the gentle, unjudging affection of a dog to talk about their problems. Dogs are natural listeners, and so they could often be found, head on someone's lap as the person poured out their heart.

Even Bear found himself pressed into service. He rarely left the master bedroom, partly due to his bad joints, but when one of his many sons silently communicated the presence of something dead in the Keep, he went with valedictory dignity to see what this was about.

The crowds parted for him. He made his way creakily toward the gibbet, which made a hollow clang whenever it hit the pole it dangled from, which was often. Bear sat down and sniffed for some time.

As the dogs (the others had come to see what Bear thought) sat in the crescent round the gibbet, the silent communication between them took on a different tone. Bear put back his head and bayed hoarsely, and the others joined him. The Predator was coming.

With the Predator came memories, memories they'd not known they even had. Men, screams, blood, iron. The dogs absorbed it all, and understood it, and did not quail for a moment. They had been born for this; a thousand generations had prepared them for war, and they accepted their destiny as naturally as they breathed.

Bear turned with great slowness and walked back to his room, flanked by Bess, his great granddaughter. In route, they met the Boy, who was a Man now. To Bear, though, he would always he the Boy, who had ridden his back and read aloud to him and returned the dog's love with all the great strength a child's heart is capable of. He dropped down and scratched the dog's ears. Bear chuffed softly in inquiry: was the Boy aware the Predator had come to stay with them?

'Let's go and see Hermione, shall we, boy?'

The dog snorted, wishing he could speak to his Boy and explain what was happening, and then followed, tail wagging gently. Bear was ready, whatever happened.

There was another dog having similar thoughts. This one was actually a man, and he set down his teacup and frowned at Snape. 'You look like hell.'

'Thank God I've got you, Black, to help me keep my mood up.'

'I live to serve.' He drank more tea and said nothing. Snape cocked his head and stared at him.

'Second thoughts, Black?'

'No.'

'I thought not. With all luck, you can kill either Borev or Pavel-or both, if we're fortunate- and then be out of there. Hopefully they'll scatter, if that happens.'

'Do you believe that?'

'No.'

'Nor I. Still, impending death gives a man a sort of clarity about things, doesn't it?'

'Fatalistic tonight, aren't we?'

'Just honest. You know, I was a real little gobshite when I was younger.'

'**Was**?'

'Get stuffed. As I was saying, I've been thinking about this. There's a sort of justice in it, isn't there?'

It hadn't exactly escaped Snape, either, and he gave the other man a level look, drinking his tea. 'Irony, perhaps. I am no judge of justice.'

It was no more in Sirius Black's nature to ask forgiveness than it was in Severus Snape's to grant it. The elf came and Sirius was gone in the blinking of an eye. Snape drank tea and thought of nothing.

When he was finished, he rose and departed for Feathering. The grim silence of it had not abated, the stillness that seemed to say that nothing would ever be the same. They joined him the parlour, saying nothing. There was nothing to be said.

'We've answers. The Swedes will offer us no men but have pledged to help us ferry the ones we do have to wherever we're taking them. Albania is sending five hundred, Estonia the same. The Croatians are sending us two three hundred, the Latvians and Lithuanians two hundred apiece, Slovakia one hundred, Serbia one hundred, Macedonia one hundred.' He named a few more countries that had offered people. The air was leaden.

'We're short.' Draco's voice was flat and calm, almost serene, like he had expected it. Likely he had.

'Yes.' They had about twelve hundred fighters, not counting the small core of Britons going or anyone they might meet along the way.

Rodolphus looked like he'd been punched. He spoke with care, normally implacable façade cracking a bit at the seams.

'Severus, what does our Master say to all this?'

'He has said nothing.'

'Nothing?'

'No.'

Bellatrix, looking strange and small without her makeup, gave him a furious look. 'Who is it?'

'Sorry?'

'Someone has misled Our Lord, Snape. I want the name.'

'Misled?'

'Are you a damned bird? That's what I've said, isn't it?'

Snape could see this turning ugly. He rose. 'Join me, please, Bellatrix? Rodolphus?' They slipped out and the others looked at one another. 'Draco?'

'Yes, Father?'

'Perhaps we might take a walk of our own?'

'Do you mind, Mother?'

'No, my darling.' Narcissa looked nearly as miserable as her sister, eyes circles, pale without makeup. She closed her eyes for a moment and then joined Lyudmilla on the divan. They joined hands and said nothing. Truly, there was nothing left to be said.

Bellatrix could have hit Snape. More than usual, anyway, and that was saying something. She glared murderously at him, hands fisted beside her, face a snarling mask. 'Well?'

Snape Silenced and warded the room and then looked at both Lestranges. 'The Dark Lord has indeed been misled. Someday soon that will be addressed. For now, we must concentrate all our energies on seeing the children are saved. Do you agree?'

'Of course we do' said Rodolphus before his wife could shriek. 'But Severus, surely the Dark Lord must see-'

'If he saw, Rodolphus, he would send aurors.'

Bellatrix was stock still, hands fisted at her sides. 'What did we do?'

'Do?'

'Hermione's done nothing. It must have been us.' Her voice, rather than the usual carpet tacks on bone china, was soft. Rodolphus took a step closer and put an arm round her shoulders. Surely, thought Snape, the end is nigh.

'Nothing that I am aware of, Bellatrix.'

'Then why…Severus, it is not for us to question, I know that. But Hermione loves Him so, and now…'

'We are doing everything we can, I assure you. For now, we'll depart and see if perhaps it helps.'

'This plan' said Bellatrix suddenly 'is insane.'

'It might not come down to using them, Bellatrix. Hopefully it will shame France and the Scandinavian countries into supplying us with troops.'

'Might' she spat 'might.'

'I regret I can do so little for you.'

'You've done enough.'

'I am not the enemy here, Bellatrix. However you might feel about me personally, I assure you I am the best hope you've got.'

'DON'T YOU THINK I KNOW THAT?' She was shaking all over, with rage or pain he could not tell. He acted before he had time to stop himself. Seizing her shoulders, he leant down and put his mouth by her ear.

'Then help me, Bellatrix. We can fix this, but only just. Help me.'

'What must we do?'

'Wait' said Snape, knowing it to be the hardest thing he could have asked of her. 'Say nothing, but wait until the time is right and you will drown in the blood of the enemy.'

'Yes. We will crush them.'

'But not until the time is right.'

Beside them, Rodolphus looked interested. Snape straightened and sighed deeply. 'We leave tomorrow. Be ready at dawn.'

In another part of the house, the Malfoy men were sitting. Ensconced in a comfortable niche they studied one another. Lucius finally broke the silence. 'The children ask after you.'

'I'm sorry I can't be with them more.'

'They understand.'

'They must ask after the others as well.'

'They do.'

'What do you tell them?'

'The truth, that we don't know.'

'Yes. Father?'

'Draco?'

'Did you think it would be like this?'

'Like what?'

'This. When He took over, did you think it would be like this?'

Lucius went white. The boy's voice had the same strange serenity Snape had noticed, and he there was absolutely no sense of blame or danger; simply a curiosity, as though Draco was enquiring about the health of some distant, mostly ignored cousin,

'No. Draco, I…no. This is not as we thought it would be.'

'You used to say that when we ran things, the world would open for us.'

'I did, didn't I?' Lucius leant over and touched the boy's shoulder. 'If I could fix this, Draco, I would. You know that, don't you?'

'Yes, Father.'

'Is there something I might say, or do, to help you?'

'Sometimes I wonder…when did it all unravel? It did. Unravel, I mean.'

'I…'

'That night Aunt Zhivka died, I think. That was the start. It cuts things in half for me, when I think about it.'

'Draco, love, shhh.'

'I expect a lot of people will die, Father, in helping the Bulgarians. Don't you think?'

'Yes. Yes, I think that's true.'

Draco slumped a bit, staring at his hands, which were chapped and hard from his recent ordeal. 'At least they'll be armed. Those people in the snow, they weren't, not really. They were farmers, more than anything.'

'Draco, why don't we get you something to help you sleep, hmm?'

'I'm all right, Father.'

'No, love, you aren't. A nice rest might help, don't you think?'

Draco considered. 'I'd rather stay here, Father, if you don't mind.'

Lucius understood what was being asked of him. 'Of course I don't. Put your head down, love, at least, and close your eyes whilst we talk.'

Draco obeyed, resting his head on his father's shoulder. It had been a very long time since he'd done that. His father reached up and slowly smoothed his hair. Draco sighed softly, letting his eyes drift closed.

'Father?'

'Hmm?'

'If I should die, make sure Mother doesn't see. After, I mean. Until they've cleaned me up. And please, don't let her do that, either. I can't bear to think…'

'Hush, Draco.'

'Promise me?'

'I do.' It was all he could give him. There was nothing left to be said.

Yokov would have agreed with that assessment. He came several times to check on Hermione, whose bones, though knitted back together, were fragile. One of the ribs had very nearly punctured a lung, and he wanted her kept in bed until he was sure she was well.

The two dogs came and sniffed him as he entered. He extended a hand to the older one, who gave him a single wag, like a polite nod, and went back to the selkie rug before the fire to toast his bones. The young one gave a friendly chuff and followed him like she was his apprentice.

'Afternoon, my lady. How do you feel?'

'Well, Healer. Belly is hurting a little.' She pointed to her ribs and then moved her hand so he could feel. The bones were thickening a little, he noticed. She was looking at him curiously.

'You ribs, my lady' he gently brushed them to emphasis the word 'are doing well.'

'Oh, good. You are well, Healer? Need anything?'

He shook his head, English style. 'I am very well, my lady. How are you, aside from your ribs?'

Hermione knew she could confide anything in the healer. 'I am sad. That man try to kill me, but is still sad he die. And sad my parents can't come to wedding. Viktor, too, misses father.'

'Of course. Nothing that happened frightened you?'

'No. I know before. Phial you sent, was for pain?'

'Partly, yes.'

'What is other part?'

He sat down in the one of the comfortable, chunky little wooden chairs in the room, which an elf had brought discreetly for him. 'You know, my lady, children are a blessing. At the correct time.'

Her eyes widened a little. 'Yes. Now is not good time.'

'No. And you are awfully young, my lady.'

'Yes.' She nodded to show she understood. 'And husband?'

'Also very young, but his was to help with nervousness.'

'Ah.' She called an elf and asked for pillows to prop herself up on. The elf obliged him and she rested again. 'Healer, something is wrong?'

Yokov inhaled deeply. 'You are no doubt aware the situation is very dire?'

'Yes.'

'It would be advisable for us to consider that the wolves might not accept a surrender, my lady.'

'I have thinkings on that too.'

'I have been thinking, my lady. I understand you are adept in the brewing of potions?'

'Yes, Professor Snape teaches me. He is most good.'

'No doubt. Traditionally, the lady of the castle makes provisos for this situation. A final escape plan.'

Hermione's eyes widened. She looked away. She'd already caused one death. Could she bear to cause hundreds more? Could she not, knowing what she sentenced them to should they be taken alive? 'When I will be up again, Healer?'

'Tomorrow, I should think.'

'We brew as soon as I walk, then. Yes?'

'I would be happy to, my lady.'

'No. I have…*_a responsibility_*.'

Yokov had always liked the girl, who'd seemed a very sweet, gentle little soul to him, with a pleasing streak of iron. Now he found he still liked her, but saw her mother and father in her, the hardness that went beyond iron and into diamond. He rose, bowed creakily and made his leave to gather the ingredients for the phials of poison they would distribute to prevent their people from falling prey-literally-to the wolves that lurked outside their walls.

The sentries spotted them at dusk, moving in a dark cloud toward them. The hew and cry was raised, and Viktor ascended the battlements to see for himself, his uncles in tow.

The field flamed with light as torches were Incendio'd. Viktor could clearly see his uncle below, next to a man he presumed was Pavel. Stefan stepped forward and raised his wand to his throat, amplifying his voice.

'CITIZENS OF CASTLE KRUM, YOUR DAYS ARE NUMBERED. I HAVE WITH ME TEN THOUSAND MEN. WE WILL COMMENCE THE ATTACK IF MY NEPHEW AND HIS ENGLISH WHORE ARE NOT BROUGHT HERE TO US IN ONE HOUR. A THOUSAND PIECES OF GOLD TO THE MAN WHO BRINGS MY NEPHEW TO ME. TWO THOUSAND TO THE MAN WHO BRINGS ME THE GIRL. FIVE THOUSAND PIECES OF GOLD TO THE MAN WHO BRINGS THEM BOTH TO ME ALIVE.'

The crowd stirred. For a dizzy second Viktor wondered whether they would all rush him, run for Hermione. They didn't. Instead, a din of shouts and jeers rose up, a roar that took nearly five minutes to quiet.

Viktor stood straighter and put his own wand to his throat. 'GOOD EVENING, GENTLEMEN. IF YOU'VE COME TO NEGOTIATE A TRUCE, THAT IS AN ODD WAY TO START.'

'FIVE THOUSAND PIECES OF GOLD TO THE MAN WHO BRINGS ME LORD AND LADY KRUM.' Stefan ignored the sally and Viktor, in turned, ignored him.

'MEN OF POIBENE, GABRO AND SARANCI, YOUR WOMEN AND CHILDREN ARE HERE. THEY ARE SAFE IN THESE WALLS. NO HARM WILL BEFALL THEM WHILST CASTLE KRUM STANDS.'

The army behind Stefan stirred. Many of them were citizens of those villages, or nearby ones, had been in agony for weeks, ignorant of the fate of their loved ones. They hummed like angry bees. Stefan seemed to shrink slightly before he recovered equilibrium.

'ONE HOUR.'

Viktor turned to the faces below him and looked at them. He saw fear, rage, resignation. 'Would any of you leave? If any would leave, I'll write him a safe conduct and give him three perpera from my own pocket. No one will be held in Castle Krum against his will.'

No one spoke for a long moment. Then a man from the row closest the stairs spoke. 'Piss on that, milord. We swore, and no man of Gabro ever run out on his word.' The group rumbled agreement.

'Then prepare yourselves. Get the children into the cellar and leave some women to guard them. We'll meet back here in fifty minutes.' The group split and Viktor turned to Rumen. 'Apparate me to the master bedroom, Uncle, if you wouldn't mind?'

Hermione had been dozing, but snapped awake when she heard Stefan's voice. When the men arrived, she was fully awake. 'What happens?'

He told her and she breathed deeply. 'What now?'

Viktor sat down. 'The wards will hold for quite a while. We wait and hope they come.'

Hermione stroked his face gently, new wedding ring burning on her hand. 'Oh, Viktor.'

'Hermione, please take the Portkey.'

'I take it if you take it.'

'I can't.'

'I know.'

'Hermione, please!'

She took his hand. 'I am your wife.' There was nothing else to say.

When the hour had come Stefan faced Castle Krum once more. 'THE OFFER STANDS. BRING ME LORD AND LADY KRUM AND THE REST OF YOU WILL GO FREE.' Then he Apparated and so did his conscripts.

The others stayed. When the moon rose above them, full and white on the snow, they began to change, falling to their knees, melting into wolves. The shrieks of pain changed to howls as Lady Moon took them, and then thousands of them turned as one and ran for the castle.

The dogs were baying. Maddened by the smell of Wolf, they growled, fur standing up along their spines. Viktor shouted to them and they subsided, but only just. He could smell it too-a dense, musky smell, the smell of rut and death, underlined by the spoilt copper stench of spilt blood.

The group finally broke up and went about the business of readying for what was to come. Viktor slipped back to his wife. She was sitting alertly against her pillows, and listened as he told her the rest.

'I have idea.'

'I was hoping you would say that.' He listened as she told him and was impressed.

He wasn't the only one. At Durmstrang, Moody-Feathering was listening to the plain with a mixture of horror and grudging respect. The Malfoy lad was, he judged, could rival Snape for strategy, assuming he lived long enough. That was by no means assured, which was why they were all gathered about his living room.

'A clever plan.'

The group said little. He could sense a powerful current running through them, a galvanizing force that united them. He thought of them as a Death Eaters, but were they now? Had this dethroned the Dark Lord in their hearts?

The Malfoy lad looked him in the eye. 'I'm going to check the dorms, Uncle, if you don't mind.'

'All right.' That was all that was said of it. No words could fix this.

Draco went to his room in the dorm that night. His things, he noticed vaguely, were still there. He fingered his comb, a stack of letters he'd never got to send, a spare tunic.

Stretching out on his bed, he closed his eyes. It was five minutes before the first knock came. It was Tamm. 'Malfoy?'

'Yes, Tamm?'

'We'd like-if you don't mind-we all want to hear it.' The boy looked like he thought Draco would shout at him, and Draco rose wearily. 'I'm tired, Tamm.'

'We know-I know-but we all-it…you're one of us, is all.'

Draco had planned on making them wait until they'd whipped themselves in a frenzy but he decided to reward Tamm's courage by doing it early.

Sixteen hundred eyes followed Draco as he moved to the front of the room. 'Good evening, all.'

'Good evening, Malfoy' chorused back eight hundred voices. He found it didn't scare him this time. Had it ever? He couldn't imagine being afraid of such a small thing. He stood up straighter, head buzzing.

'What would you like to know?'

Hands shot up. He nodded at one. 'Fosse?'

'Is it true you walked across Bulgaria?'

'The Superintendent and my cousin and I, yes.'

The group digested this in relative quiet. 'How did you survive?'

'We joined a column of refugees that had been burnt out of their homes.'

He spent nearly thirty minutes answering the questions about the long, cold, slow nightmare that had been the march through the woods. He answered precisely what was asked and embroidered nothing, spared them nothing.

By the end, the murmurs had become soft conversations. Draco finally asked an elf to bring him a stool and sat down on it, letting his eyes drift closed for a moment. He became aware that some of the conversations were loud, heated. He opened his eyes just as Kask rose to his feet, slowly drawing.

'Just because you haven't got the balls, you slimy Croatian son of a whore, doesn't mean that-'

'What did you say about my mother, you cock sucking piece of -'

'SHUT. UP.' Draco rose and faced them. 'Sit down, the both of you. Hasn't anyone heard anything I just said? There are ten thousand bloody werewolves headed toward Viktor and my cousin right now. People are dying, lots of people, and we sit here throwing insults at each other? Are we men of Durmstrang or boys playing at war?'

The result was immediate and beyond his wildest expectations. Sixteen hundred feet hit the floor at once, and eight hundred voices rang out. 'MEN OF DURMSTRANG!'

'Then prove it!'

'How do you suggest we do that, Malfoy?' Lofstrom stepped beside Arbanas. Draco looked him directly in the eye and said nothing for a moment. Lofstrom looked away.

Kask stepped beside Malfoy. 'Do whatever you want, Lofstrom. Me, I'm going to take a pelt or two.'

He was not the only one. Many of them had seen their cities and towns burn in 1992 when the wolves had come the first time; many of them, older now, were determined that it should not happen again.

Draco knew he had them when Arbanas finally nodded. 'Anything a filthy Estonian can do, a Croat can do better.'

The Death Eaters had largely retired when the knock came at the door of the Headmaster's chambers. Hetty opened the door and then stepped back when she saw her nephew Draco and what seemed fully half the boys of Durmstrang. 'May we see the Headmaster, Madam Feathering?'


	77. Chapter 77

**A/N: Love to reviewers and Countess Black.**

**NB: At one point in this chapter, a character speaks about something terrible with what I consider to be inappropriate casualness. He really isn't a very nice man (understatement of the year), but so it's clear : I think his attitude is REPULSIVE and WRONG.**

**There's some pretty hard content in this chapter as well. Be forewarned.**

**Also, I'm sorry that the caps are so jarring, but it was the only way I could convey that effectively.**

**Finally, auto-correcting machine, etc.**

**PS- Xexar, you mentioned something in your last review that I had, seriously, just gotten done making a comparison with. Synchronicity, anyone? :)**

Nicolae Pavel was a man with problems. He sat slumped in the command tent, head on arms, trying to snatch some kneazle sleep before the next crisis consumed his attention. Many men count sheep if they find no rest; Pavel counted his problems. Strangely, sometimes it conscripts were near riot, for one, and Krum's latest brainchild was no help in that department. Pavel snuggled deeper into the crook of his arm and shuddered a little at the was the voices.

From inside the Keep they came, endless, sonorous as funeral bells. First it was the priests, who read lists of the fallen, voices amplified, chanting the names in a cadence that could make a man mad if he the women would start. First it was only one, then a second, then a third, and then it was like a tidal wave, accusing, cursing, weeping.

In between, a calm, bureaucratic voice that Borev believed to be Rumen Krum would start in. 'STEFAN BOREV IS AN OUTLAW AND A LIAR. HE RUINED THREE WITCHES OF GOOD FAMILY. HE ASSAULTED A MAN ON HIS SISTER'S THIRD DAY WHILST STEALING FROM HIS HOST. HE WAS THROWN OUT OF THE CASTLE BECAUSE HE WAS SUFFERING FROM A COMMUNICABLE DISEASE HE GOT FROM THE BROTHELS OF SOFIA. HE WILL GIVE YOUR WIVES AND CHILDREN TO THE WOLVES. DO NOT TRUST HIM.'

Then the priests again. 'THIS IS FATHER HLUTEV OF ELSICA. THE FOLLOWING CITIZENS OF THAT TOWN HAVE DIED: PLAMEN FILIPOV…'

The voice: again: 'WHEN THE WOLVES BURNED YOUR VILLAGES, THEY PERMITTED YOUR WIVES TO TAKE ONLY ENOUGH FOOD FOR THREE DAYS, AND ONLY THE CLOTHING THEY COULD WEAR. YOUR ELDERLY PARENTS WERE TORN FROM THEIR BEDS AND LOADED INTO CARTS. YOUR CHILDREN ATE TREE BARK ON THE MARCH WHILST THE WOLVES FEASTED ON YOUR GRAIN AND MILK.'

Worst of all were the women. '…MY CHILD FROZE ON THE MARCH! HE DIED IN THE SENESCHAL'S ARMS! OH, SPAS! MY SON! BOYKO, IF YOU'RE THERE, OUR SON IS DEAD!'

Pavel groaned. The days right after the full moon were always rough, like a bad hangover, but this was too much. He swallowed queasily, head pounding, and rose. Borev was sitting in his tent, sipping wine.

'_*My lord Borev.*'_

'_*Pavel. The men are restless.*'_

'_*They've spent the past two days listening to their wives describe being raped, how would you be?*'_

Borev lurched to his feet. _'*Don't blame me for this! Who told your men to fuck those women, hmm?*'_

'*_I have six thousand men under my command, Borev. I can't help that some of them are scum. Who else would burn out a village, exactly?*'_

'_*Still.*'_

Pavel ignored this. _'*Will you attack tonight?*'_

'_*Tonight?*'_

'_*Sometime soon would be better, don't you think? Before they riot completely and tear you limb from limb?*'_

'_*Your men are supposed to be watching them.*'_

'_*My men can only do so much.*'_

'_*They're working on the wards.*'_

'_*I would tell them to work faster. You've got perhaps three days before the conscripts riot in earnest.*'_

'*_I'm not scared of a bunch of peasants.*'_

'_*You should be. There's more of them than of you.*'_

The sky at Durmstrang was moving. Owls winged from the Owlery, obscuring the clouds, and flew to all points of the magical world. The grounds were seething, classes cancelled because, effectively, there would be no students to attend them.

When news of what had happened in the dorm had got round, students from other schools had clamored to join as well, and sent letters of their own, demanding their Ministry permit them to fight.

Resoundingly, the answer was no. The Ministries had their own problems, and a bunch of schoolchildren with some wild notions about saving a doomed classmate from the massive pack of State sponsored thugs currently inhabiting a large swath of a country that, many of them felt, had brought this on itself by crawling into bed with Britain.

Some of them had room for appeal-many were of age, and those, it was mainly decided, could choose to go. If they wanted to kill themselves, that was their own affaire.

That still left most of them, and these, in the main, found a simpler solution. When the Ministries sent Portkeys for these schoolchildren turned liberators, they pocketed them and went to the others.

The group walked to the edge of the forest. Draco had said goodbye to his family the night before, and knew they would meet again in Skopje. He felt only vaguely worried about it; his luck had held this far, after all.

He knew the others had no such assurance, though, and that he had survived largely due to Viktor's help and the knowledge he'd been given specially, so he'd done what he could to minimise causalities amongst the less fortunate.

'Fifth years and up only, no one with a condition and no one who's not good at Defense.' It was all he could do.

'You're a fourth year.' Arbanas had a point, Draco had to admit, but this was obviously different, and he gave the other lad a sharp look.

'Don't be stupid, Arbanas.' And that was the end of that, so far as he was concerned.

There were so many of them. He stood on the rock, the one that Hermione had sat that far off day, and raised a hand for quiet.

He felt he should give some rousing speech but couldn't. He just wanted to go before they all lost their nerve. He nodded to Kask and Kask stepped up.

'Estonians, to me!'

'Croats!'

'Swedes!'

'Norwegians!'

'Latvians!'

'Lithuanians!'

'Albanians!'

'Finns!'

'Englishmen!'

'Irishmen!'

'Scotsmen!'

'Frenchmen!'

'Slovaks!'

'Macedonians!'

The Portkey bearers stepped up and joined hands with their countrymen. The British students joined hands with Draco, who joined hands with Kask, and nodded, as the others who were otherwise unattached joins hands with countries officially sending fighters. 'To Castle Krum!' He Portkeyed with the cheers still ringing in his ears.

Skopje had changed little. The group arrived in a square in the heart of the Wizarding part of the city, dense with a slushy mixture of mud and snow. Anders Lofstrom, the Swedish envoy for this, didn't expect to see his son beside the Malfoy boy, nor nearly a thousand others, like the Children's Crusade.

Beside Lofstrom, Lucius Malfoy went utterly still for a moment. '*_Draco?*'_

'_*Hello, Father, Mr. Lofstrom.*' _Draco extended a hand and Lofstrom, deep in shock, took it and shook.

'*_Draco, I didn't think…gracious_.*'

The other Death Eaters had come by then, and were goggling at the throng. Narcissa, beside her husband, blinked slowly, twice, and turned to her son. '_I rather had the impression that you were thinking a few dozen, Draco.'_

Draco hugged his mother, hard. '_So did I_.'

Amongst the crowd were Alise and Yseult. There had never been a question in Alise's mind she would go if she could. There was too much at stake not to; her future was trapped in a castle in Bulgaria, and she would not stand idly by and watch it burn.

Yseult tugged her cloak tighter. She was freezing, and hungry, and concerned about Hermione. But she was strangely without regret. She had no intention of permitting Alise to travel on her own with all these people, and she couldn't, in her heart of hearts, believe they would fight. Surely someone would save them all by saving Hermione, wouldn't they? No one she knew could die like this, obviously-it just wasn't something that happened.

The Death Eaters emerged from the inn that was command headquarters to find an army of teenagers staring at them. Well, primarily teenagers; Rabastan's eyes lighted on a very little fellow in a tunic and recognized Anu Tamm, standing behind an older boy.

'*_Tamm?*'_

The boy stepped forward, looking very small in the sea of taller people. _'*G-good evening, sir.*'_

'_*What are you doing here?*'_

'_*I wanted… we need…there're other Albanians here. Wanted to do my bit.*_' Tamm's eyes were nailed to the ground. Rabastan fought the urge to box his ears and then hug him for his bravery in coming.

Draco excused himself and came over. _'*Tamm?*'_

'_*H'lo, Malfoy.*'_

'_*What are you doing here? It's fifth years and up, you know that!*'_

'_*I won't get in the way, Malfoy, I promise. I just wanted...to help, is all.*' _Tamm's courage was starting to falter in the presence of Draco's anger, and he found himself moderating it automatically so he didn't scare the kid.

'_*You could get hurt, Anu.*'_

'_*I know.*'_

'_*Durmstrang needs to be defended. We were relying on you to do that.*'_

'_*Yes, but the teachers could…I mean, I don't know what they do. I think…I'm from somewhere cold. I can help here if…I…sorry.*' _He looked like Draco had slapped him.

Draco hissed with annoyance when he felt bad. '*_How did you even get here?*'_

'_*I , ah, grabbed Vata's cloak when everyone got ready. He didn't…my fault. Don't be angry with him. I did it.*'_

Draco nodded slowly. _'*I see.*' _

'_*Can I stay? Please? I won't eat much.*'_

'_*I know you won't, Anu. That's not the point. We're going into a war zone.*'_

'_*I've been before. To a war zone. Werewolves…couple years ago, remember?*'_

'_*We're going to see horrible things.*'_

'_*I'm not afraid.*_'

What did he do now? He didn't have time to muck with returning the kid, for one, and he suspected the Swedes would tell him to piss off if he suggested they do it. And Tamm would fight it; he might well try to get back on his own, which could be disastrous.

'*_You stick close to my side, you do exactly what you're told, and don't you dare get hurt, do you hear me? I refuse to tell your mother I've gone and got you injured. And don't think you aren't in loads of trouble when we get back to school, either_.*'

Tamm's face lit up. _'*Thank you, Malfoy!*'_

Draco gave him his best stern look. '*_Go find me Kask and Fosse, and bring them here.*'_

Lucius had watched the whole thing play out and came to see his son. '_Well done, Draco.'_

'_Thank you. Father?'_

'_Hmm?'_

'_This parenting thing…it's really very hard, isn't it?'_

Lucius Malfoy, preparing to go to war, had a moment of grace; he laughed. '_I hadn't noticed, actually.'_

Tamm, meanwhile, was fighting his first battle, when the outraged Vata found him and gave him a firm cuff on the side of the head. (Rodolphus, having seen it, recognized it at once; he noted approvingly that the older boy had the procedure for reigning in a younger brother [or student, as they looked nothing alike] well in hand. The key, he felt, was the slight flick of the wrist to ensure the lesson was clearly conveyed.)

'_What the hell do you think you're doing?_'

Tamm rubbed the back of his head but stood straighter. _'Superintendent needs us.'_

'_You're ten!'_

'_Twelve. *Malfoy said s'all right.*'_

Vata turned to Draco, and Draco spread his palms. '*_No, I said I didn't have time to send you back, and gave you a list of rules, remember?*'_

'_*Yes, Malfoy.*'_

Vata glowered. _'*I don't like this. Not a bit.*'_

'*_You could try returning him, but I doubt you'd be allowed to leave again, Vata_.*'

Vata swore. _'*Fine, you watch him.*'_

'*_No one needs to watch me.*'_

'_*You're a second year!*'_

Tamm pulled himself up to his full height, which was about four feet nine in his socks. '*I'm a man of Durmstrang.*'

The three boys stared at one another a long moment and Vata finally broke the tension by laughing with shock. '*_You're one brave, crazy little son of a bitch, is what you are.*'_ Vata cuffed him again, this time affectionately, and walked off, still shaking his head.

Rabastan had watched the whole thing play out, and came over to Tamm once Draco had dealt with the whole issue. _'*Mr. Tamm?*'_

'_*Sir*?'_

'_*Thank you for that gift you gave my son. If Edric grows up to be like yourself in his determination to do right, I should be very well pleased indeed.*' _Tamm's face absolutely lit up at the praise, and he dropped his head, too overcome to speak.

'*_Draco, a word?*' _Leaving the startled, pleased Tamm, the men walked a distance away. _'He's too young.'_

'_I know but there's no time to return him, Uncle.'_

'_I rather thought so. Why don't you make him an aide de camp?'_

'_Aide?'_

'_Yes. He can run messages, help your aunt and uncle, things like that.'_

'_That's an excellent idea. Let me ask them, and see to getting everyone settled.'_ Draco looked at the group, feeling harried, and nodded to his uncle, stepping away, to put out the fire that he knew would spring up before long.

The Swedes had sent enough transportation for something just above two thousand, twenty big wooden longboats enchanted to fly, built for speed and maneuverability and experts to pilot them. Ideally, the plan was that the Swedes would get most of the ships past the border and take the group directly to Castle Krum, under what would surely be withering fire.

Now, faced with nearly a thousand extras, Anders Lofstrom was in a quandary. He called his son to him and said nothing for a long moment as the boys (Ilya came too, as he was an unofficial member of the family) looked everywhere but at him.

'_*I suppose it would be useless for me to ask what you could possibly have been thinking?'*_

'_*Yes, Father.*'_

'_*Or tell you how poor a choice you've made in coming?*'_

'_*Honour demanded it, Father.*'_

'_*Honour? What does a boy of sixteen know of honour?*'_

'_*Duty, then, Father.*'_

Anders shook his head. '*_You are nearly an adult, Sven, and you as well, Ilya. I hope you both know what you've signed up for_.*' He left them to ponder whilst he went to convince the Minister to send more boats, to take his son and his friends to war.

At Durmstrang, the situation was even less rosy. Moody-Feathering was currently dealing with an irate Maxime and an even angrier Gibbon, not to mention furious parents, heads of state, and the Dark Lord, who was demanding he somehow send all the Hogwarts students who'd absented themselves back immediately.

'How could you let this happen, how?' Maxime towered over him, but he was not afraid of her. Moody had faced worse, and so had Feathering, he presumed. He rose out of deference to a lady and stood stolid as bricks before her.

Maxime was prepared to continue when Gibbon, who didn't especially want to see a verbal pissing contest between a half Giantess and a mercenary, put up his hands.

'The point now' he said in his best Medi-wizard tone 'is not who's to blame but how we should fix this.' The other two turned on him with looks that implied further pearls of wisdom would be ill-advised at best. He found himself wondering what happened to men who are mauled by the combined forces of a half Giantess and a mercenary.

'How do you propose we do that, Nomascus?'

'We go after them.'

'And leave the children?' Maxime seemed appalled by the whole idea, and Moody-Feathering, who decided Nomascus wasn't quite as abominably stupid as he'd thought.

'The teachers are here. At best, we can encourage some of them to return. At worst, we can try to make sure as few of them are hurt as possible.'

Maxime was subsiding a bit. Moody-Feathering felt himself wanting to reach out to the woman a bit. He imagined her life was difficult enough as it was.

'It's not that I am not sensible of what you're going through, Madam. I am that. Had I know this would happen, I would have found a way to stop it.'

'You really thought this would not happen?'

He stood taller. 'Who am I to tell them not to go when their Ministries approved it? Some of them were adults.'

'And some were not!'

'I concede that, but if you've noticed, some of them were your students. Why could you not watch them every second?'

'It's not possible!'

'Nor is it possible for me. I did my best, as did we all, and now we must minimise the damage as much as possible.'

'Well said, Feathering.' Gibbon could see the headlines now: "Headmaster crushed during brawl between respected educators." He'd never live down the shame, assuming he survived long enough to care about such things.

Maxime seemed prepared to react to that, but Gibbon held up a hand. 'Perhaps we ought to hurry, then?'

They put aside personal concerns and made a plan and an hour later, kissing his wife on the cheek, Desmond Feathering and the other two Portkeyed to Skopje, preparing to do whatever they could to prevent the wholesale slaughter of their students.

Severus Snape was alone in his room when the knock came. He rose, drawing, and relaxed when it saw it was Draco. The boy looked like he'd been thrashed by a contingent of trolls. His eyes were circled, his skin was pale, and he had a vague patch of yellowish fuzz that Snape, after some careful observation, realized was facial hair.

The boy came in and sat down. '_How is it going, Godfather?'_

'_Well enough. Yourself?'_

'_Finally got them settled. Arbanas and Kask are going to kill one another, so I had to put the Croats and the Estonians at opposite ends of the tents. Damned inconvenient, having them all spread out.'_

'_And the ladies?'_

'_In the middle, in their own tent. I've put out word I'll personally flay the first man I catch bothering them_.' He had, too, and felt a flare of gratification when he'd seen they took it seriously.

'_Well done_.' As Draco's godfather, it pained him to see the boy doing all this at fourteen; as the head of Slytherin and the spymaster of Britain, Draco's acumen pleased him; he felt a mixture of pride and muted excitement that Draco had proved so cunning. It boded well for the boy's potential.

As rapidly as he'd felt it, Snape's stomach cramped nauseously. He'd known Draco since he was twenty and the boy a squalling, red faced bundle of swaddling clothes-surely he merited better than being assessed by his value as a pawn.

Snape forced the thought away and bent to touch the lad's arm. '_What's wrong?'_

'_Tamm came.'_

'_Tamm?'_

'_Anu Tamm.' _Draco explained the problem and Snape nodded slowly. '_You elected to let him stay?'_

'_No choice in it, Godfather. If one of us takes him back, they won't let that person return, so no one will volunteer. I can't go, because I'm needed here. And I think he'd try to come back alone. Suppose he met a dodgy person or something?'_

Snape nodded. '_Where is he now?'_

'_Father's keeping him busy.'_

'_You've handled this well._' From Snape, that was effusive praise, and Draco smiled hazily, about a second before he burst into tears. Snape sat down next to him, neither moving nor talking but simply keeping still, letting the boy see him but deal with whatever had prompted this as privately as possible.

Draco's crying jag was short but intense, and when his sobs had tapered to gulps and sniffling, Snape handed over his handkerchief and looked blandly at his godson.

'_Sorry. Sorry.'_

'_Draco.'_

Draco twisted the handkerchief. '_A lot of them will die, Godfather. Some of them know what this is, but they…the ones that don't…'_

'_Were you honest with them, Draco? Did you mislead them in some way? Promise them they'd cover themselves in glory or something?'_

Draco shook his head immediately, swollen eyes filling again. '_No! I told them everything. About the battles and the march and everything.'_

'_Then they know what we bring.'_

'_Yes! But you can't __**tell **__them, not really. That baby, he died in my arms, Godfather. His name was Spas. It was the worst thing for me, even worse than Aunt Zhivka's…at the Ministry_.'

'_You couldn't have saved him, Draco, but his last moments were more comfortable because you were holding him.'_

Draco's chin was trembling and he shook his head again. _'I hear his mother's screams in my sleep, you know. I didn't tell them that.'_

Snape reached out and, steeling himself, hugged his godson. He didn't like being touched, but for Draco he supposed he could ignore his discomfort for a few minutes.

Draco hugged back, something he hadn't done in years, and pressed his head to his godfather's shoulder. Then he straightened up and seemed to come back to himself.

'_I've appointed some of them adjutants. That should help keep order, at least.'_

'_Whom did you choose?'_

'_People I trust from Durmstrang, and then Prefects from Hogwarts and Beauxbatons. It was all I could do.'_

'_Who from Hogwarts?'_

'_Pucey from Slytherin, Diggory from Hufflepuff, Cuffe from Ravenclaw, and Spinnet from Gryffindor.'_

Snape nodded. He approved of the choices, more or less, but it felt odd to him, discussing this with Draco. '_What else?'_

'_I've authorized them to choose people underneath them to help. We'll need them to ferry the wounded and things. Later.'_

'_Quite so.'_ Snape had to admit, the lad had done ably, to say the least. Was he training two spymasters, he wondered? It would be most convenient, and the two trusted each others. If he should die, he would, at least, know Britain was well in hand.

'_When this is over, Draco, I should like it if we were to spend some time together. It would be most pleasant to know my godson as a man, as I did when he was a boy_.'

His godson, fourteen years old and no child, showed no recognition of what was being proposed except a slight change in his eyes. Snape would do for him what he'd done for Viktor, was all. Draco was ready; he was a Malfoy, born to lead.

'_I would as well. Am I still banned from your laboratory?'_

Snape glowered fiercely. 'Yes.'

Draco, surprisingly, found a small smile. _'And they say I carry a grudge_.'

'_Hinky punk bile is ten galleons a dram, I'll have you know.'_

'_I said sorry. And drew you that lovely picture.'_

Snape still had the picture, which had been of Draco and he riding a large Hungarian Horntail. '_Hmmph. When did you last eat?'_

'_Eat? Breakfast, I think.'_

'_A meal, Draco, not a roll and some water.'_

'_Dinner.'_

'_Elf, bring some mutton and vegetables at once, and charge it to me.'_

Draco was shaking his head. '_Thank you, but I have to go and…_' He started to lurch to his feet and Snape put an hand to his shoulder and glared impressively, brows beetling.

'_I could always tell Narcissa you've refused to eat…'_

'_No need, Godfather.'_

Snape gave one of his strange, awkward half-smiles. _'You've faced things that would make most people your age go mad, Malfoy.'_

'_Most people my age have never seen Mother in a pet, have they_?'

Draco returned to his room at midnight. He had chatted with Snape for quite a long time, and felt loads better. Godfather had always been in his life, and he realized how lucky he was to have someone as smart as that looking out for him-for them, really, because Snape had helped him refine his plans for the students.

Tamm was awake when Draco entered, awake and looking at the ceiling from the little trundle bed. Draco stripped to his shirt and climbed under the covers, spelling down the candles. He felt so tired he thought he would pass out as soon as his head hit the pillow.

'*_Malfoy?'*_

'_*Tamm?*'_

'_*I talked to your father. He's very nice.*'_

'_*Yes, he is.*' _Draco rolled over. He could sense that Tamm wasn't going to sleep soon, and resigned himself to answering a series of questions, as he often did when Ivan was excited about something.

'_*He said…am I really the new messenger?*'_

'_*Yes, you are.*' _Draco wondered how terrible a person it would make him to send an elf for something to put Tamm to sleep. Just slightly, he thought, fighting the darkness that nibbled at his consciousness. Just so he wouldn't….wouldn't…

'_*Malfoy?*'_

'_*Mmm?'*_

'_*Kask says wolves hurt his sister.*'_

'_*That's terrible_.*' It was, too. Draco made a mental note to say something to Kask the next day, to try and help somehow.

Draco let his eyes drift shut but he knew that this conversation wasn't over. Dread soaked the pit of his stomach.

Tamm waited a moment before he said anything else. _'*Men like that hurt my mother. Before I was born. My father…he was like those wolves.*'_

Draco cringed. Oh, God, what did he say? He finally rolled over and looked down at Tamm. _'*Is that why you wanted to come, Anu? To prove you aren't?*'_

'_*No. I know I'm not.*'_

'_*Then why?*' _Draco had been rather curious when Tamm said he'd been in a war zone before, and meant to ask him. Now he wasn't totally sure he wanted to know. Enough voices screamed at him from the darkness when he slept.

What would Father do? Tamm was still quiet on the trundle bed. Draco asked his grandfather to help with this next part. _'*Tamm?*"_

'_*Because those people need help.*'_

Draco couldn't refute that, surely. And he had to admit, the kid probably had skills he could use, if he'd really fought wolves like he'd implied.

'*_Tell me about when you fought those wolves, Anu.*'_

Tamm did. Draco had been correct; the story added a few new voices to the chorus of screams.

Snape fell asleep before the two boys, and woke earlier, as he rolled to find the dog staring at him. He sat as the dog transformed. '_We need to move!'_

'_Black, what-'_

'_Sound the alarm, Dinev is moving, we need to go now!'_

An hour later, the ships rose into the sky, hoping to steal a march on the column of men headed toward Castle Krum.


	78. Chapter 78

**A/N: Love to reviewers and Countess Black**

**I'm going through a really difficult time right now (largely brought on by poor choices on my part, unfortunately). I'm extremely fortunate to have so many people in my life who love me despite myself.**

** Viktor accurately quotes Euripides.**

When the wolves moved closer and the walls started to shake, they knew the end was in sight. They could see groups standing just past the wards, sending repeated hexes, spells and jinxes at them to weaken their , it was not as bad as Hermione might have suspected. It was hard to sleep, but there was no time for that anyhow, and so she counted it small loss. She hadn't much been able to sleep lately like it was, ever since she'd had the idea.

Initially, it had only been the priests. Viktor had liked the idea about the priests, and then he'd adapted it to contain Uncle Rumen as well. The women had been a last moment addition, and one that Hermione still wasn't sure she felt good about.

Looking back she saw, when she thought about summer, how incredibly fortunate she'd been. The adults in her life made sure she had the skills she needed in order to be able to disable a foe, the hours of practice she'd passed had sharpened her reflexes, and Tamm had been nearby to hear her scream.

These women had had none of that. When she looked at them, she saw what might have been, and because it scared her, and because she didn't wish to mine the wells of these women's tragedy in order to see what squirmed and writhed in the dark, she hadn't wanted to do it.

She also didn't want to die, and when the wolves had moved closer, it had decided her. She'd had the elves gather the women in the hall, warded things well to prevent anyone hearing, and faced the women.

Like Draco, she felt an initial moment of fear, looking at the mass of faces which looked up at her. She thought about her Nan, and pulled back her shoulders, finding a smile for the people waiting for her to speak.

'*_Thank you all for coming. I have a favour to ask of you, rather a large one._*'

No one spoke. Hermione reminded herself about Nan's stories of the Blitz and hurried on, explaining about the priests and Uncle Rumen and the rest.

'*_If any of you would be willing to contribute your stories, please consider it. It might help save lives_.*'

There was a soft stirring but no one spoke. Finally a woman rose and Hermione nodded. '*_Could we talk about the things that happened on the march_?*'

'*_You can talk about anything you'd like. No one needs to do anything that makes her uncomfortable.*'_

'_*Can we talk to our husbands?*'_

'_*Yes, of course.*'_

And so they had. Some of them were shy at first, but more surprising to Hermione were the ones that weren't. She watched women scream, rage, curse. One of them, an otherwise unremarkable middle aged woman, took the opportunity, every time it was her turn, to calmly describe the men who had attacked her and ended it with "And when I see you, I'll kill you."' Hermione suspected she meant it.

At the moment, she was sitting in the master bedroom, propped up on pillows, using the lapdesk. She dipped her quill in ink and frowned, putting her head up. '_Viktor?'_

'_Hmm?'_

'_I don't know what to say. Isn't that silly?'_

Viktor, who had been sitting at the desk, turned round to look at her. '_No. I am having a problem as vell.'_

'_What problem are you having?'_

'_You first.'_

'_I told you.'_

Viktor just raised a brow, and Hermione huffed. '_How do you do that?' _

'_I practice.'_

'_Ha ha. What are you having problems with?'_

'_Don't know vhat to say to Father. You?'_

Hermione gnawed her lip. _'My parents…well, we really don't know one another that well. We love one another, but it seems like we hardly spend time together any more. What does yours say?_'

Viktor rose and came to sit beside her. '_I tell them vhat happen to us since Drago left, and give last vords for them.'_

'_Have you mentioned that we're married?'_

'_Um_.' A light stain of pink was slowly creeping across the lord's cheeks, and his wife had her turn to imitate Aunt Narcissa's best disapproving look. Then she stopped, softening.

'_Nor have I.'_

'_I vill do it. I tell Aunt so she knows.'_

'_All right. Does that mean I should write Yana?'_

Viktor considered. '_Vound end var faster. Yana come if she think she von't get baby like she vould like.'_

Hermione giggled, imagining Yana walking through the camp, demanding the combatants go home right now, waving Anka for emphasis, shaking a finger at any who dared disobey.

'_She'd threaten to tell their mothers on them_.'

'_Mmm hmm. And ve send Bess vith her, they do sad eyes together.'_

'_Precisely.' _They both got quiet for a few moments, and then Hermione reached up to stroke her husband's face._'I'm sorry.''Sorry for vhat?''They didn't come.''I think they try. Drago, he try.''I know.' _She kissed him and he kissed her back. 'Mother and Father too, and the aunts and uncles.''_Yes. You know, I think is not so bad, to end like this.''At least we're together.'_

He nodded and moved the lapdesk so they could curl up together.'_Greeks say never call man happy until he is dead. I am happy, Her-mon-nee-knee. I have had good life. You make it good._'

She wished she could tell him that his patience and kindness had helped her rebuild herself, that she knew how it was to feel safe again, but she felt too tired and too sad to do that. Instead, she closed her eyes and listened to his heart beat.

'_I love you, Viktor.'_

_'Love you too.'_

After a moment, by silent, mutual accord, they quietly went back to the their letters, to see this last duty to their family was done.

Downstairs, Scabior too was performing a duty, depending on one's point of view. He had liberated a bottle with the help of an elf and was drinking it with the aplomb of someone who suspects it will be his last. He heard footsteps and jumped up, slivov splashing, and drew, only to see Penko Krum there.

'*_Ello, Mr. Krum.*'_

_'*Hello, Scabior. Mind if I join you?*'_

_'*Not a'tall. Ow's doins?*'_

_'*The wards have maybe another two hours. We'll all be sending letters to England, if you'd like to tell your people what's become of you.*'_

_'*Doan ave none, but thanks all the same. All I ads was me rat. Snape's got the lil bloke, thank goodness. E'll takes care a Chum fer me.*'_

_'*No one else?*'_

_'*I ad, but she lefs me. And me fiancée and I only met the once. You?*'_

_'*Yes. But I never… I wish I'd said more.*'_

Scabior nodded. _'*Me, too.*'_

_'*Who was she?*'_

_'*Lady I knew.*'_

_'*And your fiancée?*'_

_'*Nice girl, good family. But it were only the once. You?*'_

_'*Someone very special. But you know, there was someone before me, and I…I never said it because…*'_

_'*Because that person were always betweens you?*'_

Penko took a long drink from the bottle. _'*Precisely so. You as well?*'_

_'*Yes. Me fiancée, she's a good girl but…young. An she doan…s'different when you knows someone a while.*'_

_'*Precisely.*'_The bottle was empty. Penko called for another, and opened it, using his wand to melt off the seal, passing it to drained the bottle partway and handed it back.

_'*Damned shame, letin them bastards ave all that brandy an wine, aint it?*'_

_'*It is. We'd best make a dent in it before they get here, don't you think?*'_

Outside the walls, Borev sighed with relief and handed Pavel the letter. _'*Dinev is coming.*'_

'_*How many men is he sending?'*_

'_*Two thousand to start. He doesn't seem to think this will take long.*'_

'_*How many did you tell him were in the castle?*'_

'_*A few thousand. We don't really know, do we?*'_

'_*Not like I'd like to.*'_

'_*Sofia is still quiet. The streets are well guarded and there haven't been any uprisings that I know of.*'_

Pavel nodded. _'*Excellent.*'_

'_*You know, Pavel, I sometimes get the impression you think I'm not as smart as yourself.*_'

'_*Where did you get that idea from?*'_

Borev smiled. _'*Oh, one hears things. So I've decided to give you a show of good faith.*'_

'_*How's that?*'_

Borev snapped his fingers and small group of angry looking elves appeared. _'* By lending you my own elves.* ' _

He spoke to the elves '*_Make sure nothing happens to Pavel. It would be a shame if we lost track of him.*'_

Pavel swallowed hard, head pounding suddenly. '*_Borev, I…*'_

'_*Don't thank me. It's the least I could do.*' _Borev was still smiling. _'*The wards should be down any time now.*'_

'_*What will you do then?*'_

'*_Attack, of course. Your men will have the honour of helping win this historic victory.*'_

Pavel nodded slowly, feeling the elves above him, making it clear that his plans had changed.

Soaring above the Rhodope mountains, Draco had a shadow of his own. He wasn't quite sure, but he thought it was probably death riding with them, and that he wasn't the only person to feel it. He didn't ask. If it was, they'd know it soon enough.

From all about them rose the polyglot hum of the other hundred on the ship. Sweden had sent five more longboats after what Draco could only guess were some truly splendid threats on the parts of Mr. Lofstrom, and the group had been evenly divided between them.

On Draco's left side, his father rested his head on the rough planking as the ship did a violent turn to the right and the captain bellowed what was either orders or expletives at them.

'_Father?'_

'_I'm all right, Draco. I don't much care for boats, is all.'_

Draco nodded and closed his eyes as well. '_We should be there before long.'_

'_Yes. You know, Draco, when you were a baby… I often envisioned how it would be when you were older. This was not at all what I had in mind.'_

'_No? Which part?' _Draco was grinning, knowing he could tease his father a little, and Lucius obligingly opened one eye to give his beloved son a mock-glare.

'_Well, for me, the departure reached it's apotheosis when you raised an army of schoolchildren and helped us convince the Swedes to take you to war with us.'_

'_Oh. I suppose that wouldn't have come up much in those days.'_

'_Surprisingly, no, it didn't. Make me a promise, Draco?'_

'_Yes, Father.'_

'_I do not wish to see my son die. You must do everything in your power to prevent it, do you understand?'_

'_I do, Father. May I have one in return?'_

'_If it involves your grandfather's cufflinks, the answer is the same. You'll have them when I'm too infirm to keep you from prying them off me and not a second earlier.'_

Draco laughed helplessly and then shook his head. '_If anything does happen to me, make sure Mother doesn't see until they've cleaned me up?'_

'_Draco, I…'_

'_I know I promised, Father, but it worries me. I don't want either of you having to see…you know.'_

'_I promise, Draco.' _

Draco sighed and was on the verge of saying something else when the ship was rocked by the wind, which blasted in from the suddenly opened door at the top of the small stairs.

'*_We need to land! This can't keep up!'*_

'_*We're over hostile territory!*' _Bellatrix wasted no time in answering.

Draco jumped up at his aunt's shriek and moved toward Bellatrix and Rodolphus, with his father trailing right behind him and Anders Lofstrom, looking distinctly queasy. The deck swayed beneath their feet, roiling back and forth.

'*_Then we'll need to turn back.*'_

'_***WE ARE NOT TURNING BACK**_!*' Bellatrix's wrath was ordinarily enough to make even Death Eaters pause to reconsider. The captain was not a Death Eater, but he was a brave soul, and decided to disregard the obvious warning, like the rattle of a rattlesnake, which was implied by it.

'_*I don't think you heard me. I said-*'_

No one ever quite credited what happened next, except for Lucius Malfoy, who wanted to pretend he didn't. Draco, who was standing closest the man, simply drew his wand and pointed it at the fellow's throat.

'*_Shut. Up.*'_

'_*Who the fuck do you think-*'_

'_*I said shut up.*' _Draco's wand dug in a bit deeper, and the man seemed to realise for the first time what he was dealing with. His eyes darted to the others, and found only a semi-circle of hostile stares in return.

'_*Lord and lady Krum and I walked through this. If three teenagers can travel it on foot, I think a crew of grown men can fly it, don't you_?*' He dug the point of the wand in ever so slightly harder, and the man nodded once, eyes shiny with fear. His hand, which had been on the way toward his own wand, fell limp at his side, opening and closing weakly.

Draco smiled. '*_Now, get above deck and make this happen. Because if you don't, one of us will kill you.*' _And he meant it. The feeling was like a dusting of talc on skin, light but present, wafting to perfume their senses with danger, predator senses tingling.

The captain tool a step back and looked to Anders Lofstrom, who shook his head. He wasn't about to argue with these maniacs. He'd seen what they could do, and he wanted no part of the it.

Draco turned on his heel and walked back to his seat, conscious that he was being looked at. That didn't bother him, he decided, not at all. After a moment, Father returned and sat down next to him. Neither of them said anything.

Far away, a grey rat crept atop a beam and looked downward. He lifted a sleek head and sniffed the air, delicate whiskers twitching. He moved more to the centre of the beam and checked to make sure the coast was clear. When he ascertained it was, he let himself drop, rolling. Rats are champions at falling safely, and he landed on his feet, and then transformed, raking sharp fingernails over his dandruffy scalp.

He seized the papers and copied them, precisely as he had at the Lestranges' party so very long ago. He could read none of them-it was all Bulgarian. That struck Peter Pettigrew as being just fine.

Having copied it all, he changed back and skittered back to his bolt hole. He would watch. When the time was right, Snape would summon him and he would sing for his supper. Then Snape would return him to Scabior and he could go back to being Chum again.

He sighed with relief at the very idea. He was, he knew, a failure as a man, but as a rat, he liked to think he was top notch. And it was easier, being a rat. He found himself a comfortable place to snooze and waited until he was needed again.

He was the only one who got any sleep that night, to be sure. At Castle Krum, the first of the wards broke just after midnight, after a sustained bombardment. They knew the time was near, and a family meeting was held in the master bedroom to discuss what had just happened.

Hermione had changed into boy's clothes, an old tunic of Viktor's and the matching trousers, and her hair braided and pinned to her head to keep it out of her eyes. The lord and lady knew the situation was truly dire when Rumen didn't remark on that strange fact at all, simply nodded tiredly and handed over his letters.

All of them had things they wished to say to one another. In different circumstances, they well might have; in books, there's always ample time for those things.

This was not a book, however, and so instead the next ward broke, this one with a tormented squeal like a dying pig. The screams started then, and turned en masse and ran toward the courtyard, shouting orders. So does it go sometimes.

Wands drawn, the Krums ran outside and dashed into the freezing cold air. The dogs were milling and barking, and above them, the spells were coming harder now, faster. Sentries were running in confusion about the walls, and Hermione, sensing this could end in disaster, raised her wand to her throat. _'*STOP!*'_

The courtyard ignored her utterly. She could sense the razor edge they were on, the panic that could easily kill them all. She raised her wand again. _'*THIS IS LADY KRUM! STOP AND LISTEN!*' _The running slowed slightly, and that, she expected, would be good enough.

She gestured to Viktor, who started at the most obvious place. _'*GET THE CHILDREN AND OLD PEOPLE INTO THE CELLLARS.*'_

That started a dash they did little to quell, as it would have been useless. The elves appeared and moderated the worst of the stampede, but it was still a few moments of screeching and running.

The dogs, maddened by the new stimulus, barked and ran about, gathering in small packs about the Krums. The kennel elves appeared with the special mail coats for the dogs, and the men dropped to their knees, fitting the dog with the only protection they could give them.

The virtue of the dogs was that they could penetrate wards which kept out human fighters. Unfortunately, it also meant they couldn't be Shielded, and so all they had were the little mail jackets that would ideally protect their chests and backs from attack.

Hermione, who hadn't the slightest idea how one would arm a dog for combat, decided to make herself useful by speaking to the elves. The ones that weren't with the noncombatants were waiting for orders, and so that's what she did.

'_*Heat the oil, and light the moat.*'_

For the first time in nine hundred years, the pitch moat of Castle Krum whooshed to life. The smell was beyond reckoning, ghastly, burning the throats and sinuses of any who got too close.

Viktor finished strapping the final coat on the last dog and rose, looking at them. They were his friends, the playmates of his youth. He was sending them to die. He was sending them all to die, the dogs least of all. He wiped his sleeve across his eyes. 'It's the fumes from the pitch.' No one believed him.

The last ward held out nearly another two hours. When it broke, the sky was just lightening, and the group was prepared for it. The priests had come and given anyone who wanted it the final rites, the last consolation, and so they faced their ends safe in the knowledge that their souls were cared for.

The final ward died with a terrific screeching, which reminded Hermione of the sound of stopping very suddenly in a car, but on an enormous scale. The elves flew in groups to retrieve their cauldrons, and for a sick moment Hermione remembered seeing oil sluice down on the heads of the besiegers at Hogwarts.

There was a tramping, the sounds of thousands of feet tramping the hard, icy crust of the snow. '*CONCRIPTS TO THE FRONT OF THE RANKS.*'

Viktor climbed the stairs which led to the top of the wall and thought he would vomit when he saw them, frostbitten, shivering, too thin. I am so sorry, he thought, hoping his contrition in some way ameliorated the fact he'd like have to kill these men.

'STEP OUT, STEFAN, AND WE'LL END THIS MAN TO MAN.'

'WHY SHOULD I? I'VE THE ADVANTAGE.'

'IT WILL BE A SLAUGHTER.'

'THEN SURRENDER.'

Viktor stepped down without another word. It seemed to him that there was nothing to be said to that, really. At least, he thought, the anti-Apparition wards would prevent them all coming inside at once.

Hermione could feel it in the air, that sense of being doomed. Were they? Not without a fight, not on her watch. She called the elves to her as quickly as she could.

'_*Get me those women, now!*_

The women were found and brought forward. '*_Talk to them! Your husbands are out there, they don't want to attack you! Tell them not to do it!*'_

The women lifted their wands to their throats. 'SAVE US, BOYKO!'

'ANDON, IT'S I! DON'T LET THEM KILL US!'

'NAUM!'

'PETYR!'

'BORIS!

'MIROSLAV!'

Outside, the conscripts stiffened. A low, angry hum started, and Pavel turned to Borev. _'*This is not a good idea.*'_

'_*You yourself said we should attack.*'_

'_*Remotely, not like this! You're angering the conscripts.*'_

'_*They can't get us back here.*'_

'_*They can attack my people.*'_

'_*There's more of you than of them.*'_

'_*This is stupid, Borev!*'_

Borev stared at the ranks. _'*Is it? If I win, I'll have Castle Krum and most of the tenants of the family. If I lose, he might have Castle Borev, but the tenants will be dead, the land blighted and Dinev will never acknowledge him as heir.*'_

Pavel was slowly seeing the mistakes he had made. _'*You're sending these men into a meat grinder.*'_

'_*No.*'_

'_*No?*'_

'*_**We're**__ sending these men into a meat grinder, Pavel_.*' Borev smiled and nodded to one of his people. 'Start the bombardment again.'

History does not record the precise moment the conscripts, forsaking their vows, turned on their captors and sworn liege lord. History does not, but as this is not, strictly speaking, a history, you will be amongst the few to know that it started with a man called Mecho Ivanov.

This Ivanov, otherwise of little note, stood with his mates as the wolves bombarded the castle, unable to move until the screams started from within, proof the fireballs being sent hit their targets.

That tore it for Ivanov, who was a blacksmith by trade. Not, perhaps, blessed with an abundance of intellect, he had nevertheless a strong sense of himself, and what he owed both his village (Elsica) and the name his father had gifted him. He spun and cast a hex at the closest wolf, obliterating the fellow's head with a single stroke.

He was immediately cut down by a dozen hexes, and fell bleeding in the snow, dead before he hit the ground. It didn't matter; his sacrifice paved the way, and soon the others had done likewise, and the wolves stopped bombarding Castle Krum in order to stop the nascent revolt.

It was much, much too late. The men of the villages might not have been fighters by either birth or inclination, but they were tough, and they had been made fearless, because they'd seen that fear was no armour against the horrors that had befallen them.

In the castle itself, a brave young girl (whose name, alas, is lost even to us) scaled the walls and shouted down that the conscripts were fighting the wolves. A cheer broke out, and Viktor gave the nod to the elves. 'Open the gates! We have to help them!'

The elves raised the iron grating and lowered the bridge, which had been charmed to withstand the flames. First outside the walls were the dogs; led by Bear, crippled though he was, the dogs of Castle Krum pounded fearlessly across the bridge. When they saw the enemy, Bear bayed a challenge and dove at the wolf, knocking him down as others came to finish him.

The humans were next, the lord and lady hand in hand. The conscripts were fighting as fiercely as anyone could ask them to, and the combatants of Castle Krum added fuel to the fire of their rage.

Hermione ducked and wove, using every ounce of her training. She must have felled dozens, hurt or killed she could not quite say. The battle would forever be a confused jumble of hexes and flames and dogs and Viktor beside her, relentless, angry.

There came a great noise from above them, and then, miracle of miracles, she heard Draco's voice. _**'**__*CASTLE KRUM! WE'RE HERE TO HELP YOU!*'_

More cheers, and a redoubled attack. The ships swooped lower and then ones of them, improbably, burst into flames. The wolves not busy fighting conscripts had turned to the sky, and before any of them could react, the ships were sailing out of the line of fire.

The people of Castle Krum pressed onward, fighting, hoping for reinforcements that might not come. Finally one of the wolves howled, an eerie, inhuman sound, and they began to vanish in tens and twenties, and then in hundreds. The retreat, clearly, had been sounded, and so the fighters of Castle Krum likewise moved into the relative safety of the Keep. They would wait, and tend their wounded, of which there were many.

On the ship, the captain was busy commending his soul to the Almighty, as he found the Malfoy boy's wand to his ribs. _'*Land this ship.*'_

'_*We'll be killed!'*_

'_*I. Said. Land.*' _The boy moved the wand a little and then, like the figure of a hag from a dream, Bellatrix Lestrange was there. _'*If my daughter has so much as a scratch, I will tear off your testicles and feed them to you before I kill you.*' _

The closest he could get them was five or six kilometres away. They gangplanks hit powder, and the group, some three thousand strong, disembarked.

Rodolphus stepped forward and simply gestured, and they were streaming forth, coming like a tide to crush the wolves. Draco felt only a fierce, wild joy, and knew it was blood lust. He didn't care. Beside him, Tamm was running, face hard. _'*Damned wolves. Fucking wolves.*'_

'_*Anu.*'_

'_*Sorry, Malfoy.*'_

How stupid, reflected Draco, running, to scold the kid for his language when they were about to die. Well, he supposed Tamm's ancestors would prefer he die a gentlemen, at least.

They covered at least three kilometres by Draco's slightly shaky estimate before they met the column of Dinev's men, preparing to come and relieve Stefan Borev, debatably the lord of Castle Borev.


	79. Chapter 79

**A/N: Love to reviewers and Countess Black**

**This is basically a two parter, because it would just be too long otherwise. Pavel quotes someone, but I can't find the source, except that it came from Lance Morrow's 'Evil: An Exploration.'**

**My deepest apologies to the author of the quote.**

**Some authors are setting up Youtube playlists to go with stories. Feel free to send suggestions so I could do likewise.**

Bellatrix Lestrange had no fear of death. She had, in her own reckoning, served her family honourably, and fought the good fight as well as she could. But now, tonight, fear coursed through her, twined with her like a lover, made her bones feel soft and her muscles twitch and jerk.

Not for herself. Surely, her deeds had proved adequate to the ancestors that they would admit her to their Hall, where she would drink wine and make merry forever amongst them, a worthy scion of Black and Lestrange.

Her fear was for Hermione. Her gentle, sweet daughter needed her, and she would go to her if she had to cut her way through every one of these whore's sons, and it seemed to her she well might.

They had lost no ground, at least, but neither had they gained any. Every time a Dinev man fell, two more seemed to take his place. She didn't especially mind killing them, but all of this was a stupid distraction from the main thing, which was her daughter and her son in law.

She pushed forward, giving a scream of frustration, and more of them fell under her wand. Rodolphus and Rabastan both swore up and down that they remembered their first kills, and she was apt to believe them, but she didn't, not particularly.

She wondered whether she would remember this better. Her wand was a thing apart, a world onto itself, and she was simply the conduit, the thing that powered the wand with her rage and her skill and her…fear. Bellatrix Lestrange was afraid.

Something caught her eye. She looked up at Draco, wand going nearly too quickly to be seen, charging ahead, the Estonian lad and a few others beside him, racing past Snape's rangy, bat-like form. Bellatrix smiled, still firing. Good boy, she wanted to say, I am so very proud of you.

Dinev's men fought with courage, outnumbered as they were. Someone, probably Rodolphus but possibly his brother, thought to cast the Dark Mark as a sort of battle standard, and so the defenders could find them if they came.

Before the wolves, the sound of the conscripts' approach would have been heralded by snapping twigs as they plunged through the woods. Not now; the trees had been denuded for firewood (for the wolves; the conscripts knew better than to use wet wood to make a fire) down to the smallest branch, and so they announced themselves only with their voices, shouting as they ran, firing on anyone beneath the Dinev banner, a falcon of blue on a field of yellow.

Dinev's men were pulling back. Inch by agonized inch, they yielded ground, still screaming defiance. The conscripts showed them no mercy whatsoever, pushed beyond endurance, and neither did the newcomers, determined to life the siege and punish anyone responsible for it.

In the dark, it was hard to see who was who, and the Mark helped only as long as they were under it. Someone-Bellatrix was never quite sure whom, but she suspected one of the lads with Draco-figured out the solution, which was to say, bizarrely, incongruously, in the midst of their battle, a song rose into the air.

At once the voice was joined by dozens of others, singing in their own languages, singing so the conscripts wouldn't turn on them in their righteous fury. She recognized strains of 'Hail, Britannia' and took it up, as the Irishmen to her left started 'The Minstrel Boy'. Over the field, a thousand songs in a thousand tongues joined in a chorus of life in death, fire and blood and salvation.

Singing, killing, dying, they took the pathway through the stripped woods bit by blood soaked bit, pushing, demanding, driving the enemy before them. She remembered, sickly, wishing she would have a chance to wet her boots with blood, and then shoved the thought back like it was poisoned.

Finally Dinev's men could fight no more, and they turned and ran, some of the Apparating, many of them simply taking to their heels and fleeing towards the wolves, hoping they hadn't been abandoned wholly.

The massed force of tenants, schoolchildren and professional fighters did not stop to cheer. Rather, they continued their run toward the castle. In the distance, they heard voices joining with theirs from inside the castle. They ran harder, determined to lift the siege and rescue the people trapped within the castle.

Inside the castle, it was like something out of the Inferno, as the burnt and dying lay in piles about the hall, moaning, screaming. The air reeked of vomit and singed flesh, and below, the children wailed steadily, on and on, and the priests chanting over all of it, calm, giving whatever aid they could.

At least the letters had gone out. They'd be in Britain now, and if they didn't make it after all, then their story would be told, and his cousin would be lord Krum, if only in exile. It was better than nothing, supposed Viktor, and went to look for Hermione.

When he didn't immediately find her, he pushed down a slight panic and sent an elf, who told him milady was in niche and led him there. It was, he thought, the same one they'd sat together in so long ago, his head pillowed on her shoulder.

She was clinging to a wall, quietly vomiting into a basin held by an elf. She tried to rise when she saw him, and then bent over again, clutching her stomach.

'What happened?'

'The smell' she said helplessly, and vomited again. She had no stomach contents. She was losing water, he noticed, disturbed, and sent the elf for some, and a potion to help take the bile taste out of her mouth.

'I'm sorry.'

'Shhh.' He stroked her sweat matted hair and let her empty herself completely into the basin before he Vanished the contents and then set it down. She swallowed her potion and then rested her head against his neck, closing her eyes.

'Better?'

She nodded and made herself step back, eyes burning. 'They need us in hall.' Neither of them said anything else, because that summed it up completely.

The group outside heard the pops before they saw the wolves, regrouped, between themselves and the castle. Draco knew he had a single chance at this. He stepped up, wand to his throat. _'*THIS IS SENESCHAL MALFOY OF CASTLE KRUM, COME TO NEGOTIATE YOUR SURRENDER. DO YOU ACCEPT?*'_

'_*GO HOME, LITTLE BOY. WAR ISN'T A TOY.*'_

'_*TWENTY THOUSAND BRITONS ARE ON THEIR WAY. THE DARK LORD HIMSELF HAS VOWED TO CHALLENEGE YOU. MY FATHER MIGHT BE ABLE TO PERSUADE HIM AGAINST IT IF YOU SURRENDER NOW.*'_

'_*I DON'T BELIEVE YOU.*'_

'_*YOUR MEN HAVE DEFECTED, AND WE'VE THE UPPER HAND.*'_

'_* I WANT A GUARANTEE THAT MY LIFE WILL BE SPARED.*'_

'_*NEGOTIATE.*'_

'_*FINE. NO DEATH EATERS. FIFTEEN MINUTES.*'_

Draco could feel eyes on him, not just from the column but from the castle. He didn't mind. It seemed to him that the experiences of the last month or so had burnt the fear from him, and so, strangely serene, he consulted with his family and called for an elf.

His aunt and uncles, his father and mother looked at him with love and fear. '_Draco…_'

'_I know_.' He hugged his mother, and donned the pin that marked him as seneschal, facing directly ahead, watching as the enemy conjured a small table and a light tent for them to sit under.

Next he addressed the Krum elf he'd called. '*_Fetch me parchment and ink, a torch—no, two torches, and a decanter of wine, and send my regards to the lord and lady, please. Her parents are here.*'_

'_*Elf*_' said Bellatrix _'*does my daughter live?*'_

'_*Yes, Madam. Milady is alive and is sending affection, and milord_.*'

The elf brought what was asked, and when the allotted time was nigh, Draco set out, flanked on one side by Kask, who was his second in this, and Tamm, who was page, and held the wine jug with enormous care, and a burning torch in the other hand.

The walk to the tent took forever, walking between the rows of wolves, the camp silent. The Dark Mark still hung over the sky to the east, giving the woods a green corona of light. Stefan looked greasy and ill-used, and the neat dark haired man beside him was clearly Pavel.

'_Welcome, gentlemen.'_

'_You speak English, Pavel?'_

'_I do.'_

'_My friends do not. *Paavo Kask , Anu Tamm, Nicolae Pavel. Pavel, these gentlemen are my chosen assistants.*'_

'_*Estonian, Mr. Kask?*'_

'_*Damned right. Your people killed my aunt and uncle and dishonoured my sister.*'_

'_*I regret to hear that. And Mr. Tamm?*_

'_*I'm an Albanian.*'_

'_*Ah. You all know of my lord Borev.*'_

'_*We all know of the usurper Stefan.*'_

Borev's face worked. _'*Listen here, you little—*'_

'_*No, you listen. If you've any chance at all of getting out of this, we're it. Wine?*_' Tamm, face rigid as a mask, held up his jug, and Pavel conjured them some goblets. All of them drank in silence. Draco noticed that Pavel had filled Tamm's glass most of the way with water. By way of explanation, the werewolf said simply _'*I don't approve of young people drinking.*_'

'_*Nor I, as it happens.*'_

The table held room enough for four, and so Borev and Draco sat with Pavel and Kask, the parchment between them, wands beside them on the table as a show of trust. _'*Well?*'_

Draco swallowed hard, skin crawling. The wine was burning in his belly like acid. '*_What do you want?*'_

'_*I'll surrender to you in return for a comfortable house arrest in some villa or something.*'_

'_*What have you got to offer?*'_

Borev clicked his fingers, and four elves appeared. _'*Pavel, of course. He'll tell you everything you need to know about Romania's war against you.*'_

The werewolf seemed strangely undisturbed by Borev's treachery. '*_I've a counter offer for you gentlemen. I'll give you Borev and send my troops away, and all I want is to be repatriated.*'_

Borev's mouth opened and Pavel, fast as a wink, promptly Silenced him, using his superior strength to keep Borev in place. Draco nodded his thanks.

'_*May I have the ring, Pavel?*'_

'_*By all means, Mr. Malfoy.*' _Pavel took the ring from Borev's stiff finger and handed it over.

'_Elves, you serve House Krum now.'_

'_*Master is lord Borev.*' _The first elf spoke with hestitation, almost dislike, looking at Stefan.

'_*He's a usurper. He was outlawed.*'_

The elf was clearly torn, and Draco pushed his advantage. _'*Your master's heir was Viktor, by preference, was he not?*'_

'_*Yes, Master. Milord sometimes said to elves.*'_

'*_I speak for lord Krum. keep guarding Pavel_.*'

'*_How will we know we won't end up facing you again in six months or a year?*'_

'_*I'll vow.*'_

'_*Fuck your vow_*' said Kask savagely _'*you bastards raped my sister.*'_

'_*That wasn't my people, it was another band. I'm sorry it happened, but don't take your anger out on me.*'_

'_*How do I know that?*'_

'*_I am a Romanian. Why would I fight in another country's interest?*'_

'_*You're fighting for Bulgarians.*'_

'_*Am I?*'_

Draco bent and murmured in Kask's ear. '*_I'll find you the ones that did it, Paavo, but right now is not the time.*'_

Kask nodded slowly. Tamm wanted his say as well, and he faced Pavel head on, threw back his head and said '*_You hurt women and children.*'_

'_*Men under my command did. War is brutal.*'_

'_*You could have stopped them.*'_

'_*It is sometimes evil to be good.*'_

Tamm said nothing, face tight. Draco suspected he had passed a judgment, not merely of guilt but of damnation on the man, and didn't blame him. The war of attrition Tamm had described to him, fighting in the mountains, would teach a person to hate.

What happened next was a matter of seconds, but to Draco, it seemed like forever, like each player was moving in a slow and stately dance of death. He saw Borev's hand dart under the table and shot out a hand to stop him, too late, and remembered that Father had once said that Stefan had won several serious duels in his younger days.

The next instant he was firing, and Draco leapt up at the same moment as Kask and Pavel, all of them trying to hit someone . He lost sight of Tamm until the younger boy fell, blood gushing from his face, and Draco felt a rage as pure, as violent as any feeling he'd ever had overtake him.

Kask would tell the story many times over his long, long life, how Drago Malfoy killed Stefan Borev in the snow, after Anu Tamm, the new Skanderbeg, somehow forced himself to his knees, blood sheeting down his face, and hit Pavel as hard as he could with the guttering torch. Pavel shouted, knee dislocating from the blow, losing his balance, and the distraction was all Malfoy needed.

Draco could have added to Kask's story, but he never did. He remembered it all later, down to seeing, from the corner of his eye, the blasted ruin of Tamm's eyesocket. He watched as Stefan tried to flee and calmly took a single step forward, swished as hard as he could, and shouted 'Reducto!'

The spell was like a shotgun blast. Borev toppled face first into the snow, blood pooling, steaming in the cold, clear, green tinted air. Draco took his chance, even as Kask secured the werewolf and saw to Tamm, who was still screaming with rage and not with pain.

He was dying. Draco accepted it as naturally as he breathed, and rolled the man over, staring down at him. Borev's mouth moved. 'M-Malfoy…'

'_You bastard_.' Draco took a step back and swished once more, and a thick gash appeared on Borev's throat, and then another, and he finished the job and lifted the head by the hair, giving it a final wrench to free it, and then saw, for the first time, that the camp was an abattoir.

From behind them, as the two groups fell to killing one another, the bridge went down, and the defenders spilt from the castle, dogs howling, plunging toward the foe. Draco caught site of both Viktor and Hermione, dressed as a boy, racing toward them, leading their people.

'_*THIS IS LORD KRUM. THROW DOWN YOUR WANDS AND YIELD AND WE WILL SPARE YOU_.*'

As Draco watched, that's what they did, by and large, though some few opted to run or try to fight. Mainly, though, they all knelt, hands on their heads, and Draco walked through the silent ranks, Kask behind him holding him Tamm, who was limp in his arms, bleeding stopped by a little awkward magic on Kask's part.

Draco felt very calm. He approached Viktor and Hermione, hoping the others were behind him, unable to check. He knelt, holding up the head. '_My lord and lady Krum_.'

'_Seneschal_.' Viktor leant down and tugged Draco to his feet, taking the head at the same time. He scarcely looked at it, more worried about the three in front of him. Hermione had done directly to Kask and sent for elves to take the ghostly white Tamm into the hall for treatment, and then called for the people in the woods.

The wolves were still kneeling, and Viktor looked to his vassals. 'Lord Balev, lord Nanev, take the prisoners to the dungeons, please, and have lord Veneva and lord Mitkova have the children and old people brought up. I want everyone fed, including the prisoners.'

'If you wouldn't mind, lord Vidanov, find me Pavel and have him brought to the guest room under heavy guard. Chain him to the bed and then send Yokov once Tamm and the others are tended to.'

Bellatrix waited exactly as long as she had to, and then sprinted pell mell toward the children, filled with such bright happiness she felt as though the sun shone from her eyes. Her daughter spun when she heard her, and the two embraced, clinging to one another.

'_Mother! Mother_!'

'_Girl, you're alive! Hermione!_' Bellatrix would never let her go, never. She held on tighter, glaring at any who might get too close, and squeezed even tighter. My baby, she had the absurd, un-Bellatrix urge to say, my little girl.

Her son in law came and hugged them both, and she permitted it, reached up to give him a pat that was much less awkward than usual. Hermione reached up and stroked her face. _'Please don't cry, Mother.'_

'_Don't be silly, girl, I'm not crying_.' She was, and they stood there and wept together, wrapped in one another, having lost and found and lost one another, and now, miraculously, together once more.

It was the only quiet moment they got for some time. By the time Rodolphus and the others arrived, the group was already making for the castle. Quick hugs were exchanged, but it was obvious to them that they were dealing with lord and lady Krum right now. Rodolphus simply hoped that Hermione and Viktor were in there still, and that he would meet them again.

In the hall, a happy chaos reigned. Family members reunited, fathers with children and wives with husbands, elderly parents with grown sons and more. Many came to count their dead, or else found their people had been injured in the attack, and cries of grief rang as freely as cries of joy, echoing off the vault of the ceiling.

Viktor's head was pounding from the strain. His eyes found Hermione, who was giving rapid fire orders to Snetzka, and returned to her side. 'Elves are bringing water for people, and also food from wolves' camp. They make soup for everyone. You look sick.'

'My head hurts.'

'Send elf to Castle Borev for a potion, maybe?'

'Good idea. I'll tell your parents after everything is calmed down.'

'We both tell them. Then we leave for…where?'

'Sofia. I'm leaving some of the conscripts to garrison this castle and the rest are all coming. Don't suppose I could convince you to stay here?'

'No. I send elves for all potions at Castle Borev. Need something against…bad wounds.'

'Infection.'

'Yes. Once Sofia is better, we send them to hospital. Many people need help.'

'I know.'

'How is Tamm?'

'Let's check.'

Tamm was propped by the fire, head lolling. Yokov had applied a bandage to protect the ruined left eye, and Narcissa was with him, cradling him in her lap, humming, the look on her face strongly suggesting that anyone who tried to interfere would regret it directly. Viktor squatted down and gently brushed his shoulder. _'*Tamm?*_'

Tamm's good eye fluttered open. _'*H'lo, Superintendent. Did we win?*'_

'_*We did, and you helped. Are you in pain?*'_

'*_Healer gave me something.*'_

'_*You're going into one of the bedrooms, all right?*'_

'_*Will Madam come?*'_

Narcissa kept rocking._ '*Of course I will. Just go to sleep, Anu.*'_

'_*Don't leave me here.*'_

'_*Leave you?*'_ Viktor wondered whether it was the pain talking, or the potion. He'd known Yokov had kept back a small amount of very high powered pain potion, and suspected he'd slipped Tamm a bit to help.

'_*We're leaving soon, aren't we?*'_

'_*Anu…*'_

'_*I'm the aide de camp.*'_

Hermione leant over and gently smoothed Tamm's cheek. '*_We'll talk about it later, all right?*_' The potion was kicking in, and Tamm mumbled a response and nestled into Narcissa, who was soft and warm and smelt like flowers. Viktor bent, opening his arms, and Narcissa followed the lord and lady to Viktor's own room, where they tucked Tamm in after the elves replaced his ruined tunic.

Viktor's headache was getting worse. An elf appeared, looking anxious. 'Milord, Niska is going for phial, but is not safe. Elves is thinking phials is not good.'

'He poisoned them?'

'Niska is sorry, milord.' The elf's lips were trembling, and Hermione, thinking a wailing elf would make things worse, held up a hand. 'Niska throws away bad phials, and checks food and beds. Checks for hiding things. Hiding things hurt us.'

'Traps?'

'Yes. First, Niska goes and asks for phial from Uncle Rabastan or Uncle Lucius. Then we think more. Niska is good elf.' The elf sniffled, bowing, and took off.

Bidding Narcissa goodbye, they crept out and went to find the others. The Death Eaters, with Rumen and Scabior, were in the solar, gathered round the table. Draco was slumped beside his father, hands shaking, holding a mug of tisane.

'*_Thank God you've all come. When should the others be here?*'_

'_*Others?*'_

'_*The twenty thousand you threatened Stefan with.*'_

Draco drank half the tisane. '*_They're aren't any more. It was a lie.*'_

One could have heard a mouse sneeze. _'*What?*'_

'_*The Dark Lord wouldn't send anyone. It's just us.*'_

'_*Who are those people?*'_

'_A mixed force of volunteers from allied countries and students from the three schools.*'_

'_*Is that why Tamm is here?*'_

'_*He sneaked in.*'_

Viktor sat down, hard. _'*My God.*'_

'_*We're about three thousand, as it stands, not counting your people.*'_

'_*And the conscripts.*'_

'_*And the conscripts, but they don't look any too good.*'_

'*_They weren't feeding them well. Some of them will stay here to garrison the castle and guard the wounded.*'_

'_*How many?*'_

'_*Two hundred?*'_ He looked to Hermione, who piped up with _'*Not counting the children and old people.*'_

'_*So closer to a thousand, with the wounded.*'_

'_*Will they be able to hold it?*_' Lucius Malfoy finally spoke up, having listened with an increasingly deep sense of surreality as his teenage son, his niece and her fiancé calmly discussed the next phase of the war.

"_*With luck, Uncle, they needn't even try.*' _

'_*You don't suppose Romania will send reinforcements, or try to rescue their people?*'_

'_*No. They'll want to pretend this never happened, especially once we deliver Pavel to them.*'_

'_*You're giving Pavel back?*'_

'_*Not right away. He'll testify in front of the Conclave first. And whatever interested foreign press might like to come.*'_

Nods all round. _'*Well thought out, Viktor. Will you repatriate the wolves as well?*'_

'_*No. Some I'll hang-the ones the burnt out the tenants and hurt the women. Our laws demand they die.*'_

Rumen agreed at once. '*_Precisely so. But the others_?*'

Viktor shook his head, rubbing his temples. His neck felt like bricks rather than tendon and bone. Hermione caught his eye.

'*_Why don't we geass them to us?*'_

'_*What?*'_

'_*Like the tenants. Forgive the ones who vow fealty and take them with us_.*'

The room wasn't merely silent but dead. No one moved. No one blinked. Viktor was slowly nodding. '*_We did promise clemency.*'_

'_*To the Bulgarians amongst them, not the wolves.*'_

'_*Does anyone have a better idea? We can't release them to Romania.*'_

'_*We can't just let them-let them-werewolves, Viktor!*'_

'*_We've the land. Villages need to be rebuilt, new wells dug…mountains that normal wizards and witches can't live on. We can use them as a wall against invasion.*'_

Hermione could tell her parents didn't like the idea. To her surprise, Uncle Rabastan spoke up. '*_It would embarrass the Romanians.*'_

'_*It would give us thousands of vassals loyal to House Krum and House Borev.*'_

'_*What about Greyback's people? Some of them are fugitives.*'_

'_*Once they swear, they'd get citizenship automatically. It would be a non-issue, because they'd be Bulgarians_.*' Viktor didn't care whether Greyback liked it or not. Frankly, he didn't especially care whether the Dark Lord liked it, either. He couldn't be bothered to help and so Viktor wasn't going to step round his feelings too hard.

Snape, who'd been silent thus far, spoke up. '*_It might be the cleanest answer all the way round.*'_

'_*Viktor*_' said Penko, sitting beside Rabastan '*_You can't do this. You'd have a private army.*'_

'_* I have a private army now, and we'll need to be able to hold Sofia when we go to Castle Dinev.*'_

Hermione darted her eyes to her parents. '*_Mother? Father?*_'

Rodolphus inhaled deeply. _'*The Dark Lord teaches us semi-humans are not our equals. But in this situation, where we could guide them, perhaps…*_' He fell silent, prehensile mind squirming from saying it out loud.

Bellatrix said nothing. She shook her head once and then put her face in her hands. She couldn't think of the Dark Lord right now. Her daughter was alive, and that was all that mattered.

'_*It's decided, then.*'_

Draco was nibbling a thumbnail. '*_The Estonians won't like it. Kask was the first to support us.*'_

'*_Make me a list of the ones to convince, Drago, and we'll call them here and explain_.*' Draco nodded, looking as tired as Viktor felt.

They spent a few more moments discussing the logistics of what was proposed, and then it was time to tell them the other news. Hermione finally took the intiative. _'*Mother, Father, we've some news of our own.*'_

The adults went pale. Rodolphus immediately wondered whether the girl was in trouble, and the actual answer, in his estimation, was only slightly better.

'*_We married just after we arrived.*'_

'_*__**Married**__?*'_

Hermione calmly explained the rationale. Viktor, who'd anticipated having to do it, was slightly relieved to be excused, but still anticipated some hard words from various people. He joined hands with her under the table, and she smiled and squeezed his hand.

Bellatrix still hadn't raised her head from her hands. Hermione's smile faded and she rose to gently touch her mother's shoulder. '*_Mother?*_'

'*_**No**__.*'_

'_*No?*'_

'_*No, no, no.*_' Bellatrix rose and silently and walked out. Hermione went to follow and her father took her wrist, shaking his head. _'*No, love. Mother needs time.*_'

Viktor sneaked a look at Draco, half expected to see a fist coming at him, lord or no lord. Draco looked thoughtful, speculative, but not angry. '_Drago?'_

'_Viktor?'_

'_Are you going to punch me?'_

'_No_' said Draco firmly. '_Having to tell my mother about this is going to be punishment enough.'_

Viktor nodded. '_You vant to come and see Tamm vhilst Herm-on-nee-knee and I tell her?'_

'_Wouldn't miss it.'_

Viktor addressed the rest of the table. '*_Maybe you'd all like to rest and have something to eat? We'll need to leave by five at the latest_.*' The group broke up, and Viktor sent elves to brief the lords, sacrificing their pride for the fact there was tonnes to be done.

Narcissa said nothing to the news, face whitening. Draco left rapidly thereafter, to speak to Kask and a few others he thought would prove recalcitrant on the subject of an alliance with the wolves. He called for a small glass of wine and made a quick offering, chanting for the ancestors, in thanks and hope that his luck would hold.

The group departed at four thirty, the ships crammed nearly to capacity, and the people with them ready to fight.


	80. Chapter 80

**A/N: Love to reviewers and to Countess Black**

**Part two. For those of you wondering at the stranger turns of events, I can only say: Things have only started to get weird, you guys :)**

Rodolphus followed his wife as the children went to make the final arrangements. He trailed her silently, being careful she not see him, until she, half running, ducked into a corridor of this damned maze-like castle, and he had to speed up to keep pace.

'_Go away, Rodolphus!'_

'_Trixie, love, let's talk about this.' _

'_Just leave me alone.'_

He approached carefully, slowly, conscious that she was a better dueller than he. She made no move toward her wand. He got close, close enough to touch her, and then pulled her against his chest.

'_Bellatrix…'_

'_What?'_

'_Tell me how you're feeling.'_

'_I promised we'd protect her, you know. That we'd never leave her.'_

'_We haven't, darling. You know that.'_

'_Haven't we? She's married now. We couldn't even give her a few years to be our daughter before she had to be the boy's wife_.'

'_They've always loved one another, Trixie. It was bound to happen.'_

'_Not like this.'_

'_No'_ he said, trying to put a good face on this whole terrible situation '_not like this. But it could be worse.'_

'_No.'_

'_Darling, there are children younger than Hermione lying dead in that hall right now.'_

'_The Dark Lord, Rodolphus.'_

Rodolphus swallowed. '_The Dark Lord has been most cruelly misled, Bellatrix. You know that.'_

'_He sold her.'_

'_**Bellatrix**__!'_

'_We weren't under attack, but they were. And now this. Our daughter is fourteen years old!'_

'_I know how old she is. But sweetheart, we can't change things now. All we can do is make whatever happens as easy as possible. We can help them, at least.'_

'_Yes. But what about…Britain, what will we do?'_

'_Britain?'_

'_The Dark Lord_…' She shook her head helplessly, tears starting. She grimaced, dashing her sleeve across her eyes.

'_Snape will help us.'_

'_Snape will help Snape, Rodolphus, as he always had. What can we do?'_

Rodolphus's lips were numb. _'Trixie, what do you mean?'_

She straightened up. '_No one will ever hurt my daughter again. __**No one**__.'_ Then she spun on her heel and walked off, shaking with pent up emotion. Rodolphus shivered, like a hinky punk was dancing on his grave, and wondered whether Bellatrix felt as betrayed as he, and what they would do with that.

Draco was also dealing with the repercussions of a betrayal. He'd summoned a dozen of the students he suspected would be serious sticking points in the plan to geass the wolves, and like he'd expected, they were displeased.

Kask, Vata and ten others were watching him with varying degrees of horror and rage. One of them was Kask's sister, who was, as it turned out, his twin. They looked as much alike as two human beings who are not identical possibly could, and now they wore twin expressions of disbelief.

'*_He's doing WHAT?*'_

Draco wished he could sleep. There was blood under his fingernails. '*_He doesn't have enough to guard them, for one, and for another, it would give us the force we need to keep Sofia.*'_

'*_They're goddamned werewolves! Does Krum think they're play nice for him because he asked them to?*'_

'_*No, he thinks they'll play nice because they'll be cursed if they don't. And because he's offering them a better deal than nearly anyone else.*'_

'_*What about all the people those fuckers hurt? Sorry, Vaike.*'_

'_*I've heard the word before, Paavo_.*' His sister gave him a look dense with meaning, and then the group was staring fiercely at Draco. It was really caked under his nails, that blood. How had it got there? Was it Tamm's? Borev's?

'*_He's executing the main ones. Not Pavel, but the ones that burnt out the villages and…things.*'_

Kask looked at his hands. _'*Let us look them over and seize any we recognize. Vata?*'_

'_*Damned straight.*'_

'_*Vaike?*'_

She nodded._ '*All right.*'_

'*_And I want an Unbreakable Vow, Malfoy. If you ever find the ones who attacked my family, you deliver them to us alive.*'_

'_*What if I can't take them alive? Or they've died already?*'_

'_*We'll chalk it up to Fate, then. But if you've the chance, I want those wolves.*'_

Nods all round. '*_And Tamm_?*'

Draco inhaled. _'*He's lost his left eye. It's a cursed wound, it shan't ever be better. He's heavily sedated now, but when he wakes…*'_

'_*He should get a chance as well.*_' Vata leant back in his chair. '*_His village got hit hard by those sons of whores. Sorry, Miss Kask.*'_

'*_Quite all right, Mr. Vata.*'_

'_*Whose dead from the schools?*'_

'_*Thirty four, is the prelimary estimate. I haven't got names, precisely, but most of them were from Hogwarts or Beauxbatons.*'_ The others schools, having never trained in Dark Arts, had been less able to defend themselves than the men and women of Durmstrang.

'*_Then you'll all back us?*'_

'_*Let us speak to Krum first before we decide.*'_

Viktor came bearing a large barrel of wine (well watered) and an elf with a tray of soup and bread, which the famished teens demolished. '*_I take it Drago has told you my plan?*'_

'_*You're off your nut, Krum, to think this will work.*'_

'_*I know.*_' Viktor sipped a little wine. _'*But we need the troops, Vata. We've got perhaps five thousand, most of them either wounded or untrained, or both. Some will need to garrison the castle, and that leaves us with about forty-eight hundred. Sofia is well guarded by aurors loyal to Dinev, not to mention his bannermen, their people and whomever else.*'_

'_*What about the twenty thousand Britain is sending?*'_

Viktor shook his head. _'*A lie.*'_

'_*How many are coming, then?*'_

Draco finished his crust. _'*None. We're it. We need those six thousand, and that might put a little closer to half the strength of the Ministry and Castle Dinev.*'_

The room was like a morgue_. '*The Dark Lord's not sending anyone?*'_

'_*We're it, and I had to grovel for this much.*'_

Vaike Kask spoke first. _'*That bastard hung us out to dry, is that it?*'_

Draco nodded. _'*I am awfully, awfully sorry.*_'

'_*And you knew what this was before we left Durmstrang?*_' Sven Lofstrom spoke for the first time. Draco couldn't even glare. The blood was tacky under his thumbnail. It made him want to vomit.

'_*Yes.*_'

'_*You fucking prick!*'_ Sven rose, looked like he was going for his wand, and then, very deliberately, spat on the floor.

An elf appeared and wiped it up without comment. Viktor ignored the breech in manners and then pressed on.

'_*If any of you would stay when we go, that's fine. No one fights unless he wants to.*'_

'_*Where are lord Borev's vassals?*'_

'_*Fled, most of them, or else holed up in their castles. I've called them, but they likely won't come until they know which way the wind is blowing.*_' That got his mind working; he resolved to send elves to see what he could get from them, if they wouldn't come themselves.

There was a murmur. Kask finally banged a fist for order. '*_Fuck it, I said a wanted a pelt and I still do. We'll help you—I'll do whatever I can, I mean, and so will Vaike—as long as you make me a few promises.*'_

'_*Name them.*'_

'_*Bind Malfoy and I in an Unbreakable Vow. He can explain it all.*'_

'_*Drago?*'_

'_*Yes.*'_

'_*Done.*'_

'_*Second, geass them to yourself, Krum. Not the castle, you.*'_

'_*That's illegal.*_' Viktor had fully intended to geass them to Castle Krum, not himself. The international community would—barely—tolerate a private army loyal to a family. But to a single person?

'_*So's a bunch of teenagers fighting a war, but here we sit. Make yourself liable for them and I'll help you.*'_

'_*Suppose I should die fighting.*'_

Arbanas spoke up. _'*Geass them to your heirs. Make your line responsible, forever.*'_

'_*Good idea, Ilya. Well, Krum?*'_

'_*Done. Anything else?*'_

Kask explained about the promise he'd got from Draco, and Viktor nodded. '*_If the men who hurt your aunt and uncle are here, I will help you kill them myself.*'_

'_*Like hell_*' said Vaike Kask sharply _'*I want my pound of flesh_.*'

Draco quite liked Vaike. He waited behind the others. '*_Miss Kask?*'_

'_*Mr. Malfoy? Seneschal Malfoy?*'_

'_*Drago.*'_ He said before he realized what he'd done. _'*Please know I regret what happened to you with my whole heart.*'_

She gave him an appraising look. '* _Vaike. So do I, but self-pity's never saved a person yet. Bring me those men and we'll talk.*'_

'_*I should like that.*'_

Nicolae Pavel floated back to conciousness because of a sharp poke in the ribs. He groaned, trying to roll away, and couldn't move. He felt the poke again, and opened an eye. It was a dog, quite a large one, who gave him a final poke and sat back on its haunches.

'_Down, Bess. Did she hurt you_?' The speaker was a dark haired girl with big, soft eyes, who was beside the dog, looking at him with neither anger nor pity. She was speaking English with an accent that implied it to be her native tongue.

'_No. She's beautiful.'_

'_Yes, she is.'_

Pavel wished he had a free hand to stroke the dog's thick ruff. _'I had a dog as a boy. A mongrel dog, called, I think, 'Sport', in English.'_

'_Lord Krum told me your English is excellent.'_

'_My mother teaches it at Bucharest University.'_

'_You're muggleborn, then?'_

'_I am. Do I have the honour of addressing lady Krum?'_

'_I am she_.' She stepped closer. Dressed as a boy still, clothes caked in blood and other unmentionable fluids. This close, her resemblance to her mother was startlingly clear. They might have been sisters, he thought, except for the years the elder had spent in Azkaban. And the Mark, of course.

'_Could I trouble milady for some water_?'

She picked up a goblet and then simply lifted his head with one hand whilst he drank from the cup in the other. Her face gave nothing of her thoughts. Stranger and stranger, he thought, and then laid back.

'_Has lord Krum sent you to speak to me?'_

'_Not precisely. I prefer to see my guests are comfortable.'_

'_Guests?'_

'_You are under our protection. No one will harm you, Mr. Pavel, so long as you give us no reason to.'_

'_Of course.'_

'_Did you need to…shall I call an elf?'_

'_Would you?_' The elf held a bed pan for him and then the girl returned. The dog had not left his bedside. Her eyes were big and brown and searching, and she sometimes sniffed at him and then whined, not clear on why this Man was also a Wolf.

The elf stayed, and helped him sit slowly. _'Where am I injured?'_

'_Your kneecap is seriously dislocated, and Mr. Kask stunned you fairly hard, but you should be all right. Healer Yokov looked you over and says you'll up and about in no time.'_

'_My men?'_

'_In the dungeons. Lord Krum will wish to discuss that with you. Mr. Pavel, did you send an assassin after us a week or so ago?'_

'_Yes. He never returned.'_

'_No.'_

'_I take it he never will.'_

'_No.'_

He wondered who had done it. Scabior, perhaps, or the lad? Then he saw her eyes and shivered. '_Your first, my lady?_'

'_Yes.'_

The elf reappeared with soup, and Pavel took the bowl. It was a very strange soup; the elves, needing to feed a large number of people very quickly, had essentially thrown whatever was at hand into a pot. Still, it was food.

The girl raised a brow_. 'Not hungry?'_

'_It would be rude of me to eat in front of someone else.'_

An elf went for something after she spoke to it, and came back with two spoons. The girl handed one over and kept one for herself. She dipped into the bowl and ate a bite. _'Better?'_

'_Thank you, yes.'_

She watched him eat. The dog put a shaggy head on her lap, sometimes chuffing softly or else whining a bit. The door opened, and the girl's face lit up as the lad came in. They looked strange next to one another, the big, bluff, shuffling lord and his delicate, graceful lady.

'_Mr. Pavel.' _

'_Lord Krum.'_

'_I trust you are comfortable here?'_

'_Very, thank you.'_

'_Our healer is coming. Then the three of us vill talk, and Seneschal Malfoy.'_

'_Your seneschal and I have spoken at some length. He strikes a hard bargain.'_

Both lord and lady smiled. He was, judged Pavel, almost handsome when he did that, and his eyes softened whenever he looked at the girl. The girl's eyes hadn't left her…whatever they were to one another… since he'd entered. Interesting, that.

'_Drago is a reasonable man, Pavel, and so am I. Ve took your bargain, and now you need to help us.'_

'_What can I do?'_

'_Your men burnt villages and hurt vimen, beside from taking men illegally_.'

'_Yes.'_

'_Ve vant a list of names, the vons guilty of that.'_

'_All of them?'_

'_How many?'_

'_Perhaps five hundred.'_

'_Give us fifty to start. The heads choosing out the vons they remember, and the Estonians, the Albanians, some others.'_

'_Did the seneschal mention what I told your Estonian friend?'_

'_Vhich part?'_

'_My people didn't do that.'_

'_Somevon did.'_

Pavel shrugged one shouldered. '_Some of it really was spontaneous uprising amongst the populations in those countries.'_

'_There vas a…*prime mover*.'_

'_I don't know his name.'_

The girl looked thoughtful. _'Could you find it out?'_

'_I…perhaps. May I ask?'_

The girl smiled. '_No, Mr. Pavel_.'

The bowl of soup was nearly empty, and an elf refilled it without comment. The two seemed to be communication with one another through some unspoken language; as a werewolf, Pavel's sense of these things was heightened, but even he couldn't smell this one out.

'_Your dogs are as fine as I was led to believe.'_

'_Thank you. Ve didn't lose von during the battle.'_ The dog, knowing she was being discussed, nuzzled his hand, grumbling happily. The boy smiled and said something in Bulgarian, which prompted her to sit, watching.

'_I give you fifty and the rest go free?'_

'_No.'_

'_You can't mean to keep them here.'_

'_Not all.' _The girl looked serious. Her…whatever…nodded agreement, English style. Pavel looked at his hands as subtly as possible and saw the gleam of a ring on the right one. Married, then. Most interesting, indeed.

'_Then what do you intend to do?'_

'_Ve bind them to us. They fight for us now. Ve give them a home after.'_

Pavel almost couldn't credit it. '_You're offering my men asylum?'_

'_If they fight for us, we are.'_ The girl sounded calmly sure of herself. How much of her mother was there behind the smiles and the polite conversation?

'_And me?'_

'_We'll repatriate you to Romania, after you've testified.'_

'_I won't betray my country.'_

'_Ve vouldn't ask you. Ve vant you to talk about Stefan in front of Conclave. Vould make easier for us to claim lands.'_

Pavel relaxed. _'Of course.'_

The actual listing of names wasn't as hard as he'd thought it would be. Pavel couldn't remember every one who'd participated in the villages, but he gave them the mad dogs, the scum, the sorts who would do such a thing. An elf noted the names in English and Bulgarian, and then vanished with a bow. Lady Krum rose and took the emptied bowl.

'_We'll speak more later, Mr. Pavel. The healer will be up to get you ready to travel.'_

'_Travel?'_

'_This isn't over.'_ The girl was resigned, but he sensed no eagerness for battle in her, no longing for bloodshed. He'd seen her mother hack a swathe in his men at the Ministry, and her father and uncles as well.

'_It isn't, it is?'_

'_Never._' The lord rose and lady proceeded him out, dog staying to watch him with eyes that missed nothing. Pavel settled back and shut his eyes, willing himself to sleep.

If history (or History, it seems appropriate to use the proper noun form) failed to record the small and important details of the siege of Castle Krum, it spent, in later generations, quite a lot of time on the next parts of things.

First and foremost, the first private army in Wizarding Europe was created that night, just before one, when Viktor, lord Krum and his wife accepted the vows of well over five thousand werewolves, all at once, and swore in return to give them shelter and refuge until the end of time.

Motioning for their new vassals to rise, the lord and lady turned to the next task at hand, the execution of nearly two hundred werewolves for crimes against the defenseless tenants of the Krum and Borev land. The fifty Pavel had yielded up went first, hanged from the walls, and then the others that had been chosen as guilty by the people they'd victimized. Three hundred would escape punishment, at least at the moment, but Viktor silently conceded that this was the best he could do.

They died bravely, as these things go, spitting and cursing, led to their end by their former fellows and hanged with the minimum possible ceremony. As lord, it was Viktor's right to judge guilt or innocence, and for the second time he found himself impassively watching as wolves died at his word, not in battle but in a colder, more personal way.

Beside him on the dais, his wife and in-laws were impassive. Hermione was still dressed as a boy, but she'd changed into clean clothes, and smelt, incongruously, of roses. She tilted her head at him, not quite smiling.

Beside them as well the heads of various groups, and a handful of monitors, Prefects and assistants from Beauxbatons. They had found no wolves which they recognized, but that struck most of them as fine. If Malfoy could raise an army, he could find them their wolves.

History also doesn't record what happened between their leaving of the castle, and its garrison of conscripts, the badly injured and old people, and heading for the ships. Because the ships would not hold them all (and Sweden wouldn't have sent more had they been able, which, because the borders were still closed, they weren't), Viktor had sent elves to every possible place, and every vassal, whether Krum or Borev, and so, when they ascended at four thirty, the twenty five ships were followed by a motley assortment of carriages, carts, flying carpets, brooms and all sorts of other things. Included in the tally were fifty one dogs, their mail coats carefully packed and carried by elves.

It still was not enough. Many of the stronger tenants and the professional aurors Apparated to the meeting place, just outside Sofia, and established a perimeter. It was very quiet. Many of them, having seen their wives and children, were content to go. Their families would be taken care of, and that sufficed them for the moment.

On the flagship, the family split up. Hermione and her mother and aunt took the first small cabin (being warships, the rooms were essentially closets, but rank has its privileges, even so), whilst Viktor and the men took the second and third, and Borev was locked in the forth.

Tamm, after serious debate, had been carried gently to the cabin and laid in the bed. Likely he would be safer with them, where at least he would not try to follow. He was still dozing, tossing and turning a bit.

The two older boys, exhausted beyond words, crawled in on either side of him, pretending by mutual consent he was Ivan. '_Viktor?'_

'_Hmm?'_

'_It's really strange you're married, you know that?'_

Viktor nodded, missing Hermione's soft warmth and the way she sometimes murmured in her sleep. He wished they were curled in the big bed in the master bedroom, just the two of them, and the dogs.

'_Feels strange. But a good strange, I vould call it.'_

'_Yes, well. I shan't have to duel you, at least.'_

'_I can sleep, then.'_

'_Ha bloody ha. Mother took it well, didn't you think?'_

'_Should I be vorried?'_

'_Yes_.' Draco was glad that they'd brought sleeping furs, and tugged them higher, making sure Tamm was well covered. They'd stuck his hands to his belly to make sure he didn't fiddle with his bandage.

'_Have a nap, Drago. Ve might not sleep again for a long time_.'

Draco nodded. He put down his head, closed his eyes and was asleep at once.

Next door, Hermione was snuggling under bedfurs just like the boys had. She had nearly forgot how good it felt to just lie still and cuddle. She and Viktor cuddled every night, of course, but that was different. She blushed a bit, thinking on the difference, and nestled into the bed.

'_Mother?_'

Bellatrix was sitting in the corner, face set. Hermione tried to sit up and found she was too dizzy; days of no sleep and little food had taken their toll. Bellatrix noticed too, and rose, frowning.

'_How long has it been since you slept, girl?'_

'_A long time.'_

'_Well, right to sleep, then.'_

Hermione laid back and shut her eyes, but her stomach was roiling. Did she dare ask Mother to let her put her head in her lap? Was Mother very angry with her? Part of her felt like she shouldn't be worried, after everything they'd been through, but she found she did. She needed to know Mother loved her still.

'_Are you very angry, Mother?'_

'_Yes.'_

'_At us?'_

'_No.' _Bellatrix sat down on the tiny, narrow bunk and roughly stroked her daughter's cheek. _'Thought I told you to sleep, girl.'_

The girl caught her hand. '_I'm all right.'_

'_Liar.'_

'_Are you tired, Mother?'_

Bellatrix understood, and swished her wand at the bunk, which stretched out enough for her to snuggle between her daughter and the wall, which was freezing cold anyway. She cast a quick warming charm on it to make sure it didn't wake Hermione once she'd got up.

'_Where's Aunt Cissy?'_

'_With your uncle. No accounting for taste, I say.'_

'_Mother!'_

'_You know, girl…I…this is not right.'_

'_What's not?'_

'_**This**__.'_

'_Oh.'_ Hermione wasn't a hundred percent sure what Mother meant, but she was awfully tired. That must have been it, she was tired.

'_And it's…all right…between the two of you? Being married?'_

Hermione went pink but nodded. '_S'not like what I thought.'_

'_No?'_

'_It's nice.'_

Bellatrix pulled her daughter against her. _'You understand everything?'_

'_Mmm hmm. Didn't hurt.'_

'_I am glad to hear that.'_ She was, too, but she wasn't wholly sure she believed that. Not emotionally, not deep down. She kissed the top of Hermione's head.

'_Go to sleep, sweetheart.'_

Hermione, who was half asleep already, grinned, and went fully into dreams feeling like everything might be all right, after all.


	81. Chapter 81

**A/N: Love to reviewers and to Countess Black**

**Special thanks to my friend K for looking this over for me :)**

**Minor grammatical note: 'Nene' is Albanian, found via dictionary. Unfortunately, I can't figure out how to put the proper diacritical marks over each of the 'e's, so be aware that it's an unintentional misspelling.**

Anu Tamm was having one of the strangest days of his life. He'd woken with the vague idea he was moving, and tried to roll over, only to find his hands wouldn't work, and his eye itched fiercely. He tried to raise a hand to scratch it but found he couldn't, and opened theone that didn't itch to see the ceiling of a strange, ill lit room. He could hear voices speaking in a language he thought might be English. The voices had paused, and Malfoy, very close to his ear, said '*_Anu?*'_

He'd nodded. '_*Where are we?*'_

_'*We're on a ship en route to Sofia.*'_

_'*Is there going to be more fighting?*'_

_'*Yes.*' _Anu looked round and tried to move his hand again. He couldn't. '_*Why can't I move my hands?*'_

_'*We stuck them to your stomach so you couldn't pull your bandage off.*' _The other voice, from above his head, was the Superintendent's. Anu tipped his head up and tried to see, but that was his bad side.

_'*What's wrong with my eye?*'_

_'*Do you remember the battle, Anu?*'_

_'* I hit that sonofabitch werewolf with my torch. Sorry, Malfoy.*' _Malfoy frowned and mumbled something about soap but said nothing else. The Superintendent's voice seemed slightly amused, just a bit. '_*Besides that.*'_

'_*Someone gave me a goblet of water and wine. I didn't have any, I can't, so I set it down and... then what?*'_

_'*You took a hex in the face.*'_

_'*From the wolf?*'_

_'*From my uncle, probably. The wolf turned on Stefan. Stefan didn't like that.*'_

_'*How long until my eye is better, do you think?*'_

Both older boys went still. Anu could hear sounds he'd never paid attention to before; feet on the wooden deck, shouts, creaking. He quite liked ships, he decided, and looked at Malfoy with his good eye.

_'*It shan't. You've lost the eye, Anu.*' _Superintendent sounded sorry, and tired. Very tired. Anu wanted to roll and look at him, but he couldn't. Malfoy unstuck his hands, at least, and he slowly levered himself up and then fell back, dizzier than he'd ever been.

_'*Are you all right?*'_

_'*Dizzy.*'_

The Superintendent moved, snapped his fingers, and Anu heard a pop, like Apparation. A thin little voice spoke from above him. _'*Milord?*_'

_'*Snetzka, could you bring us something to eat? And some potion for Tamm?*'_

This time Malfoy helped him, and they all sat up. Anu tried to position himself so he could see both the other boys, but it was impossible. His peripheral version simply wasn't up to the task.

The elf came back with bowls of hot porridge and cold milk to drink. All three fell to like they'd never eaten before, and each had another bowl before they'd finished. The elf was watching them, standing just in Anu's field of vision, and helped him take his phial. It stopped the painful, burning itch, at least.

The bigger problem was that he had to think about things now. It took him three tries to hit his bowl with his spoon, and even then, he sometimes splashed milk or didn't quite hit his mouth. He was glad the others were ignoring it, because it was embarrassing.

_'*Masters is needing anything else?*'_

_'*No, Snetzka, but thank you.*'_

_'*Is that elf yours?*'_

_'*Snetzka is belonging to Castle Krum. Serving nineteen lord Krums.*'_ The elf looked proud, and the Superintendent's voice, from above Tamm's head, sounded fond and a little abashed this time.

_'*Snetzka, is lady Krum still sleeping?*'_

_'*Milady is being with Madam Bellatrix and Madam Narcissa. Snetzka is asking milady to come?*'_

_'*I'll go to her. Just check to see whether it's a good time, please.*' _The elf bowed and vanished. Krum rose, tugging on his boots. '*_Drago, would you mind meeting with the captain? I'd like an update. And if you could ask whether anyone's heard from the people on the ground?*'_

Malfoy, too, rose and donned his boots and heavy outer clothes. Anu tried to move forward without help and swayed dangerously, stomach roiling. The potion had helped, but the rocking of the ship, combined with the sudden change in his vision made it hard to find his centre of balance.

_'*You're staying here, Tamm. If I should find you someplace other than that bed, I'll be upset with you.*' _The Superintendent stepped into his line of sight and frowned sharply, and Anu laid back. He'd never slept under such warm blankets, and if he didn't like being made to stay in the room, at least he was comfortable. The elf appeared and made it clear she was watching him.

Anu's Nene always said a person should make the best of things, so he put his arm under his head and said '*_Have you really served nineteen lords, Madam Elf_?*'

It was the right question to ask. As the older lads left, the elf was proudly recounting her lifetime of experiences to an interested audience of one. Satisfied that Tamm was being watched, they slipped away.

Across the ship, another person was trying out his air legs. Lemuel Scabior was used to walking quietly, and he sidled up behind Lestrange without a word. His boss spun, wand raised and then subsided with a small sigh of mingled annoyance and amusement.

_'Lemuel, really.'_

_'Sorry, Boss.'_

_'Hmmph. How have you been?'_

_'Well, thanks, Boss. An you?'_

_'I've been better, but...well, things have a way of looking up, don't you think?'_

_'I opes so. Ow is it at ome?'_

_'It's...that's a complicated question, Lemuel. But I know you're missed, and Rice sends you his regards.'_

_'Is lil girl is big now, yeah?'_

_'Quite. He brought her to the Ministry the other day. Cute as a bug's ear.'_

_'I jus bet. Boss, you know, I'm rite sorry about...things.'_

Rodolphus knew at once. _'I don't blame you. That was...no one's fault, I would say.'_

_'For what it's worth, I thinks e loves her with is 'ole eart_.'

_'I think he does as well.' _Rodolphus lifted his head as the ship moved slightly to port to accommodate the currents of the wind from the mountains. He was, Scabior noticed, holding the railing hard enough that his hands were shaking ever so slightly.

_'Boss?'_

_'I...everything changes, doesn't it?'_

Scabior assumed he was upset about the girl. He would be, had it been him. Perhaps he ought to let the man work through it in private? He murmured something about checking on the others and slipped away as gracefully as he'd come.

Snape watched him go. He tugged his thick cloak tighter about his neck and descended, bypassing the hold, crammed with fighters, and heading toward the cabins at the back. He passed the younger Malfoy and nearly bumped into Krum, who, for all his gracelessness on land, could move softly.

_'My lord Krum. I understand you are to be congratulated.'_

The lad grinned. _'Qvite so. I am a very lucky man, Snape.'_

_'No doubt. Perhaps we could speak at your convenience?'_

Krum seemed to consider_. 'I tell Hermione I am coming, but ve take a few moments. After, vould you look at Tamm's eye?'_

_'I will. Have you told him?'_

_'Yes. He vas too qviet. Not upset.'_

_'In shock, I should think.'_

The lad looked older in some indefinable way. _'I hate to vrite his mother and tell her.'_

_'I would be glad to.'_

_'Thank you, but Herm-on-knee-nee or I, ve should do it. Ve have thirty four more to do beside.' _His tone implied he suspected that was not nearly it, which was true.

Snape nodded. _'Have you a list of the names yet?'_

_'Diggory and Thomas are vorking on it. Mostly it vas Beauxbatons students, or Hogvarts.'_

The Dark Lord, he thought dourly, would love that, wouldn't he? Snape shoved the thought away and looked at the lad, taller than he now by a few inches. _'Feathering's training has paid off, then?'_

_'Yes. Ve are good at vhat ve do, Professor.'_

_'Of that, my lord Krum, I have never had occasion to doubt_.' Snape bowed and went to see to the Albanian whilst his apprentice spymaster (was he now? Snape wondered whether the lad was beyond his machinations) went to find his wife.

Viktor wasn't precisely sure he thought knocking a good idea, given how his mother-in-law had reacted to the news of his marriage, but he couldn't call Snetzka away from Tamm, and so he steeled himself. Part of him felt silly-he'd killed werewolves, and he was afraid of calling on three ladies?

Well, said the more pragmatic part of his brain, none of those wolves were Bellatrix Lestrange, were they? That was true, certainly, but it didn't change the need to knock, and so that's what he did.

The door flew open at once, and Mother was staring up him, eye makeup smeared from lying down. _'Hermione is sleeping_.'

_'Oh. I should come back?_' Technically speaking, he could insist, and because he was Hermione's husband, his rights would theoretically win out. In practice, he knew Hermione was as tired as he, and he had the distinct sense that one did not demand anything of Bellatrix Lestrange and win.

_'No. No, she'd want me to wake her.'_

_'Mother? Are you vell?' _They both stepped into the tiny room, which was too small for two adults, let alone four.

_'Well? No, I...I'm fine. Yourself? How's the little boy?'_

_'He is avake but doesn't understand yet, I think. Are you angry vith me?'_

_'Angry?'_

_'Ve are married. It vas my idea. Please do not be angry vith Herm-on-nee-knee. Vas all my fault.'_

His mother-in-law said nothing for a very long moment. _'I find it hard to believe, boy, you somehow talked my daughter into this. Hermione's too stubborn and too clever.'_

_'She is, yes.'_

His mother-in-law nodded firmly, point proved_. 'And she wouldn't have done it if she didn't think it for the best.'_

_'I know.'_

_'So don't' _she wagged a finger at him, despite coming up to his chest, _'try and be noble with me. I know my daughter too well for that.'_

Hermione, hearing her name, murmured and turned over. Her mother immediately sat down and tugged the furs higher on her neck. _'Girl, shhh_.' Hermione's lashes were fluttering, and her eyes opened. _'Hello, Mother. Viktor_!'

_'Hello, Herm-on-nee-knee. How vas your sleep?' _He sat in the chair next to the bed, and Hermione sat too, grinning, and moved closer to him. They didn't quite dare touch one another, but both women noticed how they turned to one another like sunflowers, angling toward the other person.

Narcissa swallowed hard. _'Trixie, let's you and I take a walk.'_

_'It's freezing out.'_

_'Bellatrix.'_

_'Fine, Cissy, but only for a moment.' _She donned her cloak and boots and glared as Narcissa did likewise, stopping to speak to the children for a moment, and then stepped out in the corridor with her.

_'Well?'_

_'Bellatrix, they're married now.'_

_'And?'_

Narcissa had a fragile look that Bellatrix recognised as the sign she was trying not to cry. _'Don't, Trixie, don't make this harder.'_

_'Make what harder? They're tired. They need...need...'_

_'Trixie.' _Narcissa inhaled deeply and bent so her lips were next to her sister's. _'They're alive. What more could we ask?_' She thought of thirty four corpses, draped in sheets and left in the cellar of Castle Krum under stasis and shuddered.

Bellatrix relaxed a fraction. _'Yes._' She looked down, and her sister wished she could help Trixie, who was so stubborn and so angry, through this. She couldn't. They had made their bed, and now they'd have to lie in it, like it or no.

_'Cissy? You're shaking. Told it was too cold to be tromping about out here_.'

_'He sold Hermione, Trixie. How long until he sells Draco?_' A year? Two? He'd take the Mark-they'd always known, as long as there was a Mark to take, that her son would take it when he was old enough-but now she saw it less as a destiny and more as marking a lamb for the slaughter.

Narcissa loved Hermione. She loved Viktor. But they had been preternaturally lucky, and she knew that they could flee to Bulgaria and be beyond the reach of the Dark Lord. Her son could not.

Bellatrix was utterly still. Narcissa had never feared violence from her sister, beyond the occasional smack to the thigh or box on the ear when she was small. Now she wondered whether her sister would snap and harm her. For Hermione's sake? The Dark Lord's? Whom?

_'No, Cissy.'_

_'No?'_

_'No one will ever hurt the children again_.' Bellatrix's voice was rough. She reached up and took her sister's head, drawing it to her chest. _'Never again.'_

_'Never.' _

They walked off together. There had been no formal ceremony, no Marks, no vows. But they felt, all the same, the weight of their resolution, like it was burnt into their souls.

Draco's tasks took quite a bit longer than he might have thought. He'd briefly spoken to Diggory, whom he'd known slightly from Quidditch, and Thomas, the Beauxbatons Prefect. They'd given him the list, and he felt morbid carrying it about.

The captain had been a good deal more polite than previously, but had little more information than they did. To avoid been seen, they were taking the long way to Sofia, and he anticipated setting down sometime around eleven PM. Draco thanked him and then headed back to find Viktor to let him know.

Viktor was currently busy. He was sighing with relaxation as his wife's hands gently smoothed the large muscles at the back of his neck. She dug a little harder and he leant back a bit, smiling.

'Better?'

'Much, thank you. How was your sleep?'

'Good. Mother is grumpy.'

'Oh?'

'Doesn't like...things.'

He laid back and raised a brow. 'What things?'

Hermione inhaled deeply. Eyes darting to the door, she cast Muffliliato and then a translation charm. '_*She feels betrayed, I should think.*'_

_'*I can't blame her.*'_

_'*Nor I. The Dark Lord...they spent ten years in Azkaban, Viktor.*'_

_'*They deserved more from him than this.*'_

_'*Yes.*' _She closed her eyes a moment, sighing, and then opened her eyes. _'*What shall we do when we arrive, do you think?*'_

_'*Take the Ministry and assemble the Conclave. Once we've legitimised the war, we march on Castle Dinev.*'_

_'*Yes, but I mean...what do we do after that?*'_

Viktor looked at the ceiling. The last occupant had stuck a picture of some mountains on it. He watched a bird flap lazily into the picture, and dive down to retrieve a fish from a pretty little lake.

_'*You mean once it's all over?*'_

_'*Yes. If that happens, you'll have united the country, won't you?*'_

_'*Potentially.*'_

'_*What shall you do with it?*'_

_'*What do you think I should do?*'_

Hermione nestled closer, dizzy with love and the clean wool smell of her husband. '_*Hold everything together. Romania tried once. They will again.*'_

_'*It will humiliate them when we send Pavel back. I hope it would discourage them, at least for a while.*_'

Hermione shook her head immediately. '*_They can claim he's a malcontent, or that they never told him to go that far. Stefan might well lend credence to that. Why would someone backed by a legitimate government need to rely on the likes of him? No offence.*'_

_'*None taken. What should we do?*'_

Hermione kissed his cheek lightly. '_*If Romania will attack us, smaller countries would be at even greater risk. We've a standing army now, haven't we?*'_

_'*You think we should form an alliance against Romania?*'_

_'*An alliance. If they see we're all together, well...*'_

He nodded slowly. '*_The wolves won't want to-a lot of them are Romanian nationals.*'_

_'*Offer to let Pavel stay. He could be headman of his own village.*'_

'_*Britain would never tolerate that, love. The Dark Lord wants Pavel.*'_

_'*The Dark Lord abandoned us all to die.*'_

Both of them stared at the other. Hermione had gooseflesh on her arms, but her eyes didn't waver a bit. Viktor felt his skin crawling a little at what was being suggested.

_'*We can't fight Britain and Romania. A two front war would kill us. And we don't know which way France and the others will go.*'_

_'*No. And my parents...*'_

_'*Yes. Not now, at any rate. But later...*'_

Hermione nodded. _'*Viktor?*'_

_'*Hmm?*'_

_'*Once everything's settled down, why don't we invite the Ropions to visit us?*'_

_'*And the others?*'_

_'*Of course. Uncle Lucius was very keen to speak to Mr. Ropion, I think.*'_

_'*That sounds good. Perhaps he'd be interested in meeting some of my friends from Durmstrang.*'_

_'*I think so, too.*' _They laid side by side in the bunk, feeling the ship moving, and plotted treachery and counter-treachery. They were fourteen and sixteen years old.

Draco was preparing to knock on the door when he heard the faint humming and stepped away like the door was in flames. He went next door and let himself in. Tamm was propped up on pillows, bright eyed. '_*Hello, Malfoy.*'_

_'*You're supposed to be sleeping, Tamm.*'_

_'*I slept for hours. Was it all right? When you went out?*'_

_'*It was fine. Cold, though.*' _He sat down and tugged at his boots. Tamm watched him. _'*Malfoy?*'_

_'*Hmm?*'_

_'*Were you afraid? When we were fighting, I mean.*'_

Draco wondered what he was supposed to do. Did Tamm want to be reassured or told the truth? Which did he want to do? '_*Some of the time. Mainly I was angry.*_'

'_*Me, too. Scared and angry.*_' Tamm reached up to run a finger over his bandage. _'*I was afraid my Nene would be alone if I died.*' _Draco heard the word as 'Mum' and Viktor would have heard 'Mama' but the meaning, at any rate, was clear enough.

The boots finally yielded, and Draco settled next to Tamm, who scooted to give him room and tugged up the corner of the blanket. Draco crawled under to warm the kid with his body heat. Tamm wriggled to offer some of his pillows and Draco shook his head and simply conjured his own. '*_Your mother would be very worried, Anu, if she knew what was happening.*'_

_'*I know.*' _Tamm looked sad, tugging the blankets higher. _'*She's going to be upset about my eye.*'_

_'*I daresay. Did Professor Snape come and see you?*'_

_'*He did.*' _Tamm rested against his pillows. _'*He said I ought to get the hiding of my life for sneaking off and following.*'_

Draco laughed. That was Snape, all right. He tugged the blankets higher. Long nap or no, he wanted to sleep a bit more before they landed. He felt better but not like himself, and he didn't want to think about the list in his pocket.

_'*Do you think so?*'_

Draco rolled to make sure Tamm would see him. '_*I don't know, Anu. What do you think you deserve?*'_

Tamm frowned thoughtfully. _'*I know I shouldn't have come. And I, well, I lied to Madam Feathering.*'_

_'*Lied?*'_

_'*I told her I was just taking a walk with a couple of chums. Do you suppose she's very angry with me?' _Tamm frowned, seemingly quite concerned.

_'*I would think she's more worried than angry.*'_

Tamm frowned more deeply, brow wrinkling, slightly creasing his bandage. '_*I hope not.*_' After a moment: _'*She's very pretty, isn't she? Madam, I mean.*'_

Draco thought of her as Aunt Hetty, which disqualified her from prettiness of any but the least erotic sort. Still he could tell Tamm didn't feel the same, and he said gravely _'*She's a very kind and gentle lady, as well.*'_

_'*She's always nice to me. Your aunt. She let me carry her basket once when she was gathering flowers.*'_

Draco hid a smile. It was good for Tamm to get to do those things; he had, Draco perceived, a hunger for approval. It would serve him well, if only he could be taught how to use it to advance himself. Perhaps he'd talk to Snape.

_'*I'd like a wife like her someday. One that's nice, I mean. And pretty. To help Nene.*'_

_'*You've a while before you have to worry, Anu.*'_

Tamm was quiet for quite a while, almost until Draco thought he was asleep. Instead, he spoke again. _'*Kask's sister is nice, too. She patted me on the shoulder in Skopje. What does it mean that she's ruined?*'_

Draco picked his head up. '_*Who told you that?*'_

_'*Meripa said it, and Vata told him to shut his damned fool mouth. Sorry_.*'

_'*It means the wolves...well, it's complicated.*'_

_'*Did they do the baby-thing with her?*'_

_'*Anu, you must never, never mention this to Kask or his sister.*'_

**'*I wouldn't.*' **He sounded affronted at the whole suggestion, and Draco, mimicking Father, clapped his shoulder. _'*Of course you wouldn't.*'_

_'*Is that what ruined means, though?*'_

_'*Yes.*'_

_'*Does it always ruin a woman?*'_

_'*No. It's hard to explain.*'_

_'*Why?*'_

'_*It just is. I don't...would you like me to ask one of my uncles to speak about this with you? Or my father?*'_

_'*Don't want to be a bother.*'_

_'*They'd be happy, Anu. They did for me, after all.*'_

Suddenly Tamm was gulping. '_*It's not right!*'_

Draco wished he was elsewhere. He didn't know how to fix this, or make it better, and it was getting harder and not easier. He awkwardly patted Tamm's shoulder. '_*What's not?*'_

_'*People shouldn't hurt other people!*'_

_'*No, they shouldn't.*'_

Tamm cried harder. '_*I lied to Madam and I sneaked off and everyone is upset and I almost made Nene live alone!*_' He somehow ended up pressed against Draco, who was still trying to calm him down when Viktor slipped back in.

_'*Drago?*'_

Draco shook his head, and Viktor nodded once and sat at the foot of the bed. _'*Anu, calm down.*'_

_'*S-sorry, sorry!*' _He was only crying from his right eye. The left was too damaged, the tear duct obliterated by the curse that had taken the eye. The pressure was building behind in his sinuses, and that added to his sense of terrible things happening.

Viktor had more experience dealing with crying children, and simply sat near the boy, letting him calm down at his own rate. Tamm got it under control quickly, and sat scrubbing his hand against his eye in an embarrassed way.

_'*I need to speak to Malfoy, Tamm. Why don't you rest a bit, all right?*_'

Tamm nodded at once. He wanted some time to come back to himself, and was quite sleepy besides. He shut his good eye and Viktor flicked his wand to bring the covers up more tightly against the younger lad.

The other two cast a Silencing bubble about themselves. _'How did it go, Drago?'_

Draco handed over the list. _'A few of ours, but not many of them. Thank God.'_

_'Yes. And the captain?'_

_'No word from the ground.'_

Viktor nodded. Draco explained what had transpired between he and Tamm. Viktor nodded tiredly, running a hand through his hair. _'What did you tell him?'_

_'I'm going to ask one of the uncles to speak to him. I can't...I mean, I have no personal experience.'_

_'Sounds like you did vell vith him.'_

_'He's a good kid. He takes things damned seriously.'_

_'Remind me of another boy I knew. Told me he vould duel me if I hurt his cousin.'_

Draco sat up straighter. _'Still will.'_

_'He vas very serious, too. Punched me once, even.'_

_'And would again, if you needed it.'_

_'Is vhy you are seneschal. You are honest vith Herm-on-nee-knee and me.'_

_'Can I honestly tell you I think Tamm should be directing his questions to you?'_

_'No. I have had a turn vith that. Is your turn now.'_

_'You've experience with these matters, though.'_

_'Mmm hmm.' _Viktor tilted his head and looked at Draco until he dropped his eyes, blushing.

_'Is it...I mean...?' _He was glad Hermione was married to someone he liked as well as Viktor, but it did make it awkward. He was insatiably curious about all things related to women, but he didn't want to overstep his bounds.

Viktor clapped his shoulder and swished a translation spell so they would understand one another clearly. '_*When you love someone...it's sharing yourself with them. All of yourself.*'_

_'*Does it hurt the woman, though?*'_

_'*The medi-wizard will give you something, and her something.*'_

_'*You know, I thought my aunt would kill you.*'_

_'*So did I.*'_

And he answered Draco's questions until they heard the cry that indicated Sofia was in sight, and the attack would shortly begin.


	82. Chapter 82

**A/N: Love to reviewers and Countess Black**

**Thanks again to K for her help.**

**'High Street' in British English is the main drag, analogous to Main Street for Americans. Hermione just means the major street in the area.**

In England, the women were in the parlour. It was very, very quiet. The only sound was the rocking of Edric's cradle as the nurse elf put him to sleep. Outside, the children were playing in the snow. They could hear them. Barty was with them, but even he was morose and quiet, hardly saying anything.

When the Floo went green, Eugenia leapt up, wand fixed on the fireplace, rigid. Lyudmilla jumped up too, prepared to defend Edric. Even Cunegarde brandished her wand in one shaking, age spotted hand.

It was Rookwood. He bowed and, moving slowly, handed over a water damaged package of letters tied with a tatted piece of twine. Lyudmilla went white and sat down, her legs refusing to hold her any longer.

'Madam Lestrange, the Dark Lord sends his compliments. These letters arrived for Madam Krum and yourself late last night.'

Eugenia took them. 'Thank you, Mr. Rookwood. Something to drink?'

'No, Madam, but thank you. I am needed in London.' He was gone nearly as rapidly as he'd come. Eugenia cut the twine with a small pen knife her maid handed her and then took the letters in English, handing the others to Lyudmilla.

Elisaveta rose silently and went to stand next to her kinswoman. No matter which way the cards fell, she'd lost someone she loved. Lyudmilla, determined to end the woman's agony as swiftly as she could, opened the letter and swished a translation spell.

'*They're alive!*'

The group exhaled as one, a sigh that reached the ceiling and seemed to travel upward. Lyudmilla read the rest of it, the small glimmer of hope quietly dying as they realised how terribly grim things really were.

'_*Zdrasta*' _said Eugenia very softly '*_Bring Master Martin, please. He needs to know.*'_

Martin Krum came immediately, as though he'd been waiting to be summoned from the Embassy. Perhaps he had. He bowed and then waited, eyes dull. '_*My son?*'_

_'*Alive. Castle Krum still stands. The others as well.*'_

The man sagged visibly. '*_Oh, thank God_.*'

Lyudmilla handed him his letters, which he tucked into his tunic without opening them. _'*Thank you, dear.*'_

_'*Martin, aren't you going to open them_?*'

Martin shook his head. '*_It is enough to know my son is alive for right now. His last words might wait a little.*' _He wanted to spend a little time celebrating that his son was, officially, alive, before he began the inevitable grieving of his death, starting with his last words.

He was not the only one. In Bulgaria, the son he was grieving kissed his wife on the forehead and then turned round to see Tamm, who went violently scarlet and dropped his head almost to his chest.

_'*H'lo, Miss. Superintendent. Malfoy says for me to me to tell you the meeting's almost ready to start.*'_

Viktor half wanted to tell the younger boy off for not making himself known, but he supposed the boy wouldn't have done such a thing on purpose. Instead, he nodded and tapped Tamm's shoulder.

_'*And you will be...?*' _He'd given Tamm stern instructions about what he was to do at the first sign of trouble.

_'*Here, Superintendent.*'_

_'*And if you are not?*'_

_'*You will be very, very unhappy with me.*' _Tamm sounded glum, but Viktor nodded approvingly. _'*Your job is to watch for any owls from the castle, Anu. We need to know how it is there.*'_

'_*I know.*_' Hermione gave him a smile and he blushed harder. She dropped her head and murmured. '*_Keep Snetzka busy, won't you, Anu? She worries so.*'_

The lord and lady walked, hand in hand, to the officer's mess, which was the command centre of the enterprise. Neither of them even really noticed everyone standing when they came in.

_'*Hello, everyone. Any word from the castle?*'_

_'*Gruev sent an owl, my lord. Everything is fine.*'_

Viktor waited for Hermione to be seated before he was. _'*And the wolves?*_'

_'*Also fine. Pavel chatted my ear off.*' _Penko's expression implied that this was perhaps not his preferred way to spend time. Viktor grinned at his uncle.

_'*Thank you for watching him for us.*'_

_'*My pleasure. I know ever so much about Romanian sports teams now.*' _The table chuckled a bit, more at the tone than the words, then fell to business.

'_*Uncle, you know the most about Sofia. Perhaps you could give us some insights?*'_

Penko spread his hands. '*_I've got maps and such, but that shouldn't be much of a problem. The problem is going to be the large corp of British trained aurors garrisoning the Ministry.*'_

_'*Flying over is right out?*_' Lucius Malfoy steepled his fingers, and bent his neck, which had a vicious crick in it from sleeping upright. Across the table, Bellatrix made a face that implied she thought he'd asked a stupid question. Or simply objected to him on principle; darling Trixie was so hard to read sometimes, thank God.

_'*Until we've got the Ministry it is. Otherwise they'll shoot us down on sight.*'_

_'*What about the ones on brooms and such?*'_

_'*They're hanging back to cover our retreat, should we need one. Of course, we need to get in before that's an issue.*'_

_'*What about a ruse?*_' Draco, who found he couldn't quite look at his cousin, sat up straighter. The others turned their eyes to him and he found it felt just fine. He wished they'd throw another damned log on the fire, though.

_'*What sort of ruse, Draco?*'_

_'*They don't know the wolves have turned.*'_

_'*No*' _said Rumen thoughtfully '_*they don't, do they_?*'

Hermione stopped gnawing her lip. '_*It would look odd, all those wolves traipsing down the High Street toward the Ministry. Wouldn't it?*'_

Penko nodded. '_*Dinev is smart. He might see it as some sort of coup.*'_

_'*What if it was?*_' Everyone turned to Rabastan in surprise. He tugged his cloak more tightly about himself (Swedish thriftiness his arse, throw a damned log on already) and look at the others.

_'*We use them as a diversion whilst others sneak into the Ministry and mount the actual coup. We capture Dinev, negotiate terms with him and then go from there.*'_

Nods. Rodolphus smiled approvingly at his baby brother, seeing the scabby little fellow with a toy broom in his hands, asking him to come and play.

'*_How do we know he'll be there?*' _That from Hermione.

_'*If he isn't there already-and I presume he is, with foreign combatants on Bulgarian soil- he'll Floo in at the first sign of trouble_.*'

'_*It's a good idea, Uncle. We'd need to implement it in steps.*' _Viktor called an elf and asked him to put another log on. The room gained five degrees at once.

'*_Logically, the first step is deciding who will lead the diversionary force_.*' Lucius' mind was working at lightening speed, trying to figure the mechanics of the thing out.

'*_In different circumstances, I would say Pavel, but that obviously isn't an option here.*'_

Hermione suddenly grinned. '*_Or is it?*'_

_'*Darling?*'_

_'*We've got Pavel, and Stefan's head. What if Polyjuiced some of our people?*'_

Snape gave her a slight tilt of his head, which meant he approved in theory but not in practice. '*_Where would we get the Polyjuice, lady Krum? I haven't got any with me, and I can't imagine the castle had much on hand_.*'

_'*None.*' _Rumen knew the stores nearly as well as his wife, and anyway, most people didn't keep that sort of thing about. It would be dangerous.

Penko thoughtfully picked a cuticle. '*_There's enough potions shops in the commercial quarters, God knows.*'_

_'*There's loads of potions at my house, but it's the same thing in the end, Krum.*'_

_'*No, it isn't. We could get in and come back out, if we moved lightly. And quickly.*'_

_'*What about the aurors?*'_

Scabior spoke for the first time. '*_You leaves that t me, Boss. I kin gets us in an out, if Mr. Krum'll elps me find the way.*'_

_'*If you didn't mind, Scabior, I was thinking you could lead the raid on the Ministry.*'_

_'*Oh, I kin do that too, milord.*'_

_'*Mother? You'd be willing as well, wouldn't you?*'_

Bellatrix gave her daughter a long look that spoke whole languages. '_*One condition.*'_

_'*What is it?*'_

_'*You aren't coming, nor the boy, nor your cousin.*'_

The three looked at one another. They'd fully anticipated going, or helping in some direct capacity.

Viktor was the first to try. _'*Mother, it wouldn't be fair for us to-*'_

_'*No.*'_

Hermione knew better than trying to talk her mother out of something. Pragmatically, she decided to make the best of things. _'*Who else?*'_

Rodolphus and Rabastan both volunteered, as did Penko and, surprisingly, Rumen. The lord and lady eyed one another. _'*Uncle, you've never been in a fight.*'_

_'*It is my duty.*'_

_'*We could use you talents better elsewhere. Potential evacuation routes need deciding, things like that.*'_ Rumen saw the sense of it, and considered alternatives.

_'*Whom else?*'_

Snape volunteered as well. '_*I've a sort of private factor I think would be most helpful. I would need complete privacy to brief him*'_

_'*Call him, Professor, please.*'_

Narcissa calmly raised a hand as well. Draco's eyes widened. '_*Mother?*'_

_'*Cissy, no!*' _Lucius had said nothing, but Bellatrix was not similarly constrained, and her baby sister was not going. She glared fearsomely, and Narcissa returned the look without missing a beat.

'_*My place is with my husband, as yours is.*'_

_'*The children need you.*'_

'*_The children have more than proved themselves in regards to these issues.*'_

Bellatrix turned to her brother in law. '_*Malfoy?*_'

Lucius looked sick but shook his head. '_*Narcissa?*'_

She took his hand under the table. '*_Lucius.*' _There was nothing for him to say.

Scabior and Penko walked outside the ship and Apparated to find Polyjuice. There was no time for goodbyes.

In the tiny room Snape had been given to call his 'private factors', he sent the Krum's elderly, slightly deranged seeming elf to find both rat and dog. The dog was relatively easy, being Apparated in a second later. The rat took a little time.

Snape gave the bastard dog a look. _'Well?'_

_'Well, what?'_

_'How goes it?'_

_'Castle Dinev is tight as a boomslang's eyelid. He's got half the men in the region there. It's going to be a slaughter no matter who wins.'_

_'Is the castle closed up for a siege?'_

_'Not yet.'_

Snape nodded. _'The elf is getting Pettigrew. You may not hurt him, do you understand?'_

Black's jaw tightened but he nodded slowly. _'Fine. For now.'_

_'When he has outlived his usefulness, I will give you your chance, Black.'_

_'And me?'_

_'And you, what?'_

_'When I've outlived mine?'_

_'Then it's back to chasing gnomes, isn't it?'_

Black sniffed. _'Your tomatoes were unmolested this past summer.'_

_'They ate half my cauliflowers.'_

_'Cauliflower is vile anyhow.'_

_'God forbid you let a little healthful food cross your lips, Black.'_

_'If you ever wonder why you're still a virgin, this could be it.'_

_'You really are an insufferable cunt.'_

_'Notice he doesn't deny it.'_

_'Bastard. And for the record, I most certainly am not.'_

_'Your hand doesn't count.'_

Snape pointed at the floor, resolving to have the elf serve nothing but cauliflower soufflé for the next three years. The dog obediently changed back, chuffing.

It took a shockingly brief amount of time for the men to return with phials of Polyjuice, no fewer than ten, and a large number of other things as well. Scabior had apparently shrunk most of the shop down and tucked it into his various pockets, and Penko had done the same.

Snape handed them to Rumen for inventory after checking them over. He took two phials of Polyjuice and some more potions for Tamm and sent half of them back to the castle. It would be woefully little, but better, they all agreed, than nothing at all.

Penko handed Viktor a slip of paper. 'This is the address. I left all the cash I had, but it wasn't nearly enough.'

'As soon as everything's settled down, we'll send the rest. Poor fellow, it's going to be an awful shock.'

'Gold, Viktor, makes nearly everything better.' Penko gave his nephew a fond cuff on the shoulder and then they moved into part two.

To no one's surprise, Kask volunteered for the Polyjuice. So did Sven and Ilya, though Mr. Lofstrom looked absolutely nauseous at the prospect. Viktor flatly vetoed both of the last, and decided to send Vata.

They sent to the castle for Stefan's clothing, stripped from the body, cleaned and mended, and also for extra clothes for Pavel, because his were needed. Taking a hair from his head, and from Stefan's, which was in stasis, they dosed both the boys. Seeing them both together again gave the group a collective chill, especially Draco.

Viktor sat and jotted a letter to the people in England, letting them know they were alive and planned to continue. He sent it via courier, the captain's son. Narcissa gave him her own Portkey and he went without another word. As he spoke some English, they thought he'd be all right.

_'*Have you got the ring, Drago?'*_

Draco handed it over, and Kask donned it. He was taller as Stefan, and thinner. He tugged the tunic straight and smoothed his-Stefan's-hair. His sister had come to see his transformation, and nodded.

_'*You still look like a berk.*'_

_'*Hmmph. Four minutes older and she thinks she owns the world.*' _He hugged his sister and she held on for dear life.

_'*Don't you dare get hurt, Paavo, do you hear me?*'_

_'*Nor you, Vaike.*' _He gently pushed her away and nodded to Viktor. '_*Well, Krum?*'_

Viktor nodded, and the two false leaders took their place at the head of the column. He waved and they waved back. Still Disillusioned, they would stay under cover until they were in position. The group watched them go in silence.

The raiding party left when the screams and shouts from the Ministry were reported by one of the groups of scouts. Tamm, perched in the crow's nest with a bemused sailor, enthusiastically waved the kerchief he'd been given. He was waving it in the wrong direction, as it was on his blind side, but no one said anything. The group of raiders gathered on the deck to bid farewell to their children.

_'When the Dark Mark is cast, we'll bring the air support, Father.'_

Rodolphus nodded and kissed his daughter on the top of her head. '_Darling, be careful. Promise?*_

'Of course.'

_'And if anything should happen to Mother and I, know how much we love you.'_

_'Father, you brought half of Europe to help us. We know.*_

He hugged her, wishing he'd taken the time to know her better. She was taller now. Not tall-she would never be much taller than her mother-and her hair was pinned up like a married woman's, crammed haphazardly into a bun as Bellatrix was wont to do when she bothered with her hair at all.

Penko was bidding his nephew and brother goodbye as well. 'Rumen?'

'Yes, Penko?'

'If anything should happen to me...'

'Yes?'

'I forgive you for envying that I'm the handsomest brother.'

Rumen huffed with annoyance. Could Penko never be serious? Then he relaxed a bit and gave his brother an awkward hug. Perhaps it didn't matter so much now. Penko hugged him back. 'You were an excellent brother, Rumen, even if I wasn't.'

'Shush. You were fine.'

'Not always.'

'Always.' Rumen was not, perhaps, the sort of person who rhapsodized about their feelings, but what he said, he meant. And for all he didn't agree with Penko's way of dealing with things, he loved him.

Viktor was pointedly not looking, giving his uncles a touch of privacy in this most unprivate of times. Penko turned and spoke to him. 'You know, Viktor...I never got round to fathering a child. I don't mind. I couldn't have had a better child than you have been to me.'

When the group had gone (insisting the others not see them off on their way to rendezvous with the mysterious factor), Viktor and Hermione called the various monitors, Prefects and assistants to the flag ship. They came and waited, a mass of schoolchildren, most of them, incongruously, dressed in school scarves and other paraphernalia of normal life.

Viktor outlined their plans to everyone. '*_That will hopefully allow us to take the Ministry with as little fighting and bloodshed as possible.*'_

_'*And then what?*'_ Asked a Beauxbatons student at the front.

_'*On to Castle Dinev. If we capture the Minister, it's possible they'll surrender without a fight. Once that's done, hopefully you can all be on your way home soon.*'_

Home. The idea rippled through the group, each of them longing for wherever their treasure was. Most of them were keenly aware that it was nearly Christmas, and that added a tinge of hope. Above them, the stars gleamed with ruthless beauty, indifferent to them and to the affaires of mortals.

The group dispersed. Tamm, visibly excited, climbed to the crow's nest to watch for the signal once more. Draco tugged his coat more tightly and elected to go and speak to Meripa in regards to his comments about Vaike Kask.

Viktor and Hermione didn't speak. They went to her cabin and closed the door, warding it.

_'You are sure?'_

_'Yes.'_

_'All right?'_

_'Oww! Gentle.'_

_'Sorry. Better?'_

_'Slowly.'_

_'All right.'_

_'Oh.'_

_'Good?'_

_'Again.'_

_'Yes?'_

_'Oh, my.'_

After, they lay together semi-dressed. She nestled into him, humming. He stroked her hair. They both knew this might never happen again. _'Herm-on-nee-knee?'_

_'Hmm?'_

_'You are afraid?'_

_'No.'_

_'No?'_

_'This is what we trained for. I have faith in us.'_

_'I do too. Ve spend years for this.'_

_'Yes. And we are very good at what we do.'_

Viktor blinked. He'd told Snape the same, after all. _'I vorry about people in England. If ve die, they are vithout means.'_

_'Uncle Desmond will help them.'_

_'Yes. But it vould be bad situation if..._' If the Dark Lord decided to throw them out, or worse.

_'Someone would help them. Yseult's family, or someone.'_

He stared at the picture above them. _'Ve can hope.'_

'_We must hope. It's all we have.' _She bent and kissed his neck where her nails, blunt as they were, had left marks. Viktor closed his eyes and decided to worry about things as they came.

Draco found Meripa with the other Albanians, three ships over. He smiled at him for a moment. _'*Walk with me, Meripa.*' _The older lad followed without a word. Draco waited until they were out of earshot of the others.

_'*Why do I hear you insulted Vaike Kask?*'_

Meripa shrugged. _'*Don't know how you mean.*'_

_'*I think you do. Something about her being ruined?*'_

_'*Well, she is. Everyone knows what those wolves did.*'_

Draco was still smiling. '*_Do they, Meripa? Maybe 'everyone' should keep his mouth shut, because 'everyone' knows that one doesn't make remarks like that_.*'

_'*What's it to you?*'_

_'*I don't like men who go round trying to make respectable women out to be whores because of an unfortunate event they had no control over.*'_

_'*Just because you're Krum's cousin doesn't mean you can tell other people what to do.*'_

_'*That's true. I can tell you what to do because I'll beat the hell of you if you don't listen to me.*'_

_'* As if you could.*'_

Draco dropped his voice. '_*No, I could. And I'd like to, Meripa. I killed Borev and slept right after. Do you think crippling you would disturb me? Go on, find out.*'_

Meripa drew but just barely. The next thing he knew, he was being smashed into the wall, feeling bones crack under the onslaught.

Dazed, he looked at Draco. _'*You...*'_

_'*Me. Did you want to challenge me formally? Krum will second, no doubt.*'_

Meripa shook his head and Draco turned and walked off.

Tamm saw Malfoy coming back and waved at him. He knew better than to call out. Draco had to grin at how excited the kid seemed. He had been quite the climber, much to Narcissa's dismay, when he was young, and so he made short work of the rigging and squeezed into the crow's nest.

_'*Hello, Malfoy. Nothing yet.*'_

He pointed toward the city. He could see flashes that looked like spells, and wondered whether Kask and Vata were all right. And the family, of course. Had they met Snape's special factor yet?

Then his heart leapt. Above the distant Ministry, the Mark glowed green. Draco heard the cry being raised, and then he was descending as quickly as he could, shouting at Tamm to hurry.

He found his cousin and her husband running onto the deck, fastening their clothes. Hermione's hair was down. He had no time even to be embarrassed. '_*It's too early!*'_ About them, the sailors raced to raise the sails and get the ship aloft. The others were doing the same.

_'*They're in trouble.*' _Viktor's lips were a line of white. Hermione was calling the elves. _'*Have the oil heated and ready, we might need it.*'_

Viktor raised his eyebrows. '_*Oil?*'_

_'*Yes. We brought it with us.*' _She'd had the elves pack the cauldrons, well charmed, and she could hear the roar as they were ignited, still charmed so they couldn't tip.

No time to parse it. '_*Armour the dogs and have them ready.*'_

The ships rose as one, and banked sharply to the left, and then onto Sofia. The captains were swearing and screaming, the decks swarming with combatants. Hermione smiled at her husband and her cousin as bravely as she could.

_'*It won't be long before we see our parents again.*' _

It is sometimes possible for two people with a sufficiently strong connexion to feel, in some way, the bond of that connexion through time and space. It is like a psychic kiss. Hermione and Narcissa were currently sharing one.

Neither was aware. Hermione, standing on the pitching deck, wind blowing her hair, and Narcissa, climbing through the tiny window which was their point of ingress into a disused sub-basement of the Ministry.

Snape's mysterious factor turned out to be a fellow so heavily Disillusioned one could hardly see his features. He said nothing, leading them seemingly at random down tiny, narrow cobbled streets and up twisting alleys. The battle was raging in the streets but the mysterious man never faltered, and they skirted the fighting and were, presently, climbing down into the cellar of the building through a tiny window, hardly big enough for a human to squeeze through. In the dark, no one noticed that the fellow was following a rat, as much with his nose as his eyes.

Their shoes splashed in musty smelling water. In the dark, Narcissa found Bellatrix's hand and held it. _'At least we'll see the children soon.'_

Bellatrix squeezed once. _'If you dare get hurt, I'll be angry with you.' _Narcissa understood that her sister was telling her she loved her. She gently tugged her hand back and followed the others up the first flight of stairs.

The mental kiss ended. On the deck of the flagship, Hermione was clinging to the railings. She had borrowed Tamm's spyglass, and she handed it to Viktor. She could see flashes from wands and very little else.

The captain stopped bellowing at his crew to come over. '*_What do you want us to do?*'_

Viktor felt a moment of blind panic rise in his throat before he crammed it down with all his strength. _'*Our men on the ground need help. How can we get to them?*_'

Hermione shouted over the roar of the battle. '_*I've an idea!*'_


	83. Chapter 83

**A/N: Love to reviewers and Countess Black**

**Special thanks to my friend K for her help with this chapter.**

**Someone asked via feedback about wanting to see Hermione do something seriously awesome magically, and I say: your wish is my command. Be warned, though, it's sort of graphic.**

** Actually, this whole chapter is, and likely the next few, so be forewarned.**

There is a real pleasure in watching a virtuoso at work. Quidditch fans felt it when they watched Viktor plummet to the earth in pursuit of the snitch; potioners felt it when they watched Severus Snape, one of the greatest minds of his generation, brewing an experimental blend; Death Eaters felt it watching the Dark Lord twist magic to his will.

Viktor and Draco were feeling that now, as Hermione, face utterly smooth, implemented her plan. About her, elves held bubbling cauldrons of oil. She gave one of them the nod, and it threw the contents into the air.

Hermione swished hard, and the oil froze into stillness, but only for a moment. She made a sharp motion with her wrist and started to twirl it, as thought she was drawing circles in the air. Neither of the two boys got it at first, until Viktor saw the oil, as though in a centrifuge, spreading, spiralling from the centre, whooshing through the air.

She made another, slight motion and the flames split into a triskele shape, not, admittedly, a perfect one, but good enough. Hermione let fly. Rather than presenting a mass that could be shielded again, or deflected, the oil's shape was irregular, meaning that at least some of it would find its target.

Hermione immediately started another cauldron, and the others joined her. People on other ships were getting the same idea, and soon the sky was being dissected with strange shapes, sketched in boiling oil.

Spells were flying thickly about the ships. Behind them, one was hit, and the hideous sound of screams cut the night air as the ship plummeted to the ground in flames, hitting the pavement and splitting open. The others started to duck and weave wildly, employing every evasive manoeuvre known to sailors to keep them aloft.

Hermione was not concerned. She found her brain had calmly, dryly disregarded the danger. Her job, as she saw it, was to create an opening for their people to crush the aurors, and that was what she would do.

She flung another oil shape at the Ministry, this one a wheel. Perhaps it hit a torch or spark, because it ignited and a blaze of fire overtook some of the Ministry's rearguard, cutting the aurors off from their retreat.

A cheer from the ground. Viktor shouted to the captain. _'*For God's sake, get us closer!*'_

The captain, resigned to these maniacs, nodded to his navigator, and the ship dipped starboard and then flew lower. The spells intensified, and another ship went down. _'*Get out or send us back up! This is a death trap!*'_

_'*__**FOLLOW ME**__!*' _Viktor leapt onto the railing and gave his wrist a hard snap. A rope sprouted from it and he grabbed on and jumped over the side, hoping his feet found traction when he landed. The others followed. It looked as though the ships had grown tentacles, so many ropes appeared as fighters shimmied down them.

A third ship went down, this one close enough to do serious damage to those already on the ground. Many of them were burnt, or hit by flying debris. The rest ran toward the fray, hoping to crush the cut off aurors in a sort of pincer.

Hermione had seen battle before. Three, though she had not really fought in the first, and the second had been largely a matter of ducking and running rather than actually fighting.

Even the fighting during the siege could have been far worse. She had memories of it, certainly, but nothing like what she was seeing now. Now was a birth in fire and blood, and she would come from it newly made, or not at all.

She jumped over a body, half burnt, still moving, not knowing if it was a friend or an enemy, and fired at anything in an auror's tunic. A dog barrelled past, snarling, baying, and fell, head gone

It was too loud to hear anything. She had a vague sense Viktor was near her, and also Draco. She felt unafraid, dangerously competent. The burning slicks of oil made every step perilous. She could hear someone screaming in French for a medic and disregarded it.

A strange and unwieldy shape began to rise from the midst of the embattled aurors like a growth. A spindly ladder, a final attempt to get back into the Ministry. Spells everywhere, the reek of burning flesh and clothing, the high acrid smell of burning hair.

Hermione dashed into it all, and concentrated her energy and her magic. She swung from the shoulder, hard, and behind her, the flames rose and arched, seemed to leap like an animal, and engulfed the ladder in a solid pillar of flame.

Viktor saw it all. His wife, utterly blank-faced, untouched in the midst of the firestorm, hair a corona backlit by flames. She looked shockingly, horrifically beautiful, like the stain of blood on snow, like an avenging fury. When he could approach he sprinted over and saw that the aurors were surrounded.

Many of them chose to surrender, dropping their wands and raising their hands. Some did not, and died firing, or else were pushed back and back into the flames. Viktor raised his wand to his throat. _'*OVER THE WALLS!*'_

More siege ladders sprouted as the group conjured them, set them against the stone walls and started to climb. Viktor followed his wife, hoping Drago was behind them, and mounted the final rung, stepped from one level of hell and into another.

Below, the group heard the sounds of fighting intensify and sped up. They bounded into the courtyard. Spells were flying past their heads. Bodies lay on the ground, aurors and students and wolves all at once. More were swarming over the walls, being repelled by invaders. Dogs ran round, snarling, attacking. It was a melee.

Snape shoved past them and motioned for them to continue to follow. They could not, themselves, turn the tide of the battle by fighting here at the moment. Capturing the Minister, assuming he was here, would do it faster.

They crept along the side of the building, hugging the stones, stopping twice to skirmish with small bands of aurors. The sounds from the courtyard receded a little as they entered the belly of the Ministry, led by a rat only one of them could sense.

Dinev's office was on the third floor, at the end of a corridor which opened onto the large courtyard. The group fish-hooked through the narrow, winding corridors, spending as little time as possible in the open, and finally managed to creep down the correct one.

Dinev's office was a hive. Aurors ran in and out, carrying messages. The group walked as softly as possible. An auror caught sight of them and opened her mouth to cry out. Rodolphus's face never changed, and an instant later she laid dead. They knew it was a matter of time now, and so, abandoning stealth at last, burst into the office firing.

It was a massacre, precisely as it was intended to be. Dinev rose and peddled backward, hand groping for Floo powder, content to abandon his men. The men themselves, trained by Britain's finest, put up a hell of a fight, using every ounce of skill and cunning and desperate courage they had.

Bellatrix might have taught them, but she was still Britain's finest. She swung and took four of them at a go, not even bothering to watch them fall. A large antique mirror, leaded glass, shattered under her onslaught and became deadly weapons, the missiles embedding themselves in three aurors unfortunate enough to be close by, and they collapsed, blood geysering.

Dinev's took his chance, wand was a blur. He snapped his wrist and the heavy cast iron chandelier swung and then broke free of its moorings. It fell, and Snape used his own wand to throw it at the man with enormous force. The sound of it hitting him, a thickly meaty crunching, stayed with many of them a long, long time.

Dinev, chest crushed, gasped, spitting blood. He reached out and clamped onto a candleholder, and to their shock, vanished. It was a Portkey. It had easily swung loose because it was designed to be an emergency exit for the Minister in case people like themselves got in.

_'*We've the Ministry, at least.*'_

_'*Downstairs then!*' _That was Bellatrix, who took no time to contemplate the potential success of their mission, no matter how attenuated. She spun and ran toward the courtyard.

_'*THE MINISTER HAS FLED! THE DAY IS OURS!*'_

The fighting didn't pause. From far below, voices rose. She recognised strains of a dozen national anthems, school songs and war music. She didn't hesitate. Bellatrix Lestrange leapt over the railing and simply fell, screaming triumphantly.

Cushioning her fall, she hit the ground still shrieking. Very few people noticed. The battle was yet raging, and she followed the voices until she saw a few faces she recognised, and fought whom they were fighting.

The aurors were falling back. The Minister had abandoned them, and many opted to flee rather than continue the fight. Bellatrix's ears, seeming more sensitive to these things than previously, heard her daughter's voice, and her son in law's.

_'*SURRENDER AND WE WILL SPARE YOU! THE MINISTRY IS OURS!*'_

From above them, a low whooshing. Looking up, Bellatrix saw dozens of brooms, magic carpets, and even carts swoop down, disgorging fighters. That broke them, and the fight was finished in the main ten minutes later. Small pockets of resistance held out for hours, until a final sweep was made, but they had retreated into the farthest corners of the Ministry, and resolved to die.

Bellatrix was vaguely aware that people were cheering. She stopped firing and listened. More songs, more voices, and then, a strong hint of deja vu. 'KRUM! KRUM! KRUM!'

She lowered her wand and followed the voices. They were clustered about him, and about Hermione, cheering. Bellatrix shoved her way to the front and saw to her joy that they were unhurt, and Draco was beside Viktor, hair tacky with drying blood.

A tall man in torn, once fine clothes limped over and handed Viktor something. It was Kask-as-Stefan, and he'd nearly lost a foot to a severing hex. He was unbowed, and then, duty done, fainted. An elf came and started to staunch the bleeding, and others took him away and set him someplace safe. Of Vata, there was no sign.

Draco saw Rabastan and ran to him. _'Uncle Rab, where are my parents?'_

_'Alive, and coming to find you. What can we do?'_

_'Get Uncle Penko and bring him here, we need to make sure we can hold this place. Is Dinev dead?'_

_'No, he Portkeyed, but he's badly injured.'_

Penko was coming like it was. He nearly knocked down three students as he sprinted toward them. _'* The Floo is back up!*' _

_'*Thank God! Get someone to Firecall London and tell them we're alive. Then start Firecalling Ministry employees, we need whoever will come.*' _Viktor grinned at his uncle, relieved he was alive, and then was all business.

The corps of flyers approached as well, and asked permission to hunt down any fleeing aurors. Viktor refused. '_*Capture them and bring them here. No one need die if he surrenders to us.*'_

Hermione called one over. _'*Tell the captains to send down slings for the wounded, they're going directly to the hospital. Actually, we need to send Uncle Rumen first. He's our liason with them. Take the first of the wounded at the same time.*'_

The flagship took off, and word came back ten minutes later that the hospital had yielded without a fight. Rumen took over the front desk, and the serious bringing of the wounded began.

There were loads of them. Everyone one looked, the maimed and dying were stretched out, screaming, begging, bleeding. The Death Eaters fell to helping, trying to stop up wounds and ease the pain of those not long for this world.

Fires were still burning as well, and a detachment of students and wolves was sent to put them out, and another to bring in the dead to be catalogued and put into stasis.

There were a lot of those, too. Many of them were burnt beyond recognition, or else too badly mangled by spells to be able to tell at first glimpse who was who. The students, at least, had name tapes sewn into their clothing, but many of the aurors did not, and so they were carefully arranged in a basement and the agonising process of calling in those who could identify them began.

Just after dawn, the borders were re-opened. People streamed both ways, some of them coming home and some of them leaving. The Floo was up as well, and at eight o'clock, there was an influx of Ministry workers who'd come as called. They picked their way through the wreckage of the courtyard and went to their offices, and when nine AM came, they opened the doors to the Conclave and waited.

They nearly all came. Word had leaked about Krum's army, and whilst no one was precisely sure where he'd got it (the rumour was that the Dark Lord had sent people, had come personally, or had conjured an army from stones, depending on whom one listened to), they had no urge for this mysterious army to show up on their doorsteps.

When the page (face green; he'd seen a severed arm in a gutter and promptly vomited for five minutes) announced, voice shaking that Viktor, lord Krum had arrived, the group rose and turned.

He smelt appalling. Reeking of blood, lord Krum walked down the aisle, his chatelaine, spattered with gore, holding his arm. A step behind, the seneschal's hair, once blond, was a splotched brownish red. A dog in a coat of mail trotted behind, fur singed.

They little group made their way to their seats and sat down. Lord Dinev was, unsurprisingly, absent. In the normal order of things, the next most important landholder should have run things, but as Grigor Borev was (probably) dead, and Stefan Borev was (definitely) dead, and Viktor had a vested interested, it was rather understood that lady Batcheva, the oldest sitting member of the Conclave, was running the meetings until everything quieted down. She rose with surprising vigour for a woman of 131 and stared at them until the buzzing stopped.

'*Viktor, lord Krum has the floor.*'

The group took the dais, dog trailing. '*_The false lord Stefan Borev is dead. The Ministry is currently under the control of a provisional government. With your blessing, I will go to Castle Dinev and demand an accounting of the former Minister Dinev.*'_

_'*Former Minister?*_' This from a lord in the front, with a slightly Dinev-ish look about him. A cousin, suspected Viktor.

_'*He refused to help fight a lawful war against foreign invaders, did nothing despite knowledge of an outlaw's whereabouts, and abandoned the capital in the face of invasion , which, I believe, serves as an abdication according to the Conclave of 1703.*_'

_'*Serious charges, lord Krum. Have you proof?*'_

Draco reached into his pocket and took out a small sack. He reached a hand in, making an unconscious moue of distaste, and came out with the head of Stefan Borev, which he handed to the elf without a word. A choked gasp went through the room.

_'*My God!*_'In the back, someone wretched, and then another. No one said anything.

Viktor gave the ring as well, which Lady Batcheva inspected and handed back. _'*Snetzka, bring our guest please.*'_

_'*Guest?*' _

_'*Proof.*'_

_'*Perhaps, lord Krum, you would be so kind as to start at the beginning?*'_

The story seemed smaller on the retelling. It is impossible to communicate some things to someone who has never experienced it. Sexual congress is one. A serious injury, a birth, the loss of a loved one, all of those are virtually impossible to explain to someone who has never experienced a thing like that.

So it was, explaining to these men and women what it was to walk through the foothills of mountains on feet that bled and froze and bled; Borev's inglorious death at the seneschal's hands; the hell of the battle at the Ministry.

In the midst of this strange and uncomfortable tale, the nondescript man garnered little notice. The elf dropped him at the door and he limped down the aisle and joined them. Draco went to help him the last third of the way, letting him lean on Draco's arm.

Viktor ended the stripped down version of the story and gestured. '_*My lords and ladies, Nicolae Pavel.*'_

The hush rose to a muted roar for a moment and then died. Pavel was sworn in. He was listing strangely, and lady Batcheva finally called for a chair for him. He sat gratefully.

_'*And you say on the record, Mr. Pavel, that Stefan Borev promised Minister Dinev five villages near Sofia in return for doing nothing?*'_

_'*I do.*'_

_'*And that he was aware of the raids being launched against villages on his holdings?*'_

_'*Yes.*'_

_'*Raids you headed?*'_

'_*No. I knew about them, but Borev called for volunteers and sent them out. I also gave orders they not harm civilians.*'_

_'*You consider driving any number of people into the forests to die "not harming"?*'_

_'*It was war, my lady, not a garden party. We knew there would be collateral losses, but I gave orders designed to minimise them.*'_

_'*And lord Krum executed the men responsible?*'_

_'*He did.*'_

A hand went up in the middle rank. _'*Lord Romanov?*'_

_'*I would like to know how lord Krum proposes to control these wolves now that they're his? Which is, by the way, highly illegal in itself. If they wouldn't obey Pavel, what are the odds they'll resist their urges now?*'_

Hermione answered. _'*They're geassed to my lord and me.*'_

_'*My lady*' _said the lord patiently _'*you haven't the experience to know how werewolves are. They're docile enough now, perhaps, but put them in arm's length of a witch and watch their...lower impulses take over.*'_

Hermione saw Pavel's face tighten. She stood up straighter, lifted her head and thought about what Aunt Cunegarde would do. _'*How dare you, sir, make such a hateful remark in the presence of a guest?*'_

_'* A guest? Lady Krum, I hardly think-*'_

_'* __**I **__think. Mr. Pavel is under lord Krum's protection and mine. He is our guest, and I would appreciate it if you would remember that, sir.*'_ She turned back to the others without another word.

Viktor's eyes widened a bit and he nipped his own tongue to keep from laughing. He added this moment to the things he loved about Hermione and resolved to tell Uncle Penko about it as soon as possible.

Bess, hearing the anger in the Woman's voice, growled and sat up, sniffing the air. There was blood caked on her muzzle and her paws. She was tense with the expectation of more violence, tail slowly, slowly fanning.

Draco patted her back gently. Borev's head was suspended above the ground, slowly spinning so everyone could see it. In death, his skin was grey-green. His neck stump was ragged. Draco saw the eyes were filmed and whitish. That made it better. He wasn't sure he could have borne being stared at by the head.

'*_If you doubt my men, lord Romanov, then I suggest you go and look to see what they did to your British trained aurors. We are also British trained, you see.*_' Some of the lords and lady murmured a little with amusement at the sally from Pavel.

'_*I do not doubt your courage, Pavel, only your...*'_

_'*Humanity?*' _They left so the group could deliberate and vote.

At the Ministry, Anu Tamm, armband in place, was carrying a message, trailed by a dog. He had to concentrate on where he walked, and move his head slowly, but he was learning to navigate with one eye. He found Malfoy's father and waited until the man had stopped speaking to his wife, who was kind and soft and smelt like flowers. _'*Mr. Tamm?*'_

_'*Mr. Rabastan Lestrange sends his compliments, and asks that yourself and Madam Malfoy come to the central courtyard. Everything is fine, but he thinks it wise we all be in the same place in case we should need to go somewhere quickly.*' _He'd passed the message exactly as he'd been given it, and he was rewarded by smiles from both tall, pale Malfoys.

Malfoy's Nene patted his arm. _'*Any word from the Conclave, Anu?*'_

_'*No, Madam, not yet. Mr. Rodolphus Lestrange believes the vote will go our way.*'_

_'*They'd be idiots not to. A whole army of hardened veterans is nothing to be sneezed at, I should say.*' _Malfoy's Baba looked quite pleased at that.

They spoke as they walked, and Anu stepped carefully over the cobbles, clinging to the wall on the rough patches. Malfoy's Baba helped him in places. The courtyard was much calmer now.

There were dogs everywhere, aside from the one following Anu. Some of them were alive, but some of them-a lot of them-were not. Anu didn't know how many had come, but he counted eighteen of on the ground, in neat rows.

There were dead people, too, but they were in the basement, under sheets. Some of the people in the courtyard were wounded, but most of the really badly off ones were in hospital. Miss had said he'd need to go later, but he hoped to put it off. He felt fine, after all, and Nene would be upset enough without having to hear he'd been in hospital.

He saw them coming, and called out that the Superintendent was back. He bounded over, nearly tripping on a stone that had been blasted from the wall. Superintendent caught him and set him back on his feet.

_'*Hello, Anu.*'_

_'*Hello, Superintendent. Malfoy's parents are over there.*' _He gestured and Malfoy peeled off to see his parents. His Nene reached up and touched his hair, and he nodded, eyes damp.

Anu squatted and held out a hand for the dog with Superintendent, who lapped it, tail wagging. _'*She's beautiful.*'_

_'*This is Bess. She's a very clever girl.*' _Bess chuffed to show she agreed and gave Anu a friendly poke with her nose that sent him reeling. He laughed for the first time in a long while and sat up on his elbow.

The Superintendent helped Anu to his feet again and dusted his back off. '_*Have you seen my uncle?*'_

_'*The tall one?*'_

_"*Uncle Penko, yes.*'_

_'*He's in the office, Superintendent. He said for you to go and see some bloke in the Ex-cheq-uer.*' _He'd never said the word before.

_'*Did he say where?*'_

_'*I can show you. I went and found it.*' _

_'*Don't wander, Tamm, it's not safe.*'_

_'*The dog came with me.*' _He pointed to her, a big female, mail coat removed, who had trailed him a step behind, sometimes growling or snorting.

_'*That's Lady. She's Bess's mother.*'_

_'*Can they both come?*' _The dogs seemed to like the idea, and followed after them like an honour guard, sniffing.

The office was deep in the bowels of the building. It was damp and smelt of mildew. From far away, the sounds of fighting echoed. All four of them drew their wands, but the sound receded. The dogs' tails shot up like antennae and they whined but stayed put.

It was a short meeting. The Superintendent and the haggard looking wizard who was apparently the right fellow spoke for a few moments. The Superintendent signed papers and used his ring as a seal, and then they went back.

_'*I'd like to visit the basement, if no one minded.*'_

No one did. They paused outside the room. _'*Do you want to stay with the dogs, Tamm?*'_

_'*No. Not if I've the choice.*'_

_'*All right. Watch the doors, girls.*' _The dogs sat flanking the entrance, sometimes snuffling as an especially interesting stench wafted through the air.

The bodies were shrouded. Every available surface was being utilised, and Rumen, with his exquisitely bureaucratic mind, had had the basement divided into sections based on probably origin of the dead.

Durmstrang students were closest the door. The names were written on parchments pinned to the sheets. The group spread out, seeking names they knew. It was a far shorter, easier search than any of them might have liked.

Tamm saw the Superintendent's shoulders were shaking. His sleeve was pressed to his eyes, and he was breathing deeply. He averted his gaze from it, feeling like he'd walked on some hideously personal act.

_'*Do we-is there a total yet?*'_

_'*Of our people?*' _Malfoy sounded tired, and sad. He looked older, hair still thick with dried blood. '_*All told, twenty three hundred. Mostly wolves.*'_

_'*How many students?*'_

_'*Two hundred and some.*' _

The Superintendent swayed where he stood, and kept his sleeve across his face. _'*My God, my God.*'_

An elf appeared and said something in Bulgarian. Superintendent dropped his sleeve and seemed to sag with relief. '_*Anu, let's go. They approved it.*'_

They left the dead to their silence and started to walk back to the courtyard. The dogs liked that much better; they frisked a little, sometimes giving one or another of their Pack a prod with their heads, or a lap on the hand to cheer them up.

A black blur leapt out in front of them, chasing a grey, squeaking thing that was probably a rat. Bess barked enthusiastically and took off after, giving the blur a friendly tackle.

The probably-rat dashed into a bolthole and the blur, which was in fact a large black dog, was promptly pounced by Bess, who rolled excitedly, inviting him to play. Salazar rose and growled sharply, reminding her how rude it was to tackle an unsuspecting party.

'*_Salazar! How did you get here?*' _The dog whined and sat on his haunches, raising a paw in greeting. '*_One of us would have noticed him, surely.*'_

_'*Could he have been on another ship, do you think?*'_

_'*All the dogs were with us, remember?*' _Viktor gave Hermione a long look.

She met his eyes. _'*I do. We should ask...someone.*' _Tamm wondered who someone was, but thought it would be better not to press. He waited for Bess to come back and trotted after the other three.

_'*What's an Exchequer?*'_

_'*It's the country's money pouch, Anu. War is extremely expensive.*' _Malfoy answered him immediately, like he'd been thinking about it.

_'*Oh. So the Ministry is paying now, is that right?*'_

_'*More or less. It's a little more complicated than that.*'_

The big black dog was just behind Miss. Sometimes he lowered his head and sniffed the ground and once he turned and snarled at something. Whatever it was skittered off, splashing in puddles of water.

They finally got back to the Courtyard. It was calmer now. The dead dogs were still there. A shorter, harried looking man bustled up to them. '_*We thought you'd want to see them, Viktor, before we brought them home.*'_

Superintendent nodded. '_*Hermione, may I meet you in a few moments?*'_

_'*Yes, of course. Come, Salazar.*_' They took off for the office, and Malfoy gestured to Anu to follow him.

_'*Malfoy?*'_

_'*Tamm?*'_

_'*Are we leaving soon?*'_

_'*Hopefully.*'_

_'*A lot of people died this last time.*'_

Malfoy nodded. _'*We got lucky last time, when the conscripts turned on them.*'_

_'*It was really brave. What you did. Jumping off the ship and all.*'_

Malfoy sat on a bench and let his clasped hands dangle between his knees. '*_It didn't feel brave, Anu. It was...incredibly horrible, to be honest.*'_

_Anu sat next to him. '*Did you talk to your parents?*'_

_'*I did.*' _He was staring off into space. He shook his head, making his clotted hair smack together dryly. '*_What about you? Have you written your mother?*'_

_'*No. She's a worrier. My Nene. Better to do it after.*' _Nene also didn't read much, but Anu would have bitten out his tongue before he'd said that. Where he was from, the men went to study and the women simply learnt as much magic as they needed at home. He liked Malfoy, but probably someone like him wouldn't understand things. He didn't want them to think Nene wasn't smart and good at things, because she was both. She had, after all, convinced the Ministry to send him to Durmstrang.

_'*Were you all right on the ship?*'_

_'* I was. The captain taught me loads of new words for things. Ship things. Does England have a navy?*'_

_'*Britain. And no, not a magical one.*'_

_'*Maybe your Baba could tell the Dark Lord you need one, and I could help you with it. We could be captains.*'_

Malfoy smiled. _'*I'll mention it, definitely. So you like sailing?*'_

_'*Yes! I get to climb and shout. And my eye doesn't matter. The captain said his father was one eyed and he was a captain too.*'_

_'*How did he lose his eye?*'_

_'*Mad selkie got him.*'_

Malfoy was quiet. He raised his wand, flicking, and Anu's bandage twitched slightly and then was still. _'*It's an Impervious charm. Go find a shower and something to eat. Uncle Rumen will tell you where to sleep.*'_

_'*Are you all right?* '_

_'*I am. Just want some alone time.*'_

Anu wasn't from a culture where people did that, and it struck him as distinctly odd. On the other hand, perhaps this was an English thing. He nodded and walked for the stairs, trailed by Lady.

Hermione saw him pass by the door of the room where she and the Professor were sitting, drinking water. Snape had a bruise on his cheekbone but he looked well pleased.

_'Salazar is an animagus.'_

_'Yes.' _Snape's eyes apologised for nothing. Hermione nodded slowly and looked at the dog, who was sitting on his haunches, very alert.

_'You never said.'_

_'No.'_

_'Why?'_

_'What was my first lesson to you, do you recall?'_

_'Knowledge can be dangerous.'_

_'Precisely.' _Snape sipped his water. Hermione put down her goblet and looked at him.

_'I helped burn men alive last night, Professor. I killed God knows how many during the siege, and before that I walked through the foothills of the Rhodope mountains and crossed an international border on a goat cart.'_

_'I'm aware.'_

_'I think I can handle a bit of danger, don't you?'_

_'Yes, but I still shan't tell you.'_

Hermione groaned in frustration. _'Professor, please!'_

_'You are not the only person this could endanger.'_

_'Nor are you.'_

_'You know, I remember when you were easily instructed.'_

Hermione's eyes softened. _'Professor, your lessons were of enormous help to me, really. And I value your...your place in our family. But you need to help us help you, is all. We just want to know who's part of this.'_

Snape studied her, and she raised her chin. Emotionlessly, he filled her in on what had happened in the Dark Lord's chambers. She looked unsurprised.

_'We gathered.'_

_'Oh.'_

_'He sent half a dozen people to help us. What would you have concluded?'_

That his students were smarter and more ruthless than he could ever have hoped, or feared, and that even as he was annoyed at how this would change his plans, he felt pride. The children-his children, the children he would never father-were allies now, not mere pieces to be moved.

_'Perhaps this would be easiest, my lady, if we assembled the interested parties? Your parents and husband, and the others?'_

_'All right.'_

It was several hours before that happened, but happen it did. Snape gave the nod, and the dog rippled into the form of a man. A handsome enough, if slightly haggard man, with grey eyes and dark curly hair.

Silence. And then Bellatrix leapt up. _**'Cousin?'**_

Sirius bowed to the lord and lady. _'Sirius Black, at your service.'_


	84. Chapter 84

**A/N: Love to reviewers and Countess Black**

**Thanks to my friend K for her continuing help.**

**Warning: There's some graphic medical type stuff in this chapter to do with Tamm's wound. If you'd rather skip it, I would skim from Tamm's 'No, sir' to 'Look at me, my lady.' You might still read some gross stuff, but it should make sure you miss the worst.**

In Sofia, a rather tense meeting was taking place. Sirius Black, eating a dish of pork and leeks with tender roast potatoes, was listening to an argument between two of the most dangerous people he knew.

'*_We can't just not tell Him, Snape! His Lordship-*'_

_'*Is terminally misguided, Bellatrix. Is there anyone here who would argue that point?*'_

No one spoke. On Sirius's left, the boy gave Trixie's girl a look and she gave him one back. He could sense things said and not said between them.

'_*No.*' _Cissy's husband looked at Trixie, daring her to say something. She gave it straight back, and the two dropped their eyes by mutual concord, seemingly putting aside their hatred in order to discuss high treason.

Rodolphus was waxen. '*_Surely there is something we might do for His Lordship to help Him.*'_

_'*Perhaps yes and perhaps no, Rodolphus. Right now, our immediate concern must be minimising the impact of what is occurring.*'_

_'*Impact?*'_

_'*It is possible the events of the past few days will not find his lordship's favour.*'_

The group absorbed this. Sirius watched his cousins' faces, and their husbands, and the children. He saw a multitude of emotions crossing their faces, many of them more than one at a time.

_'*You think He will be angry with us?*' _That from Rabastan.

_'*I think his lordship will not like being shown up.*'_

Rodolphus raised a finger and Snape looked to him. _'*Perhaps it would be best if we discussed this at another time?*' _His eyes darted toward the children, and his daughter stood up and went to sit next to him, resting her head on his shoulder.

_'*We can't, Father. We're part of this too, now.*'_

The two lads were nodding. '_*And Bulgaria_*' said Viktor, who looked as though he'd not slept in a long time. '_*That's something else to consider.*'_

_'*So are Durmstrang, Beauxbatons and Hogwarts, Godfather. I'd imagine a lot of people will look askance at what we've done.*'_

_'*Quite so. We will need to handle this precisely the right way.*'_

Cissy's son was nodding vigorously. _'*Couldn't we try and convince Him that we were so inspired by His...beliefs and so forth, I suppose...that we wanted to emulate Him?*'_

_'*His example in heroically seizing power?*'_

_'*Something like that.*'_

Rabastan spoke up. '_*There's precedent for that. The Letters would have examples, and so would the Commentaries on Attilius Goyle, probably.*_'

_'*Brother, please!*' _Rodolphus looked absolutely ill at the thought. '_*Father would never conscience a thing like this.*'_

_'*Father would want his line preserved. He loved the Dark Lord, surely, but he loved us more.*'_

_'*There must be another way to make Our Lord see that...see that...*'_

Malfoy sighed deeply. _'*Rodolphus, we must be honest with ourselves. The time for that, at least as such, has passed. It passed the moment the Dark Lord decided to sacrifice our children. It proves he is not in his right mind. We must assume the burden of governance until such a time as his lordship can do.*'_

Hermione slid a hand into her father's. _'*Take a walk with me, Father? We need to go and check on things anyhow.*'_

Rodolphus rose and the two walked out the door and down the corridor. Wolves and students and Ministry employees bowed as they passed, and neither really noticed.

_'Father?'_

_'Love?'_

_'I'm sorry this ended up happening this way.'_

He stopped her with a hand on her arm. _'No, sweetheart, I am. Your mother and I gave so much, and tried so hard, and...the Dark Lord is not Himself. Before, he was...I wish you could have known Him then.'_

Hermione wished he didn't look so sad when he said it. _'I'm sure he was, Father.'_

_'You remind me so of your mother when we were young. She was powerful, and brave, and beautiful. She still is those things, but...we were so __**young**__, Hermione.'_

She wasn't quite sure what to say to that, and her father, after a moment, sat down on a nearby bench. Hermione considered gravely a moment, looked round and sat in his lap.

His arms went about her, and he said nothing for a moment. It was grace, holding his child, alive and unhurt in the midst of carnage and misery, and he knew it, and acknowledged it with silence.

After a moment she sighed and rested her head against his neck. _'Are you very tired, sweetheart?'_

_'Yes, Father. But we got loads done today.' _She sounded both sleepy and businesslike, a very odd combination.

He smoothed her hair, which was clean and tangle free, unlike the first glimpse he'd got of her after the battle. _'You must have had quite a fight today.'_

_'Yes.'_

_'Someone told me you brought down a siege ladder by yourself. Would you tell me how?' _He believed it totally; her mother was capable of feats of magic surpassed only by the Dark Lord, or perhaps Severus Snape, and he was pleased to think she'd inherited Bellatrix's talents.

She explained in short, declarative sentences that dramatised nothing. Rodolphus's stomach lurched. Proud as he was, his daughter could easily have been engulfed by the firestorm she'd corralled so ably.

_'Were you afraid?'_

She shook her head, eyes still closed. _'Not then. After, I was, a little, but...they'd have done it to us, Father.'_

_'And before?'_

_'I was afraid the oil wouldn't work.'_

_'Oil?' _She explained that too. Rodolphus lifted his head to stare in frank astonishment at his child. _'My God. Where did you get an idea to do that?'_

Hermione's eyes opened. She squirmed to look at him, and he realised at once what he'd done. _'It's all right, love. You're not in trouble, I was just surprised.'_

She closed her eyes again. _'Shield charms are convex in nature. They can repel a direct attack, but to stop a flanking attack, they'd need to be able to overlap the shields, and they couldn't do that and fight. So at least some of the oil would penetrate if we used irregular, liniform shapes.'_

_'Quite so.' _His daughter's brilliance both pleased and scared him. He was, naturally, overjoyed at her skill and the raw power her ability suggested she could harness as will. On the other hand, if what Snape and Malfoy said was true, could the Dark Lord not perceive her as a threat?

_'Darling?'_

Hermione lifted her head a bit but said nothing, just nuzzling against him. He sensed she was asking for comfort and reassurance, and he patted her back lightly as he talked.

_'You have done so well, Hermione. Is there anything I can do to help you and the others?'_

Hermione was quiet for so long he thought she'd drifted off. Finally she shook her head as though to wake herself and mumbled _'Let me think about it, Father, all right? Right now, I just wish we didn't have to wait.'_

_'Wait?'_

_'The law says Dinev gets three days to come and answer the charges, or demand trial by combat. We need time to rest, but it might be better to just get it all done.'_

_'I think so as well, but the rest will be a good thing. Everyone needs sleep and food.' _She felt lighter in his arms. Hermione nodded again and pressed her face into his neck.

_'Take a rest, love. I'll wake you in a few minutes and we'll go back.' _She didn't answer. Rodolphus hugged her to him and felt that same strange grace, and the sense he didn't deserve it.

Upstairs the mood was no lighter. They were contemplating slaughter, both past and present. _'*The wolves performed well today.*'_

_'*I suspect they'll do even better under guerrilla conditions.*' _Rabastan realised what he'd said the second after he'd said it and went dully red, clearly mortified he'd made such an insensitive remark.

Viktor's jaw tightened very slightly but the look he levelled at his uncle was without rancour. _'*Of course. If it should come down to it.*'_

Sirius couldn't take it any more. He'd always loathed the nature of Pureblood society and the hippogriff in the room mentality. He inhaled and said, as casually as he could '_*That must have been a hard choice to make.*'_

_'*Yes.*' _He sounded relieved, like it had weighed on him. Sirius was reminded, once again, of how incredibly fucked up all this was. Sixteen years old and making these choices. Sixteen years old and married. Fucked up didn't cover this anymore.

_'*Why did you geass them to yourself?*'_

_'*It was the price of support from the Estonians.*'_

_'*Estonians?*'_

_'*Paavo Kask is our major supporter at Durmstrang. It was a trade. Help continuing the campaign in return for geassing them to me to make sure I could keep them in line.*'_

The room stirred a little. '*_You didn't mention it before.*_' Penko's voice held no reproach.

_'*We needed the help to continue the fight.*' _Just as there was no reproach in the uncle's statement, the nephew's held no apology. He'd done what needed doing, and he was content in that. The others seemed ill-inclined to comment; what's done is done, and it had all worked out in the end.

'_*I wonder, Viktor*' _said Malfoy, delicately '_*whether you've considered the political ramifications of...recent events.*'_

_'*I have. You appreciate, I'm sure, the awkward position this puts Hermione and I in, politically?*'_

_'*Yes, of course.*'_

_'*The British alliance*' _said Penko '_*was heavily promoted to the people as the means by which Bulgaria would achieve a lasting prosperity. Sort of a union with the modern age, if you will.*'_

_'*It will be no doubt be problematic that things did not go as planned.*'_

_'*Yes, it will. There will be questions about why our allies did not choose to help us when we helped them. We are not a wealthy country, Uncle Lucius, not in the way Britain is.*' _Viktor took up where his uncle had left off.

_'*How do you propose we solve this?*'_

_'*I've no idea. Hermione might, she's very good at these things.*'_

Snape looked thoughtful._'*Have we decided sleeping arrangements yet? I would like to retire soon.*'_

An elf was sent, and a sleepy looking Hermione returned with her father. She settled next to Viktor and the serious matter of accommodations began. The Ministry had a number of small flats for visiting dignitaries, as well as a larger one for the Minister should he decide to stay in the city.

Who would sleep where? Clearly, the unmarried men would be together. Rabastan and Penko would share, and then Snape and Sirius in the other room. Hermione found herself sneaking looks at Sirius as they talked. She was reminded strongly of someone, but whom?

The married people would share another flat. Which flat was rather up to debate, as both Viktor and Hermione tried to convince the parents that they should take the bigger, grander suite, whilst they, with Draco and Anu, would take one of the smaller ones.

_'*Wouldn't you be more comfortable?*' _Hermione felt a little weird, taking the best for herself when her parents and aunt and uncle would surely enjoy it as much. There were rumours of a large sunken marble tub that sounded very pleasant, and also a large featherbed.

Narcissa shook her head. '_*Etiquette demands the lord and lady have it. And you need your rest.*'_

Hermione opened her mouth to argue when her mother stood up. _'*No, you don't! Your aunt is absolutely right, and furthermore, girl, just because you're married now doesn't mean we don't know what's best for you. You look absolutely peaky, and so do Viktor and Draco, now all of you go upstairs this instant and get ready for bed!*'_

All three rose immediately, startled. '_*Mother, I-*'_

_'*Not another word!*' _Bellatrix looked very fierce, and all three, sensing they had lost, made their goodnights and quickly headed for the main suite. Bellatrix sat down, well pleased.

The group split up after that, and Snape, after a few polite remarks, eased from the room and went to the main suite. He knocked on the door and an elf bowed him inside. The three children, along with a drowsy looking Anu Tamm, who was rubbing his eye and gamely trying to follow the conversation.

_'*I'm sorry to disturb you. May I speak with lady Krum a moment?*'_

Hermione said something to the others and then stepped away from the group. '_*Shall we walk a bit, Professor?*'_

_'*Should you like to take an elf?*'_

_'*I'll go.*' _Tamm wanted to prove he was useful so they'd take him when they went. He stood up straighter and tried to look as though he could defend Miss from attack. From behind him, Lady chuffed, offering to go as well.

Being as the elves were quite busy, and Tamm a very suitable chaperone given his age, it was agreed that was fine, and the three, plus Lady, set off. Snape watched amused as the boy carefully vetted the small room they ducked into and then gave them the nod.

Snape cast a Silencing bubble and waited for the girl to get settled. _'How are you, milady?'_

_'Tired, Professor. May I ask you a question?'_

_'Please do, before the Albanian's eye burns a hole in me.' _Tamm was glaring sternly at them from outside the bubble. Hermione made a face that implied she was trying not to smile.

_'He wants to do right by Viktor, is all.'_

_'Surely. Your question?'_

_'I know Sirius, don't I?'_

_'Your elves once bathed him forcibly, as I recall.'_

_'No, as a man, I mean. I know him.'_

_'If I asked you a favour, milady, would you do it?'_

_'If I could.'_

_'It is imperative to us that Black's cover be maintained. If I asked you to allow me to legilimise you to prevent your inadvertently making connexions which might prove harmful to us all, would you consider that request?'_

_'Legilimise?'_

_'That's correct.' _Snape explained the idea and Hermione nodded, half an eye on Tamm, who was still watching them intently. 'What _about Anu?'_

_'I will take care of that.'_ He called for his bag and broke the bubble, motioning to Tamm. '_*Mr. Tamm?*'_

Tamm approached. _'*Lady Krum has asked me to look at your eye. Would you mind?*_'

'_*No, sir.*'_

Hermione scooted over and watched as Snape's hands, light as snow, unwound the bandage. '_*Would it be all right, Anu, if Professor Snape showed me how to do this?*' _If Snape had taught her anything, it was never to forsake a chance to learn.

_'*All right, Miss.*'_

The wound was healing, but Snape saw the girl's face get pale as she saw how damaged it truly was. The eye itself had been avulsed completely, and the socket was a blasted ruin filled with bloody lumps of gauze.

_'When he's healed a bit more, a medi-wizard will suture the lid closed. Our main concern right now is making sure he's free of infection.' _Snape lectured in English as he motioned impatiently for Tamm to open his mouth and take the thermometer, not wanting to upset the boy with too much information. Lady had settled on Snape's other side, watching the procedure as intently as the girl.

_'His temperature is a bit high, but some people read a degree either way. There's no offensive stench, the tissue is free of purulent discharge, and the patient is looking quite well. Ask him how he feels, my lady, if you would.'_

_'*Anu, how do you feel?*'_

_'*Itchy, Miss. It itches something terrible.*'_

'*_Keep your hands off your bandage, Tamm. The fastest way to an infection is fiddling with this, do you hear?*_'

_'*Yes, sir.*'_

_'*Professor Snape is a very talented potions master, Anu, did you know that?*'_

"*_Yes, Miss. Our potions master says Professor Snape is one of fourteen potioners in Europe qualified to make Wolfsbane potion. Is that true?*' _

_'*It is.*'_

_'*Will you make it for the wolves here?*'_

'_*That depends on lord Krum. Stop squirming, boy, and take your potion.*' _Snape flicked at his hands, one at a time, and they were encased in a super thin bubble charm as the elf handed the phial over and Anu drained it. Hermione mimicked Snape, and held the bowl, disgusted and fascinated, as Snape began to gently unpack the wound.

'*_It is imperative the wound be kept immaculate. It will help with scarring, for one thing.*'_

Unpacked, the wound was even worse. The air smelt of blood. Tamm sat surprisingly still, giving only the occasional whimper as Snape drew bloodied snakes of gauze from the socket.

The girl, too, was stoic as she took the gauze into the bowl. _'There's quite a lot of it, isn't there? What did this?' _She didn't Tamm to understand this next part.

_'A Blinding jinx. If he hadn't moved, it would have taken both eyes. It's a curse designed to target the eyes but leave the brain untouched.'_

_'That's hideous.'_

_'Yes, it is.' _Snape took out clean gauze and spent a few minutes teaching the girl how to properly roll the gauze, before he packed it gently into the wound. Tamm's face screwed up but he didn't cry out. Snape re-wrapped the gauze and Impervious'd it. And then, as calmly as if he was reading the paper, he flicked and Tamm was sleeping. Snape took a moment to arrange the boy so he was drooping against his pupil, and then, feeling disgusted at himself, conjured a light blanket.

_'Look at me, milady. Open your mind. It shan't hurt.' _He entered as slowly as he could, taking care to disrupt nothing. He was surprisingly tempted to explore a bit. He could feel nodes of emotion pulsating in her consciousness, which was flying alarmingly quickly about him, moving so rapidly it actually made him vaguely nervous.

Respecting her privacy, he went in and found what he needed, carefully removing any chance she would link Professor Malcolm Mulciber and Sirius Black. He finished by carefully removing every trace of the conversation from her mind, making sure her memory segued cleanly from helping tend Tamm to their going back.

It was only a few minutes' work, and so when Viktor came looking, he found Snape, carrying the sleeping Tamm, and Hermione walking back, speaking softly about various matters.

_'I shall help you again in the morning, of course. And he simply must keep his hands away. It will get worse as it heals, so we must be vigilant.'_

_'I'll remind Viktor and Draco to watch him. Professor?'_

_'Milady?'_

_'Let me heal that bruise?'_

_'No need.'_

_'It looks like it hurts. Viktor, tell the Professor he should let me heal him.'_

Viktor grinned. _'Can't vin an argument vith Hermione, Professor. I vould give in._'

_'You are married to the lady in question. That changes things.'_

_'Hmm, perhaps.' _Viktor took Tamm, who mumbled sleepily and snuggled against him. _'Anu is vell?'_

_'We had to change his gauze. I put him to sleep so the healing can work without his disturbing it.'_

_'He vill be all right, though, you think?'_

_'He should be.' _Snape repeated the instructions about keeping things clean and not scratching, and then excused himself to bed. Viktor carried Tamm into the other room, where Draco, in a borrowed nightshirt, was reading a translation charmed book.

_'You are fine, Drago?'_

_'I am. You?'_

_'Tired.'_

Draco set the book down. _'I'll handle the patrols, all right? You two sleep. Aunt Trixie was right, you both look terrible. In the best way_.' He grinned to show he was teasing, and they grinned back.

Draco was as good as his word and better. Every four hours, he rose to hear the most recent sentries' reports and give orders as to what was to be done. The answer, resoundingly, was nothing. It was quiet.

They weren't the only ones to notice. Rabastan and Penko, having Silenced the room, were having a reunion of their own. In the bed, they lay side by side, touching all over. _'*I've missed this.*'_

_'*So have I.*' _Rabastan's hand crept down and began to work, making Penko gasp approvingly. He utilised all the tricks at his considerable disposal to make things interesting, first bringing his lover to the brink and then slowly, maddeningly, easing off.

Penko grunted with annoyance and seized his hand. '_*Stop! That!*'_

_'*What?*'_ Rabastan looked as innocent as he could, a sure sign

_'*Berk.*' _Penko kissed his mouth hard and then subsided. _'*Today felt endless, didn't it?*'_

_'*Are you all right?*'_

Penko sounded thoughtful. '_*I killed three people that I remember and more that I don't.*'_

Rabastan sat up and poured some water from the carafe for his lover, frowning with concern. _'*There's no shame in not being all right, Penko.*'_

_'*I'm...too all right. I should feel more about this than I do, really.*'_

_'*There's quite a lot of that going round.*' _He thought about the way he'd casually helped plot treason and his brother's agonal face and winced.

He loved Rodolphus with his whole heart, to be sure, but he wanted to shake him too. Surely he saw that this whole thing was an abomination, a perversion of the ideals they believed strongly enough to suffer Azkaban for?

They were both silent a moment, considering. '_*Penko? When I started teaching you, you said you'd never had a serious fight. You fought at the Ministry, surely_?*'

'*_Well, yes, but it wasn't...I downed them, and then your brother's man Scabior finished them off. Or one of the others. The little dark haired one, or else that idiot that Stefan stunned. Not like this. I had to look them in the eye.*'_

Rabastan nodded. '*_It's harder, isn't it?*'_

_'*Yes and no. They're the enemy, is all. It's not personal. It was personal when they killed Zhivka. I wonder, sometimes, whether anything will feel quite like it did.*'_

Rabastan smoothed his hair. _'*It's hard to say.*' _So they didn't. They lay in silence and appreciated they were alive, and together. Sometimes that has to be enough for us.

The quiet lasted until shortly before the dawn hours, when a crowd started to gather. It was a quiet, intent sort of crowd. By the time Draco woke, feeling the sudden coldness in the bed, a sentry was winging her way to tell him what was happening.

Draco sat up, hoping Tamm hadn't wandered off or worse. He heard a noise from the corner and moved to see the younger lad, clearly engaging in some kind of devotions, chanting in a gently wavering voice as he bowed. Draco immediately averted his eyes; he wouldn't like being gawked at when he spoke to Grandfather, or offered sweets for the little sister who had died, and so he gave Anu the courtesy of privacy.

The ritual ended, and Tamm came back to the bed. '*_Did I wake you?*'_

_'*No. Have you heard from Viktor or Hermione?*'_

_'*Not yet.*' _Tamm laid back down and yawned. _'*It's still dark out.*'_

_'*Get some more sleep, then.*' _Once Draco was up, he was up, and he wanted to check on the sentries and see about some maps and things anyway. He rose and skinned into his trousers and tunic, tugging on his boots just as the door flew open and a girl ran inside.

_'There's a crowd at the gates!'_

Draco was alert, feeling every muscle twitch and every instinct leap wildly. '_What sort of crowd?'_

_'People!'_

_'Obviously, people. Are they shouting?'_

_'No, quiet!' _She started to sob and it was all Draco could do not to slap the stupid, whinging cow. Instead, ignoring her, he spoke to Tamm.

'*_Anu, get dressed and wake the Superintendent, and then my parents and uncles. We need everyone for this. And ask Uncle Penko to ready the hospital, we might have a large influx of the wounded coming very shortly. Get Snape as well_.*' Then he was running to see this massive crowd for himself.

Well, at least the idiot hadn't lied. People, as far as the eye could see, some of them waving flags, some of them carrying homemade banners he couldn't read, some of them (priests?) holding up ikons or other symbols. There were thousands of them. He turned from the window and ran, shouting for Viktor and Hermione to come and see.

Hermione woke when she heard Tamm's voice. '*_Superintendent! Miss! We need you! Please, wake up!*'_ She reached for the wrapped that she'd hung on a peg near the bed and quickly donned it. _'Viktor! Wake up!_'

He groaned and rolled, but she was already opening the door. '_*Anu?*_'

'*_There's a crowd outside, a big one! Malfoy says we all need to meet and do something! I have to get your parents!*' _He turned and ran out, intent on finding Miss's parents and Malfoy's to alert them.

Viktor was alert by now, and he shoved himself into clothing, taking a second to smooth his hair. Better perhaps to have lost the beard, now that he didn't need to tend it.

Hermione had called for clean clothes, and the elves brought her lady's garments, a plain red dress and white chemise. They quickly braided and pinned her hair for her and helped her into stockings and shoes. One of them even brushed a dab of carmine (which surely was not the property of the sedate matron to whom these clothes belonged) on her lips and sprinkled a little perfume on her neck.

They were ready. The family was waiting for them and they went together, oddly serene. There would be a battle, or there wouldn't. It almost didn't matter.

Lucius went first, and Rodolphus, and then the others. The crowd was still quiet. Rodolphus gestured to his daughter and son in law.

_'Let them see you.'_

Lord and lady Krum approached the railing, and then the cheers started. It was five minutes before any of them could be heard over the roaring of the people below.

Penko knew they had to strike whilst the iron was hot. '*_Address them, Viktor.*'_

Viktor went pale. He was no public speaker. His eyes went to his wife, who winked. Pretend it's Durmstrang, he ordered himself, just the students, and everything is fine.

He stepped to the edge of the railing and raised a hand for quiet. The crowd went still. It is a heady thing, to move a crowd with a gesture. He'd done it before, but this was different. This **mattered.**

Saint Mikhail, help me, Viktor begged, and then straightened his shoulders and made himself start to talk.


	85. Chapter 85

**A/N: Love to reviewers and Countess Black**

**Special thanks to my friend K for her support.**

**There's some gross concepts here. I got the idea from accounts of the trenches in World War I, to give you an idea of what this is going to be like.**

**Also, I love that everything a certain cynical character says is a double entendre.**

Severus Snape watched them approach the ledge with trepidation that was somewhat enhanced by how badly he'd slept. The dog, as it transpired, snored, and made all manner of obnoxious sleep noises as a human.

Not that Snape had consented to share the bed with him, mind. Not at all; he would have been content for the bastard to sleep on the floor-shivering, hopefully, and covered in dust and such-to teach him the error of his ways, but no luck.

Instead, he'd returned to the flat they were sharing with Rabastan and Penko and found the mangy cur in the bed, stretched out staring at the ceiling. Snape had felt a flare of outrage and glowered darkly. _'Get off the bed, you manky idiot!'_

_'I'm manky? At least I wash my hair.'_

_'Get down, I said. You've mucked things up enough for one night.'_

_'Snape, I didn't-'_

_'Shut up!' _Snape sat down and tugged his boots viciously, letting the elf that appeared help him and then waving it away with a short sharp gesture. He slipped out of his frock coat and trousers and slid under the blankets, glaring murderously.

Black seemed strangely less arse-like than usual. _'Look, I didn't mean for them to see me. I hid as best I could.'_

_'Not well enough, obviously.'_

_'There were...circumstances.'_

_'Like what, Black? You were bored? You wanted to torment the rat?'_

_'No.' _Black's jaw was tightening hard. _'The smell.'_

_'What smell?'_

_'You know there's a few thousand corpses downstairs, I take it?'_

_'Why no, I'd completely forgot we were in a battle this morning.'_

_'The rats are gathering. I wanted to prevent them eating the dead, all right?'_

_'The dead are under stasis.'_

_'Rats can burrow through if there are sufficient numbers of them, and the spell doesn't do much for the scent if it's animals and not people one's worried about.'_

Snape nodded and then his eyes narrowed. _'I suppose' _he murmured in his silkiest tone _'that Pettigrew had nothing to do with all this?'_

Black looked unusually solemn, and Snape acknowledged, albeit to himself, that he could see why Black wanted to do that. Those brave, doomed children deserved better than being food for vermin.

_'A bit of stealth would have been out of the question?'_

_'They wouldn't have seen me if Bess hadn't pounced. She wanted to play.'_

_'They wouldn't have seen you if hadn't chased that rat. Was it Pettigrew?'_

Black looked sullen. _'Yes.'_

_'You can't mean to say he was partaking?' _Snape felt an instinctive shudder of atavistic disgust at the idea, and knew that he'd kill the rat out of hand if he had been. Snape had done his share, but there was a line, and the price of crossing it was death.

_'Even Peter wouldn't sink so low.' _Black's native honesty won out, and Snape relaxed a little.

Black rose and silently split the bed, making two smaller ones, and climbed under the covers of his. Snape could sense dark feelings roiling off him in waves.

_'Your cousins will have questions for you.'_

_'I'm sure.'_

_'What will you tell them?'_

Black outlined it neatly and Snape nodded once. _'Fine. See you keep up the pretence this time.'_

Black didn't answer. Snape rolled his eyes and slept a few hours, until the Albanian came for him. Black had fused the beds and turned back into the dog without a word. Snape gave him a single nod and let Tamm in.

Now, standing on the balcony, Snape watched his pupils approaching the railing and wondered whether he should have prepared them somehow. Krum looked positively jumpy, and the girl was only a bit better. She reached for his wrist and touched it, and he seemed to relax a little.

Still, the moment he opened his mouth, Snape found himself tensing ever so slightly, and asking his mother's shade, poor wandering thing, to help him, help them all. What, he wondered, could the boy be thinking?

Hermione was wondering the same. She watched him from the corner of her eye. Her husband's shoulders were straight, and he stood tall. She felt a great pride in him, and love so fierce and strong it felt like an act of physical union to her, that painfully sweet.

_'*Thank you all for coming out. I'm sure many of you have questions, or needs, and we'll do our best to resolve them as quickly as possible.*'_

_'*As for the situation here, we're not quite sure. What we do know is that the false lord Stefan Borev is dead, the wolves have been rendered harmless to us, and Minister Dinev has abdicated.*'_

There was a sort of commotion behind them, a small one, and Draco's voice near her left ear. _'Lady Batcheva is here, and she brought friends_.' She couldn't turn round but they needed to speak to the Conclave. She stepped beside her husband and slipped a hand into his, squeezing. When he'd come to a stopping place, she inhaled deeply and filled the silence with her voice.

'Lord Krum tells me when we were young Bulgaria is most beautiful country on earth. Now I know it is also the bravest. Because of brave Bulgarians, and help from our friends from other places, Bulgaria is soon beautiful again. Farmers will work land, shepherds herd sheep and children will play in meadows. I am luckiest girl on the earth, that brave and beautiful Bulgaria is my home now.'

To say the crowd liked it was an understatement. The cheers started, and Hermione used them as cover to hiss _'The Conclave is here.' _Viktor nodded, and motioned to Penko. '_*Uncle, could you speak to them? You and Uncle Lucius?*' _On Hermione's other side she saw her uncle Malfoy, clearly prepared to speak. He smiled at her and the two diplomats prepared to put all their cunning and mental acuity to making this sound good. Rabastan was nearby, ready to help.

The members of the Conclave were massed at the back of the antechamber attached to the balcony. There were five of them, and they'd been joined by the vassal lords, who were watching them with frank distrust.

And Tamm, who was calmly holding his wand on the man next to Lady Batcheva. The lord tried again. '_*Young man, I insist you permit us to-*'_

_'*Superintendent is speaking, sir. You'll need to wait until he's done.*' _

Hermione bit her tongue and touched the boy's arm on his sighted side. '_*Anu, lady Batcheva and her companions are welcomed to come and speak with us.*'_

He slowly lowered his wand. _'*All right, Miss.*' _He gave the group a stern glare and went to stand beside Draco, who looked like he didn't know whether to laugh or cry. Viktor nodded his approval and bowed. _'*My lady, my lords, what may I help you with?*'_

_'*You seem to have attracted quite a crowd, lord Krum.*'_

_'*I expect people want to know what's going on.*'_

_'*Will you meet with them?*'_

_'*Lady Krum, would you be willing?*'_

_'*Eager, my lord.*'_

'_*Then yes, we will. Perhaps send some of the adjutants out to organise them and send in representatives of each group.*'_

One of the lords cleared his throat. '_*Surely we could discuss what you might want to say to them? Come to an agreement about the best way to handle things?*'_

_'*No.*'_

_'*No?*'_

Hermione found a very real anger bubbling up inside her. _'*You did not help when we need it, my lord. Now you want to make choices for us? Lord Krum is right. No.*'_

_'*The circumstances-*'_

_'*Thank you, my lady, my lords. We'll be in touch about the departure of the troops.*' _He bowed again, and Hermione curtsied, still angry. The group was staring at them in shock, and one of the lords made the mistake of reaching a hand to grasp Hermione's sleeve, probably to get her attention.

She pulled back, and saw that no fewer than six wands were trained on the man, her own not included. Aunt Narcissa, Mother, Father, Viktor, Draco, and yes, Tamm, were all pointing directly at his head.

_'*It is rude to touch without asking, my lord.*' _Hermione saw the man swallow hard and nod Bulgarian style, eyes wide. She felt a sudden, heady burst of power that she tried to thrust away; this was no time to make enemies. Things were in flux, and that meant watching and waiting.

_'*Father, would you please escort my lords and lady to the courtyard?*' _Rodolphus was delighted, and seeing Rodolphus Lestrange smiling at them in an especially predatory fashion encouraged any who might have protested to save it for later.

The second time on the balcony was easier. The crowd had been primed by Penko and Lucius, and by Hermione's charmingly accented, not wholly grammatical talk, which had made the subject of continuing the Bulgarian-British alliance somewhat easier, with the two embodiments of it smiling and waving and generally making things look rosy.

'*_In two days time, lady Krum and I, along with our allies and family, will go to Castle Dinev to demand answers from the former Minister. If any of you would serve your country, now is the time. In a few moments, adjutants, led by my cousin Drago Malfoy, will come out to help organise you on the basis of your need. Please cooperate as best you can, and we'll see everyone has everything they need.*'_

Draco, trailed by Tamm, took the hint and went to assemble his lieutenants, sadly diminished though they were. Out of the original fifty, twenty seven were left. Ten had been badly wounded, and six were missing, presumed either dead or too badly injured to identify. Seven lay in the cellar, guarded from rats by a dog who was a man.

The wolves flanking them, the group had the elves open the gates and went amongst them. Draco was not prepared for their reception, which was to say, they were mobbed. Crowds engulfed them, cheering. Flowers were conjured and thrust into his hands, and sweets, and pretty girls hugged him and brushed his cheeks with kisses.

He nodded to his people and they spread through the mass of squirming humanity, trying to figure out who needed what. They were remarkably efficient, both by dint of need and because he had taken care to choose the smartest people he could find. Beside him, Tamm was scarlet, having been soundly kissed himself. The dogs were trailing him, and they circulated as well, sniffing, permitting themselves to be hugged by excited children, and patted by adults, fine tails cutting the air with wondrous slowness.

The Estonians, led now by Vaike in her brother's absence, were organising young people who wished to fight. Others were finding those in need of medical attention, or food, or with a claim to be settled by the Ministry.

Draco called each of the leaders to him in turn. _'*Have them choose spokesmen and we'll bring them to lord and lady Krum. You're Miss Sproga, aren't you?*'_

_'*I am.*' _The girl's hair had been singed, and she had a bandage on her hand.

_'*My cousin will want you. Is Miss Ropion here as well?*'_

_'*She is not well.*'_

_'*Can she walk?*'_

_'*She can.*'_

_'*Get her, Hermione needs you both.*' _The girl nodded and set out, looking determined. Draco turned his attentions back to the others.

'*Arcos?*' he called to the head wolf, whom he'd gathered was a friend of Pavel's, and whose given name was evidently Eugen.

'*Malfoy?*'

'*I want your men out here keeping order. If there's a problem, find either myself or my father, or uncles, and we'll deal with it. No violence, do you hear? Absolutely no bloodshed.*'

The wolf nodded tightly and called in Romanian to his people, who fanned out, subtly scenting out troublemakers.

It took a much shorter time than he would have thought. With the spokesmen and women following, they went back into the Ministry, to meet with lord and lady Krum.

Lady Krum was currently Hermione. She threw both her arms about Alise, hugging her as hard as she could. Yseult was behind her, wavering where she stood.

_'Alise! Yseult! How dare you both risk yourselves this way?_' She scolded in French even as she hugged Yseult, who blinked slowly and hugged back.

_'You're one to talk. And married now, we hear.' _Alise poked her friend in the ribs and Hermione actually giggled, and showed her right hand, where the band gleamed on her third finger. Alise whistled.

_'We'll want details, of course.'_

_'Details?' _Hermione was actually blushing.

_'This' _said Alise gravely _'is far beyond tongue, my friend.'_

_'How did you hurt your hand, Alise?'_

_'She's changing the topic, Yseult. And I got clipped coming over the wall.'_

_'You were both on the ground that night?'_

_'Of course.'_

Hermione glowered. _'You were in terrible danger. Your families will be furious with you.'_

_'Says the girl who summoned a firestorm to bring down a siege ladder.'_

_'I didn't summon it, I just used what was there._'

Yseult still hadn't said anything. Hermione lifted her brows and Alise shook her head. _'Yseult, sweet, look at me.' _Hermione reached for her friend's hand. Yseult held her hand for a moment and said _'I'm all right, Hermione, really. How are you?'_

'_I'm well. Could I ask you both to help me? We're to receive people.' _The elves had set up a salon as an informal dining room, and all three worked, helping them get things in order. If Yseult objected to doing menial labour, she didn't say.

When the spokespeople were bowed in, the lord and lady, seated at the head table, rose to greet them, inquiring after their families and homes. The Death Eaters were there as well, and the adjutants, and they circulated. Though stories about the Lestranges and Malfoys had not trickled into Central Europe as they had places closer to Britain, news as salacious as that tends to get round, so many of them felt a frisson of discomfort on seeing their faces.

Scabior caught site of his intended, hair burnt, hand bandaged, as she chased after a giggling toddler. The boy ran to lord Krum and put up plump hands to be lifted, and lord Krum obliged without fanfare, settling the kid on his hip and simply continuing his conversation until the mother came and got him, apologising. Lord Krum smiled and handed the baby back, waving at him.

Scabior edged closer to Miz Sproga, who finally caught sight of him and motioned him over. He helped her lower a very old man, wizened as a prune, into a chair. _'*Mr. Scabior, could you find some pain potion for the gentlemen? His hip is acting up.*' _The old man's toothless mouth gaped, and he replied in Bulgarian so thickly accented that even the translation spell did very little to help.

_'*I'll go an find im sum, Miz. Anythin you need?*'_

_'*No, thank you, but if you brought back a few phials, that would be helpful.*'_

_'*I'll ave the ospital send a basket a potions.*' _He lightly touched her arm and she smiled, turning back to the old man. He rather liked that she didn't let anything distract her.

The lord cleared his throat, and the room quieted. All eyes turned to Flower and her Bulgarian. '_*Hello, everyone. Thank you for joining us. We'd like to take any questions or concerns you might have.*' _He introduced the family to everyone by name, and the adjutants, and whomever else. Even Scabior got a moment where all they looked at him. If only his mates from home could have seen him, he thought amused, ol Lem Scabior the centre of attention.

Then the questions started. Scabior leant over and tugged Miz Sproga's hand. She followed him without hesitating. They crept out into the corridor and found the elf, toting the basket of potions and a note from Rumen Krum.

Alise took it and Scabior took it in turn, leading her to a bench. _'*Well now, duck, ow did this appen?*'_

_'*What happen?*'_

He sat next to her and gave her a level look. '_*Miz Sproga, you knows what I means. Ow did you comes t be ere? You was at school, last I checked.*'_

_'*The call came and we answered it.*'_

He scooted a little closer. '*_We aint married yet. But we means t be, yeah?*'_

_'*Yes, of course.*'_

_'*Then you understands why I'm not what you'd called pleased to know ow much danger yer in. And nor wuld be yer Nan or yer daddy, rest is shade.*'_

Miz Sproga went pink in the face. _'*I had to come, even as you did.*'_

_'*Course you did, duck. Never said you dint. I jus wants you t know that people cares about you, and wants you t be safe. Ow did you urt yer hand?*'_

_'*Got clipped coming over the walls.*'_

_'*You climbed the ladders?*'_

_'*Yes. I was pulling Yseult behind me. I turned and one of them glanced a Piercing hex off my palm.*' _

_'*Why's it still bandaged, then?*'_

_'*No spare potions. It was a small wound, Scabior. There were people burnt on 90 percent of their bodies.*'_

He nodded. _'*I 'magine you saw some rite awful things, duck, yeah?*'_

_'*Yes.*'_

_'*Wants to talk about it?*'_

_'*They'll need us inside soon.*'_

_'*Dint answer me, pet.*'_

Miz Sproga surprised him by leaning over and resting her head on his shoulder. _'*How are you?*'_

_'*Fine, duck. First time you ever seen a real fight, was it?*'_

_'*Yes.*'_

_'*Did you ave t urts anyone?*'_

_'*Yes.*'_

Scabior slowly put his hands under her arms and lifted her onto his lap. She was warm and solid, reminding him painfully of Hetty for a moment. He made no effort to touch her further. After a few seconds, she relaxed and rested her head on his neck. They were exactly the same height.

_'*Yseult's not well. My friend.*'_

_'*No?*'_

_'*She's not...she wasn't ready.*'_

_'*Aint no one, their first time. Is she actin funny?*'_

_'*Too quiet.*'_

_'*She'll get over it.*' _Or she wouldn't, but Scabior was an optimist, and also didn't especially care either way, except insofar as Miz Sproga and Flower did. He reached up and gently stroked Miz Sproga's hair, which was crisp at the ends.

_'* Z'at why you was dragging er, duck?*'_

_'*If I hadn't, she'd have been killed.*'_

_'*You dun rite, duck, I'm not sayin as you dint. What appened then?*' _

Her voice dropped. '_*There was...fire, Scabior. So much fire. Screaming as they burnt. And lord Krum shouted for us to go over the walls, and I couldn't leave her...she was shrieking for a medic, but there weren't any, and Volanges was dead anyhow...so we went up. I had her by the hair, I think, and I was...screaming too.*'_

Scabior reached up to stroke her neck. '_*That was gud thinkin, duck.*'_

_'*The aurors were firing at us. I fired back. Maybe I hit them. Don't know.*'_

He tightened his arms about her. _'*I gots you, girl. S'awrite.*'_

_'*Did you fight too?*'_

_'*I was tryin to help the Death Eaters t capture the Minister. If e's still alive, e's bad urt.*'_

_'*Then perhaps we'll not have to fight again.*'_

'*_Mebbe so, sweet'eart, but I'd not bet me crup an lot on it. You sure yer up t goin again?*'_

_'*I have to be.*'_

_'*They'd let you stay, I thinks, if you wanted t.*'_

_'*I couldn't do that. Hermione's my best friend.*'_

_'*I understands. But you gets that and fixed, an dont you dare gets urts again, less milady'll get on you.*'_

_'*Just Hermione?*'_

_'*I wuld a'swell, but once milady's done, there wont be nothin left fer me t tells off, will there?*'_

She laughed a little and pecked his cheek, and then they went into the salon again to help their employers and friends, carrying the basket of potions.

Bellatrix saw them come back in and felt a winkle of approval. She didn't precisely love the mudblood's presence, or Scabior's interest in her, but she acknowledged the girl was smart, and good at assisting others.

As soon as the questions were over, she stood and made her way to Snape, stopping to corral the same baby who'd run to Viktor. Snape was sorting the potions, apparently by sight, as the labels were written in Bulgarian.

_'Snape.'_

_'Bellatrix.'_

_'I'd like to see...a friend.'_

_'Try the basement. We'll need to have a group meeting later about that.'_

_'Fine.' _She turned and went out without another word, making her way down and down. She heard a voice calling and turned to see the little Albanian trailing.

_'*Should I come with you, Madam? Might be aurors.*'_

_'*No, boy. Stay with my nephew, he'll need you.*'_

_'*Take a dog, then?*_' He frowned, clearly intent on providing her with protection. It would, she thought, be faster to give in. '*_All right, Tamm.*_'

So she went into the belly of the building with one of the Karakachans following, nose to the ground. Bellatrix liked dogs, so she didn't mind much. She thought this one was Lady.

The basement smelt of cold and mildew. Bellatrix walked carefully, heedful of the rats which darted to and fro. The dog growled sometimes, nose twitching, but stayed by Bellatrix's side.

_'Sirius! Sirius Black!' _Her eyes found a dark shape in the darkness and a large dog detached itself from the shadows and came to her side, giving Lady a friendly snort.

Bellatrix, with her two escorts, found a small sub-cellar, and left Lady to guard the door. The Sirius-dog followed at her heels until she'd warded the door and cast a strong Muffiliato.

It was very strange, watching her cousin's form come from the huge, shaggy dog body. He rose from the ground and she stared up at him. _'Cousin.'_

_'Morning, Trixie.' _He gave her a smile and used his wand to conjure them chairs to sit on. She sank down and tried to find something to say. Sirius did likewise, and it was an awkward few moments, to say the least.

_'How are the Tornados doing, Bellatrix?'_

_'What?'_

_'The Tornados. How are they? Have they played the Harpies yet?'_

_'Yes. They lost.'_

_'Good. I hate the Tornados.'_

This struck Bellatrix as funny, and she laughed a little, as her cousin did likewise. That helped to break the tension, and Sirius, slouching louchely in the chair, reminded Bellatrix of babysitting this man when he was small, a little fellow who idolised Rodolphus and Rabastan and who liked to be sung to sleep.

_'It's been a long time, Trixie.'_

_'Yes, it has. You know, we always thought...why, Sirius?'_

_'Why what?'_

_'You acted as though you hated us. You moved out, you stopped visiting, and all that time it was a lie?'_

_'It was to protect the people I loved, Trixie. It wouldn't have been safe otherwise.'_

Bellatrix leant over, body tight with tension. _'None of us ever suspected, not even remotely. You cultivated that idiot Potter and the Lupin boy and the little fat one.'_

_'A person is known by the company they keep, just like Grandfather used to say.'_

She narrowed her eyes. _'Sirius Orion Black, you're being evasive.'_

_'I was deep undercover. There's loads I can't say.'_

_'No one is more faithful to Him than myself, Sirius. And secrets are bad for your health, you know that. You're too thin like it is.'_

_'You're one to talk!'_

_'It's different.' _She gave him her sternest glare and he wisely dropped the issue. Instead, he stretched lazily, something popping noisily.

_'What was that?'_

_'My shoulder. Being Salazar bothers it sometimes.'_

She nodded, resolving to tell Cissy to nag him about getting it treated. _'Otherwise you're well?'_

_'I am. You? It must be very difficult for you. This thing with...'_

_'Yes. You know how He was. And now, He's...'_

_'Yes.'_

Bellatrix looked away, ashamed to find her eyes felt damp and itchy. _'I always thought I was a Death Eater first. Always. But my __**daughter**__, Sirius!' _She swallowed hard, eyes burning.

_'Even the most well-intentioned person can be misguided, Trixie. No one's ever doubted your zeal for the cause.'_

She nodded and dragged a sleeve across her eyes. _'Nor should they. We are the Inner Circle for a reason, cousin. We are the very best He had.' _She felt dangerous and competent and absolutely sure of herself.

_'I have never thought any less.'_

_'And you will help us?'_

_'I will.'_

She stood up. _'And have Snape look at that shoulder, you know very well rheumatism runs in our family. Do you want to end up like great uncle Gergesenes?'_

_'I'd have to add a few vowels and remove some hair.'_

She laughed. _'You've not changed, you know.'_

_'I've a moustache now.'_

_'You're still full of cheek.'_

_'Wonder where I learnt that?'_

_'Hmmph. I'll ask Rodolphus to address the issue with you if you keep it up.'_

_'I'm a bit old for the naughty chair these days, Trixie.'_

_'That's what you think.' _She was startled when he laughed and melted back into the dog. She watched him pad off, not before giving Lady a perfectly genteel doggy bow. Bellatrix watched him go and left to fight the rest of the day's battles.

In England, a group of men was meeting. A single woman would join them later, but she was currently occupied. Walden Macnair called the meeting to order, and the talk died off. He was holding a roll of parchment in his hands, and when he knew they were listening, he unrolled it slowly and read.

"Sofia is ours. Viktor, lord Krum."

The words hung heavily over the table. 'Has His Lordship been told, Rodolphus?'

'He has.'

Augustus Rookwood cracked his knuckles. 'So the boy did it after all. How remarkable.'

'They're calling him the Young Alexander, you know, on the Continent.'

'I wouldn't go bruiting that about, Mamercus. His Lordship would not favour it, I daresay.'

'Of course not. I was merely commenting on the fatuousness of Continental thought.'

'Indeed. The question is, gentlemen, what should we do about it?'

'**Do** about it, Walden?' Rookwood raised a thick brow. Macnair nodded slowly.

'It seems to me, gentlemen, that His Lordship's trust in various people has been sorely misplaced.'

A galvanic charge went through the room. They all listened, very carefully, as Walden Macnair started to speak.


	86. Chapter 86

**A/N: Love to reviewers and Countess Black**

**Special thanks to my friend K for her continual support.**

**NB: The Conclave counts days as dawn to dawn, not midnight to midnight, dating back to the time when very few people could tell time or had even seen a clock.**

**Also, I feel like there's a quote I missed, but gosh darned if I can find it, so if you recognise it, please give me a shout so I can credit the source.**

Viktor met Draco coming from the bedroom, tugging on his gloves as though to go out. _'Drago?' _It was early morning, so early it was almost dark, and he had been up for some time, thinking and seeing to the dogs.

_'Hello, Viktor.'_

_'Vhere are you going so early?'_

_'Wanted to take a walk round and see what's happening. Diggory and Pucey set up watches and we need a copy of that list, amongst others.'_

_'Yes, ve do. Maybe ve take a few moments first? Haven't seen you in a long time.' _The two set off for the great kitchens of the Ministry, intent on finding a nosh. Bess fell into step behind them, wagging and prancing to invite her people to wrestle with her, or throw sticks, or play chase.

_'Snow again tonight.'_

_'I think so.' _Draco was watching, eyes alert. Viktor wondered whether he had that same aspect these days. He suspected the answer was yes.

_'Good. More cover for the ships tomorrow.'_

_'Harder to see through, though.' _They both smiled as Bess took off after a bird, pouncing joyfully. The young dog, once a roly poly bundle of fur, was a perfect fusion of form and utility, a loving, friendly killing machine.

Viktor watched her with pride. _'I am glad I left Bear at home. He is too old for these things.'_

_'He did well, though, at the castle.'_

_'Vell indeed. But he is twenty two. Older than us.'_

_'Isn't it a shame they can't talk? The stories would be fascinating.' _Bess bounded back, sans bird but humour high. She gave Draco a friendly bump with her head, tongue lolling.

_'Where's Salazar, Bess?'_

Bess whined, perhaps to show she didn't know. Draco scratched her ruff, which was still a mite crisp from the fire, and she took off again, this time sniffing at a small, decorative tree in the yard.

_'Ve go soon. How do you feel?'_

_'Tired of war. You?'_

_'Yes. I vant to go home vith everyvon. Have Christmas at the castle. Drink punch. See baby again.'_

_'Sleep in the same bed more than a few nights. Take the kids to gather pine boughs for the hall.'_

_'Play in snow. Svim in sea.'_

_'In the winter?'_

Viktor nodded stoutly. _'Good for the blood, sea bathing in vinter. Ve svim in lake at school, don't ve?'_

_'Yes, but it's a lake.' _Draco's tone implied there was a difference. Viktor decided to ask later.

_'My father, he likes to svim. Did you know that?'_

_'I didn't. Did he do it often?'_

_'Every day. Every day in summer too, but especially in vinter. I used to go and vatch him. Vas afraid a sea monster might attack_.' Viktor smiled at the memory. He pictured himself at four, wrapped in layers of furs and wool, watching from shore, a warm little hat perched on his head, scanning for tell tale fins or claws.

Draco was grinning. _'I used to wait for Father every day on our stairs. He always came in at five, so I'd take my toys and sit where he would see me. I had this stuffed dragon I took everywhere. Basil, was his name.'_

_'He protect you vhilst you vait?'_

'_No, I protected him. He was quite a *neurotic* dragon, really. Didn't like thunder, didn't like naps, didn't like doing his lessons.'_

Viktor laughed a little and then sobered. _'I vonder if my father knows ve are alive.'_

_'He must. We Firecalled London and all. Have you sent an owl?'_

_'No.'_

'_No_?'

Viktor looked to the sky, where a few stars still gleamed above, cruelly serene. The courtyard still smelt of blood and charred wood. _'Ve must vorry about other things first. Alvays so much to do, isn't there?'_

_'Yes. I was thinking maybe we should ask Snape to send his...dog...to the hospital_.'

Viktor paused. _'To do vhat?'_

_'We're missing six people. The dog might be able to sniff the badly wounded to see who they are. Their parents need to be told, if nothing else.'_

_'I vill ask him. Maybe ve send Miss Sproga and Tamm to help? And Scabior?'_

_'Perfect. And we should send a message to Kask, seeing how he is.'_

_'Could I ask you to speak to his sister, Drago? See how she is doing?_'

Draco went slightly pink. _'Of course.'_

Viktor grinned, thoroughly enjoying the chance to rib Draco, who was best friend, cousin and little brother all at the same time. _'Take her for a valk, maybe, vith stars shining on snow. Sounds nice, hmm?'_

_'Hmmph.'_

_'And then I teach Tamm some poems to add to the mood, yes?'_

_'Don't you teach him that! We've enough problems like it is!'_

Bess put up and her head and barked to greet an approaching friend. Both men drew wands but were relieved to see it was, as though called, only Tamm, with a slip of paper in his hand.

_'*Hello, Superintendent! Hello, Malfoy! Bess!*' _He dropped to his haunches and reached for the dog, who obligingly leapt into the embrace, knocking him into the snow. Tamm laughed and then stood up slowly.

_'*What's this, Anu?*'_

_'*Mr. Adrian Pucey sends his compliments to lord Krum and Mr. Malfoy, and a list of sentries. He says the Prefects et al...is that right?...wants to meet in order to discuss tomorrow, if that's all right. Is there a return message?*'_

_'*Where is Mr. Pucey, do you know?*'_

_'*He's in the hall. The elves are putting breakfast on for the students and wolves.*'_

_'*Is lady Krum awake?*'_

_'*Lady Krum has gone to see Miss Sproga and Miss Ropion, Superintendent. Miss Ropion is poorly.*'_

Draco waited for Tamm to be done and then suggested '*_Why don't we invite them after breakfast? We can have Hermione bring her friends and then make a plan.*'_

_'*Sounds good. We can sit you next to Miss Kask, and then you might make your inquiries.*'_

Draco gave him a look and said nothing. Tamm looked up from the dog and tilted his head curiously. '*_Should I go and get her now, Superintendent?*'_

_'*No, Anu, but thank you.*'_

Tamm looked ready to argue but then grinned at Draco. _'*Oh.*'_

_'*What do you mean, Tamm, "oh"?*'_

_'*You like her.*'_

_'*I like her very much, and don't give me that look. It's not like that.*'_

Tamm was still grinning. _'*Superintendent?*'_

_'*It's like that.*' _Viktor smiled at Tamm, who was clearly over the moon at a chance to play with them. The younger boy quickly scooted out of cuffing range and asked too innocently _'*Is that why Malfoy gets that look on his face when she's about?*'_

_'*What look?*'_

_'*Your ears get pink, and your eyes get sort of big and...I don't know, different.*'_

_'*Do they? Interesting, Tamm, wouldn't you agree?*'_

_'*Yes, Superintendent.*'_

Draco made his best predatory smile. _'*You know, Tamm, it would be terrible if someone were to roll you in the snow.*'_

_'*Superintendent, don't let him roll me in the snow!*'_

_'*Drago*' _said Viktor with great sternness '_*if Tamm has been rolled in snow, you are the prime suspect.*'_

_'*Duly noted.*' _Draco's voice was friendly and relaxed a second before he pounced, lifting the smaller lad easily and picking him up, carrying him toward the nearest snow bank.

Tamm yelped, legs kicking. _'*Superintendent, help!*'_

Bess barked again, and Viktor lowered his wand when he saw only the figures of his father in law and the uncles. He waved nonchalantly and pretended not to notice Draco, still carrying Tamm over his shoulder.

The group took it in stride. Lucius walked unhurriedly to his son. _'*Hello, Draco. I notice you're carrying Tamm.*'_

_'*Yes, Father.*'_

_'*How extraordinary. To what end, would you say?*' _Tamm was still struggling and protesting, laughing and trying to tickle Draco's ribs with his hands.

_'*I thought I'd roll him in the snow bank, actually.*'_

_'*Not like this, I should hope. Your form is frankly terrible. Surely I taught you better than that?*'_

_'*It is my first time, Father.*'_

_'*Of course. Shall I show you?*'_

_'*NO! NO!*' _Anu wailed and squirmed, laughing, still trying to tickle. Lucius took him careless of his hands and tipped him upside down, setting him so Tamm's feet were on his shoulder, and went toward the snow bank, casting a strong cushioning charm as he did, whilst Draco quickly Impervious'd the bandage again to be sure the injury would be safe.

_'*Superintendent, help!*'_

_'*Sorry, Anu. They've got diplomatic immunity.*' _Lucius, by this point, was seriously instructing his son in the art of rolling small boys in snow banks, and then demonstrated, laughing himself.

Bess was not about to let the humans have all the fun, and soon she and Anu were playing in the snow, rosy with happiness and exercise as Draco alternately chatted with his father and lobbed snowballs at the two, sometimes stopping to shower snow on them.

Viktor watched them feeling both pleased and old. Last year, the family had had a snowball fight on Christmas Eve. He had been unmarried, and life had been simpler. This year he was delighted to be married, but he suspected they would not get to play in their own courtyard for some time, and that life would never be simple like that again.

The meeting was called for nine AM, and the group assembled, including Hermione and her two friends. The Death Eaters and various other older people had been invited as well, and the lords, and the wolves, so the whole group was rather uncomfortably squeezed into a large meeting room, grouped round a table.

As always, Viktor and Hermione entered last, proceeded by Draco. The dogs trailed behind, fanning out to sniff the windows. The lords, clustered near the head of the table, rose at once, alert, interested. It made Hermione nervous. She looked at Alise, who was near Scabior again, neither touching nor looking at her intended. That was good.

_'*Please, be seated. Lord Paisi?*'_

_'*My lord, there is no water to be found for our men near the sight where we must camp. The wells are poisoned, per your decree.*'_

_'*I recall. Ideas?*'_

Hermione answered at once. '_*My lord, the poisoned wells must be disposed of. I suggest we vanish the poisoned water and collapse the wells as a precaution.*'_

_'*Done. Arco, send squadrons of your men to see to it, please. What else?*'_

_'*Can't we just make what we need, my lord? Aguamenti?*' _This from Thomas, the Beauxbatons Headboy.

_'*Strictly for immediate consumption, yes. For large scale events, like cooking, we need a consistent supply, and also for times we can't risk using magic.*'_

Tamm raised his hand shyly, like he was in class. They all turned and looked at him, and he went red. '_*We need bags. Skin bags. Like my Nene makes. Keeps the water liquid.*'_

Viktor nodded encouragingly. '_*Explain, Anu?*'_

_'*Nene makes bags out of sheepskin. They're charmed to make them bigger on the inside. You wear them like this.*' _He gestured across his chest. _'*Under your shirt. Your body heat keeps it from freezing. And layers on top.*'_

_'*That's an excellent idea. Could you help us to make up a prototype? An example to show everyone?*'_

_'*We need sheepskins. Good ones. Goat will do. It's not as good.*'_

_'*Lord Paisi, could I trouble you to find us as many of each as possible? And lord Balev? We'll just have to assign one water carrier to however many fighters.*'_

_'*How will we make that many overnight?*'_

_'*Working in shifts. And elves. I need all of you to call as many elves as you can. Father, Uncle Lucius, could I have loan of yours, if possible?*'_

_'*Of course.*'_

_'*We'll send people to the most important citizens, asking them for use of their elves as well.*'_

_'*What about food?*' And warm clothing?*' _This from Veneva.

_'*We'll send out foraging parties. And ask the crowds. Surely some of them have spares of each.*'_

_'*Some but not all. How will we know?*'_

_'*We'll put a cap on how much any one family can donate, is all. And write the monasteries and convents to ask if they've anything to spare.*'_

They debated the ethics of this a bit and came to no particular conclusion, and then Diggory of Hufflepuff raised a hand. '_*My lord?*'_

_'*Mr. Diggory?*'_

_'*Would it be all right for us to write our parents? They're worried, I'm sure.*'_

Uncle Lucius cocked his head. '_*Your father, young man, is Amos Diggory?*'_

_'*Yes, sir, he is.*'_

_'*I know Amos. You are a credit to him.*'_

_'*Thank you, Mr. Malfoy.*'_

Hermione hadn't known Diggory, but it was nice to see some familiar faces all the same. _'*Please do. If any of you wouldn't mind offering your services to help the wounded as well, we'd appreciate it.*'_

Thomas raised a hand. _'*No word on any of the missing?*'_

_'*We've sent for a special dog trained in these matters. He'll go to the hospital tonight and check the badly wounded.*'_

There was a sound of approval, and Snape caught Hermione's eye. She gave a single nod, and he settled back against his wall, face mask-like.

Viktor had confided the plan to her and she thought it a good one. The parents of those lost deserved the mercy of knowing their children's fate, and the reassurance of a body to tend, a final chance to offer the comfort of having Mother and Father with them until the very last.

Having been stripped of her chance to do that for her muggle parents, she was quite resolved that no one else should lose the chance to know, if nothing else, that their children were past all earthly suffering.

_'*If no one had any other questions, we could move on to figuring out tonight. Dinev has until dawn tomorrow morning to either formally answer the charges or demand trial by combat. Ideally, if it's either of those two, it will be the first.*'_

_'*There's no shortage of men here willing to be your champion, my lord.*' _Vidanov was leaning against a wall near Rabastan, looking more than ready for a fight.

_'*I know, lord Vidanov, and appreciate it deeply. But a modern country uses rule of law, not rule of force, however devoted and skilled that force might be.*'_

The lords exchanged looks at that. _'*My lord, our laws were given to us by the tsars.*'_

_'*Of course they were, and I would never change the basic tenets of them. I'm simply saying it would be preferable for us to remember the past whilst looking ahead, as it were.*'_

Uncle Lucius raised a brow approvingly, nodding. '_*My lord speaks truly.*'_

They worked out a plan to get their reduced forces on the ships, and be in the air by no later than eight AM. '_*Assuming, of course, Dinev opts not to answer us.*' _

_'*What about the wounded, my lord?*' _One of the Beauxbatons students, possibly called Saint Martin, asked. '*_We can't take them.*'_

_'*No, they'll stay here to recuperate. The lightly wounded can stay or go, as is their preference. Actually, that's true of everyone. People who do not wish to go needn't.*'_

There was a slight buzz at this. Hermione made herself not smile. She found her husband's hand under the table and squeezed, and he squeezed back. He was, she judged, very clever, and all the cleverer because he had turned being underestimated into an art form.

_'*You couldn't keep us away, my lord!*' _A fellow called Hoff spoke for most of the room, it would seem, by the buzz that rose at his comment.

_'*Damned right! Sorry, ladies.*' _Vidanov again. There was a rumble of agreement, and Vaike Kask, who had sat next to Draco without being bidden, raised a hand.

_'*I can't speak for the others, my lord, but I wouldn't miss it for the world. I've got a grievance with these people.*' _She cracked her knuckles, grinning in a distinctly unfriendly way. Beside her, Draco's ears had gone pink.

That quite settled it. The rest of the plans were drawn up, and the group split into small knots, drifting off to see to their ends of things. Alise took charge of Yseult, guiding her back to the room they were sharing.

Hermione approached Snape and her parents. _'Could we ask you to stay behind a moment?' _Viktor, she saw, was carefully warding the room, and Draco, trailed by Tamm, was gathering papers, mumbling to himself about what had to be done. The dogs were standing near the windows in a loose line, ears perked up.

The much smaller group took up places about the table. '_*Tamm, did you know Professor Snape has got a dog?*'_

_'*I maintain I do not so much have a dog as the dog freeloads off of me whilst adding nothing of value to my life.'*_

Tamm nodded slowly._ '*Miss?*' _The older people, aside from Snape, laughed at his expression, and moved on quickly.

_'*He does. A special English kind. He's called Salazar.*'_

_'*Is he here?*'_

_'*We're to send to him hospital in order to find out who amongst the badly wounded is whom. Would you take charge of him? He's well behaved. The thing is, though, it's very important you not tell anyone he's special.*' _Viktor looked Tamm right in the eye, emphasising the seriousness of his task.

_'*Why?*'_

Hermione dropped her voice. '_*Salazar is part of a special program with our Ministry. That's all we can say.*'_

_'*And he's friendly? Salazar?*'_

_'*Obnoxiously so. Don't tolerate any nonsense from the wretched cur, boy. If you give him an inch, he'll take a mile.*'_

'*_Don't you like him, Professor?*'_

Snape's face worked. '_*It is a very complex situation.*'_

'_*Oh. All right, then. Are you coming, Superintendent?*'_

_'*No, but Scabior is, and so is Miss Sproga. She'll help you with writing down the names and such. You just worry about Salazar.*'_

Tamm looked like they'd just asked him to take Castle Dinev by himself, which is to say, almost mockingly serious. He nodded again. _'*All right, Superintendent. Can I meet him?*'_

_'*Elf, bring the boy to the courtyard and inflict that vile mongrel on him.*' _Tamm obediently followed the elf, and the people in the room were silent a full thirty seconds before the laughing started.

It was a good day, all things considered. Final preparations were being made, and a sense of something that could almost be turned cheery resignation had come over the Ministry.

People sought out friends to pass a few minutes and enemies to heal old rifts. Many went to the hospital to comfort the ones there, knowing they might never see them again. More slipped downstairs to bid a final goodbye to classmates and cousins, boy and girlfriends, siblings, neighbours, best friends, roommates, fiancés.

Many of them left things, like talismans. Coins, slips of paper, sweets, ribbons, dabs of perfume, tiny scratches from the first traces of prickly beards, handkerchiefs, tears. The dead slept on, mortal bodies left behind them when their souls had journeyed to the stars.

Upstairs, Draco and Viktor were writing letters. Draco's went easily-he wrote one to Aunt Gennie, one to Barty and one to the children. He was especially proud of the last, as he had scared up sweets to send with it.

_'*They'll like that, Drago.*' _By mutual consent, English lessons had been called off for a while.

_'*I hope so. How are yours coming?*'_

Viktor looked at his parchment. '_*Could be better, I suppose.*'_

_'*How so?*' _Draco felt a worm of concern wriggling in his belly. Viktor was one of the most unflappable people he knew. There was nothing inherently wrong with a touch of hesitancy, to be sure, but he could sense something heavier behind it, something that made him nervous.

_'*I don't know what to say to my father.*'_

_'*What do you want to say?*'_

_'*Nothing.*' _Viktor said it very calmly and plainly, with no ire in his voice, but Draco's blood felt cold in his veins.

_'*Oh?*'_

_'*I love my father, Drago, but I don't...what am I now?*'_

Draco raised his eyes. '_*You're his son.*'_

_'*Am I? We haven't had a conversation in a year. And when I sent him to England, he never protested. Not once.*'_

Draco felt a spike of pain for his friend and cousin and older brother. His parents had crossed a continent to help him, had defied their leader, had risked their lives over and over. Uncle Martin had not done those things. As far as Draco knew, he was still floating like a gently unhinged ghost through Feathering, saying nothing, doing nothing.

_'*Viktor, I think...your mother...*'_

_'*Is dead, Drago. I love her very much, but she is dead and I am alive, and so is Hermione, and he should have been here.*'_

Draco couldn't deny that. He felt the terrible pain Viktor was transmitting, and rage, and disappointment. He loved his own father very, very dearly; how would it be if Father had simply stopped one day, and left him a war to deal with?

_'*I'm sorry. I am.*'_

Viktor's shoulders were shaking. '_*So am I, Drago.*'_

_'*Do you want me to go?*'_

_'*No. If you don't mind staying... how do you feel about this? Are you ever angry with them?*'_

Draco considered carefully. '*_Sometimes, I...why did they want this? Why did anyone? Our lives were good before...before.*_' He remembered friends and hobbies and home, Malfoy Manor. He had been safe then, before the Dark Lord.

Now his friends were also his brothers in arms, and he was a veteran of four battles. He had killed and seen people he knew killed, and he woke up a few times a week in a cold sweat from the screaming in his dreams.

_'*But you aren't angry?*'_

_'*I talked to my father about it the night after I got back to England. He said he didn't want this and I believe him.*' _They had been used, Draco suspected, used callously and then cast aside.

Viktor nodded, his face in his hands. _'*If Mother hadn't...*' _He shook his head and seemed to bite the thought in half. Draco knew what he meant to say. If Aunt Zhivka hadn't died, this might have been put off, or avoided entirely. He tried to picture a world where he still went to Hogwarts and only saw Viktor summers and slept soundly every night.

He couldn't. This was his reality now. He had learnt to make war, and he was good at it. When he was old, if he was old, he could say, at least, that he had done his bit. But he wished he had something to tell Viktor to help him.

_'*I only knew Aunt Zhivka a bit, but she seemed a very nice woman.*'_

'_*She was. She was always doing things. She wanted to teach Hermione how to run the castle, she was very excited about that. And for all of you to come and visit.*'_

Draco felt the irony choking him, like a blanket. _'*I'm sorry.*'_

Viktor put his head up. _'*You've done what you could, Drago.*' _He clapped his shoulder and turned, probably to find Hermione. Draco quietly left the parchment. His friend would write when he was ready, was all. He wondered how the ones at the hospital were getting on.

Better than he might have expected. Tamm found him an hour later, clutching a list. '_*Mr. Lemuel Scabior sends his regards, Malfoy, and a list of the ones we identified. We found Vata!*'_

_'*Is he alive?*'_

_'*He's badly burnt, but the medi-wizards said he'll be all right. They can regenerate the skin and things.*'_

_'*Thank God. And Salazar was fine?*'_

_'*He was brilliant. He led us right to them. I got to hold his leash and everything.*' _Tamm was glowing with pride and pleasure, and Draco squashed an urge to ruffle his hair.

_'*They've brought the skins. Would you help me design the prototype?*'_

Tamm sketched the bag in a surprisingly short amount of time, and Draco duly sent the thing to his uncle Rabastan, who was unofficial head of the bag initiative. Elves had descended on them en masse, and he wanted them to have started within the hour.

_'*Malfoy?*'_

_'*Tamm?*'_

_'*Do you think...when you write Vata's parents, could I send a letter too? He was always nice to me. Vata.*'_

_'*I think that would be a very kind gesture, Tamm. Have you written your mother?*'_

_'*Not yet.*'_

_'*Anu.*'_

_'*Nenecantread.*' _It was all one word, mumbled into his chest.

_'*Sorry?*'_

_'*My Nene can't read.*'_

'*_Oh. Is there someone who will read it to her?*' _He could always send an elf with the letter, after all, but they needed the elves. Tamm shook his head briefly.

_'*Most of them left after the wolves burnt everything.*'_

_'*We'll figure it out, Anu. Let me write Vata's parents. May I see the list?*' _Tamm handed it over, and Draco wrote the Vatas a nice letter, explaining what had happened and asking them not to come immediately, knowing they'd likely disregard it.

Tamm had picked up Viktor's blank parchment, and was labouring over it, stopping often to find words. By the time Draco was done, Tamm had filled half a page, and handed it gravely to Draco.

_"*Deere Mister and Madam Vata,_

_My name is Anu Tamm. Your sonne was always kind to me and very brave abot things. The midi-wizard sez your sonne will be better soon and not to werry. Superintendent is teking kare of us all. Please don't be afrad. Soon everyone will be home._

_Yors,_

_Anu Tamm.*"_

_'*Anu, your spellings needs some work.*'_

_'*I know.*'_

_'*Could you find one of the Albanians and ask them to help you?*'_

Tamm rose and took his parchment. _'*I'll come back and help with the bags.*'_

When the commotion started outside, Draco rose and ran. Whatever it was, it boded no good. He dodged through lines of elves toting skins, old clothes, crates of food, and emerged in a small courtyard to a circle of people.

Fuck, he thought, and plunged in, wand drawn.


	87. Chapter 87

**A/N: Love to reviewers and Countess Black**

**NB: Ghegs are people from Northern Albania. Tosks are people from Southern Albania. Tamm is from the north, and is thus a gheg. Most of the Albanians at Durmstrang are tosks from the area surrounding the capital.**

One of the most awkward things, judged Sirius, about coming back more or less from the dead, was the sheer awkwardness of dealing with one's relations. Especially because those same relations had spent the last few years before the whole thing went to shit hating him, and calling him a disgrace.

And so he and his eldest cousin were sipping ale in a quiet ante-chamber deep in the Ministry, a platter of snacks between them. It was very good ale.

_'How have you been, Rodolphus?'_

Rodolphus looked aside a moment. _'That's a very hard question.'_ His hands, still big and square, fiddled with his waistcoat a bit.

_'I didn't mean to-'_

_'Of course not. No, no, it's fine.'_

Rodolphus looked out the window, where a mountain of coats, boots, hats and gloves had sprouted in a courtyard. Students swarmed, the lightest and smallest having climbed to the top of the pile, throwing down whatever was needed to the people below.

_'I'm sure I needn't tell you, Sirius, how hard a transition it is to from Azkaban to this.'_

_'That you don't.'_

_'It's been three years, of course, but a person hardly forgets, do they?'_

_'No._' Sirius shivered despite himself and Rodolphus raised a brow. Bellatrix had likely told him she thought him ill, mused Sirius, and willed himself to look healthy and alert, instead of slightly achy.

_'And then to discover by pieces that we'd gone from one hell to another...'_

_'I told Bellatrix how terribly sorry I am this has happened.'_

Rodolphus smiled a bit. _'You know, I've always liked children. The time Bellatrix and I spent with you when you were small made me hope have one someday. And then we did.'_

Sirius said nothing. The man needed to unburden himself, and no matter how he felt about the various turns of events, the least he could do (for Snape, if no one else) was listen to Rodolphus and find something kind to tell him.

_'Hermione is the greatest gift the ancestors have ever given me. Bellatrix and I, we are so fortunate in her. But we've failed her, Sirius. The Dark Lord..._' His shoulders slumped, and Sirius, reminding himself he was doing this for Snape, patted the older man's arm.

_'Rodolphus...'_

_'He's failed us. I don't know what to do.'_

Sirius forced himself to remember the idolised older cousin, not the Death Eater, not the Monster of Ministry Square. _'He's hurt a lot of people, Rodolphus.'_

Rodolphus nodded distractedly, clearly elsewhere. _'Your poor parents, for one.'_

_'My parents?'_

_'If you'd joined, cousin, surely He needn't have taken Reg as well.'_

Sirius felt a small flare of hope. _'I was wondering about that, Rodolphus._'Rodolphus seemed to push away his own sorrows, standing straighter.

_'Is it something I can help you with?'_

'I don't know. Did you ever hear anything about that?

'Rodolphus shook his head no. _'I didn't. I'm sorry. And poor Orion and Walburga. They'd be very proud, you know-are very proud, I mean-to see what you've done with your life_.'

Sirius found his throat closing. He blinked, feeling profoundly stupid. His parents hated him precisely as they had, of course, because nothing had changed. He was the same person he was, deep down. For all he'd worked with Snape for three years, and liked it, and counted the man a strange sort of friend.

For all Rodolphus Lestrange, one of the most feared and hated wizards in Europe, was hugging him, making low sounds that implied he was trying not to cry, and Sirius was doing the same, and they stayed like that quite a long time, allowing their private sorrows to swell in the presence of another person who understood them.

Then Rodolphus stepped back and frowned. _'Why does Trixie seem to think you've not told Snape about the rheumatism in your shoulder_?'

Downstairs, Draco was preparing to wage his own battles, though not at all in the same fashion. He was shoving through a crowd, thrusting his elbows into the sides of people who wouldn't move quickly enough, using words he had no idea he knew until that moment.

He got to the edge of the crowd and breathed a sigh of relief, which was very odd considering the armed confrontation which was happening two metres away. The Croats and Estonians, thrown together accidentally, had rekindled their ancestral hatred at the worst possible time. Two small groups faced one another, wands raised,sprinkled in with friends and supporters from other places. The tension was palpable.

Draco stepped between them. _'*I presume there's some sort of reasonable explanation for this?*_'

He caught sight of Tamm, standing next to Vaike Kask, who was staring at the combined force of Arbanas and Meripa like she wanted to kill them. Perhaps she did.

_'*Miss Kask?*'_

Her story wasn't terribly surprising. Muttered words, a shove, imprecations, ethnic slurs, a thrown hex, then wands out. Draco nodded slowly.

_'*I see. Arbanas?'*_

_'*Croats don't take orders from Estonians.*'_

_'*I thought we'd decided we were past all that.*'_

_'*That was before Kask started bossing us about.*'_

Vaike looked unruffled. _'*I asked you to help me move those crates.*'_

_'*Who the hell told you to take charge?*'_

_'*Someone had to.*'_

Her eyes were flat and sure. Draco felt his ears heating and forced down the massive wave of feelings that flooded in, resulting in a very inconvenient problem he absolutely couldn't take care right now.

_'*Who wants to take orders from a woman anyway? It's not natural.*'_

Vaike laughed softly. _'*Feeling inadequate, Arbanas?*'_

Arbanas went still. _'*If you were a man, I'd challenge you for that.*'_

_'*If you were a man, I'd accept.*'_

Arbanas seemed prepared to retort but then gave Draco a nervous look, and Draco smiled darkly. He remembered the day by the lake with incredible vividness, and so, evidentially, did Arbanas. Draco made eye contact with him as he spoke.

_'*Miss Kask has been set as monitor for this courtyard. If you don't like it, go back to school, and don't ever bother any of us with this issue again.*'_

Arbanas might have subsided, but Meripa, despite the cracked ribs he'd got the last time, decided to put in his two small coins' worth.

_'*Of course Malfoy defends her. He's a taste for bastards and other broken things.*_'

Draco went rigid. _'*Meripa, stop talking.*'_

On Draco's other side, Tamm's hand had knotted into a fist. The other was still holding his parchment, on which he'd carefully written his letter. He was very alert, noticed Draco, who resolved to grab his collar should be try to attack the older boy, older even than Viktor.

_'*Why not a ruined woman? He's the shepherdess's bastard, a host of lunatic Death Eaters and any number of assorted freaks in his menagerie.*'_

Draco reached for Anu, who had indeed tried to go after Meripa, fully a foot taller.

_'*You SHUT UP about my Nene!*'_

_'*Quiet, bastard. You aren't even a real Albanian.*'_

_'*I AM SO!*'_

_'*Even the filthy ghegs don't want you*.'_

Vaike Kask, strangely, laughed. Her colour was high.

_'*And you wonder why I wouldn't oblige you. What a brave bloke you are, mocking a child. Has that made you feel better, or do you need to hit someone to feel like a man?*'_

Meripa went red. _'*YOU LYING SLUT, I NEVER!*'_

_'*Care to find a pensieve? We'll see who's telling the truth.*'_

Meripa's face was puce. _'*How dare you, you filthy whore, how dare you-*'_

Draco stepped forward, cutting him off mid-sentence. _'*Miss Kask, may I have the privilege of defending your honour this evening? And your mother's, Mr. Tamm?*'_

_'*Please, Mr. Malfoy.*'_

_'*Yes, Malfoy.8'_

_'*Choose your second, Meripa. Eleven o'clock here.*'_

Draco turned and walked toward the door he'd come out of. He called for some elves to supervise, and went back to what he'd been doing, Tamm at his heels, and his knowledge that Vaike Kask was following clanging in his head like a bell.

Viktor heard them come in but was slightly distracted, trying to dislodge his wife, laughing as she tickled him. Viktor was ferociously ticklish, and she knew all his most ticklish places, and he was writhing helplessly, trying to roll so he could tickle her back.

_'*Viktor? Hermi...ohhh.*'_

They heard people, and Viktor leapt up, straightening his tunic. Hermione got up too, frantically smoothing her hair and trying to look like lady Krum and not a giggling teenager.

_'*Hello, Miss Kask. Drago, Tamm. Something the matter?*'_

His face was flushed, he could see in the mirror near the door, and neither Draco nor Miss Kask would look him in the eye. He went even redder, realising what they thought.

_'*If this is a bad time, my lord...*'_

_'*Not at all.*'_

Hermione was shaking Vaike Kask's hand, saying something about Paavo. Vaike was smiling and nodding. Tamm, standing next to Draco, was nearly vibrating with energy.

_'*Drago? Did something happen?*_' Draco summed it up as briefly as possible. Viktor stifled a foul word.

_'*That idiot.*'_

_'*I know. I'm sorry, but I couldn't let it go.'_

_'*No, you couldn't.*'_

_'*Would you second me?*'_

_'*You have to ask?*'_

_'*Well, I could ask Aunt Trixie.*'_

Viktor chuckled, imagining Draco showing up for a duel with Bellatrix Lestrange as his second. It wouldn't be sporting, to be sure, but the look on Meripa's face would be well worth it.

Tamm, glued to Draco's side, nodded at every point.

_'*He was very rude, Superintendent.*'_

He had a slightly bruised look on his face. Viktor reached out and touched his shoulder, then noticed how strangely warm he was.

_'*Tamm, are you feeling well?*_'

_'Yes, Superintendent._

'Viktor pressed his palm against Tamm's forehead. _'*Are not.*'_ The skin felt clammy and hot to him, and he scowled to show how he felt about being lied to.

_'*I'm all right, really.*'_

_'*Anu.*'_

_'*Maybe a bit, Superintendent.*'_

Viktor sent an elf for Snape and managed to glare Tamm into lying on a couch, which he did, lifting his head so he could hear what was happening. Snape appeared sporting an impressive scowl of his own.

_'*May we use your lavatory, my lord and lady? The gauze needs changing like it is.*'_

Half dragging the glum looking Tamm behind him, the two set off, Snape lecturing him the entire time. The four teens waited for the door to close before the conversation started again.

After they'd settled, Viktor turned back to the problem at hand.

_'*Assuming you win this, Drago, what shall we do about Meripa?*'_

_'*I was rather hoping you'd have an idea. I'd be just as happy to set him guarding that decorative birch or something, but...*_' He shrugged.

Hermione had that look on her face, the one that implied she was thinking, or else up to something._ '*We should send him back.*'_

_'*To school?*'_

_'*Absolutely.'*_

_'*As a messenger or something?*'_

_'*No, in disgrace. He couldn't act like an adult, why should he be allowed to remain amongst them? An example might help set the tone.*' _Viktor liked his wife's turn of mind, both neatly analytical and emotionally sensitive. He smiled and she smiled back, giving him her eyes. They both subsided, lest the other two get uncomfortable.

_'*And we could send letters and things back with the elf that escorted him.*'_

Viktor liked this plan. He was half tempted to express his displeasure to the bastard in person, but he wouldn't give Draco offence by interfering in his private matters. And, he reflected shrewdly, it wouldn't hurt things with Miss Kask, either.

_'*What about Arbanas and Loftstrom?*'_

_'*We can't do anything about Loftstrom, the ships are his father's doing.*'_

Hermione nodded. _'*True enough, but we could split them up.*'_

_'*Split them up?*'_

_'*Send them with different groups or something. In fact, that might be preferable.*'_

The group was looking at her.

_'*Suppose we sent, say, the Macedonians in first. The other countries could get offended and they win some triumph? Why not the Scots, or the French, or the Latvians? A mixed force would convey that idea of looking at the past whilst we move forward.*'_

_'*That*'_ said Draco _'*was a damned fine piece of rhetoric, Viktor. Sorry, ladies. And I think my cousin's right. It would split up the trouble makers, and hopefully appease any tetchy countries off the bat.*'_

_'*Quite so. Miss Kask, your thoughts?*'_

_'*I tend to agree. And to be honest, it would lift a burden off some of us.*'_

_'*How so?*'_

_'*Twelve Estonians were killed in assaulting the Ministry, and eight more wounded, including Paavo. We've each written ten letters, telling the parents how and where their children fell. All that lying gives one a sour stomach, to say the least.*'_

They all got quiet, considering. _'*Thank you for doing that, Miss Kask.*'_

_'*Vaike.*'_

_'*Hermione.*'_

_'*Viktor.*'_

Draco cracked his neck. _'*Vaike, you do happen to know what Meripa meant about Tamm not being a proper Albanian?*'_

_'*He's got an Estonian name. His ancestors must have been part of the migration in the eighteen hundreds.*'_

Viktor nodded but saw the other two looked slightly lost._ '*There was a serious troll problem along the Estonian border then. A lot of people left.*'_

_'*There's some tension there, apparently.*'_ Draco still looked upset about what had happened.

Vaike nodded. _'*I should say. I couldn't believe he said that.*'_

_'*I'll bring it up_.*' Draco couldn't seem to quite meet her eye, and Viktor, feeling merciful, made himself sound solemn.

_'*May I ask the two of you to figure out how we should do this with combining the groups?*'_

_'*Of course.*'_

_'*It was nice to speak to you, Vaike.*'_

_'*And yourself, Hermione.*'_ They went out, followed by an elf, and the lord and lady returned to the bedroom to see to their irascible spymaster and his charge.

Snape was repacking Tamm's wound, still scolding. Tamm was making the appropriate noises of contrition and agreement, wincing as Snape packed the wound with clean gauze.

_'*Hello, Professor. How does Tamm's eye look?*'_

Snape stood aside, and Viktor saw the actual wound for the first time. He prided himself on having a strong constitution, but his stomach lurched greasily as he saw the remains of the eye socket and the scarring all round it. He had seen some bad wounds, but this was...Hermione brushed his wrist and bent toward the wound fearlessly.

_'*It's not infected, Professor?*'_

_'*Not yet, but his fever's rather higher than I'd like. There's no discharge, thank God.*'_

_'*Tamm, do you feel sick?*_' Hermione looked very like her mother at the moment, all sharp eyes and frowning mouth.

_'*A little tired, Miss, is all. Really, I'm all right.*'_

_'*Anu, it hurts my feelings you aren't being truthful.*'_

He whimpered as Snape got the last piece in and started to bind the wound closed.

_'*I'm not lying.*'_

_'*Are you telling the whole truth?*'_

_'*...No.*'_

She frowned harder and he squirmed. Viktor groaned mentally; it was obvious he'd need to address this, and part of him didn't really want to. The other part thought the kid had been failed enough by the men in his life, and Viktor wouldn't add to it.

Snape finished up, and wrapped the end in a neat knot.

_'*If you don't keep your hands away, Mr. Tamm, you'll need to go to hospital, which you ought to have done anyway, incidentally.*'_

_'*I'm sorry, sir.*'_

_'*Hmmph. There, now don't fiddle with it.*'_

_'*No, sir.*_' Snape moved into the boy's line of sight and gave him a final fearsome glare before he nodded to Hermione and Viktor and stalked out, muttering.

Hermione rose.

_'*I need to go and find the Death Eaters and tell them about this, all right?*'_

_'*Please do.*'_ He smiled at his wife, watching her as she slipped from their suite, slipping on her cloak as she went.

Then, reminding himself that being a good role model was often an unpleasant task, he sat down next to Tamm and tried to figure out how he was supposed to handle this.

Draco, meanwhile, was equally baffled, but in a different way. He and Vaike had worked out the necessary steps for re-organising the groups, which would likely create a stir. They would rely on the wolves to keep a lid on that one, they'd determined, and then looked awkwardly at one another.

_'*I, ah...*'_

Vaike ended it for him.

_'*Look, I like you and you like me. So kiss me, won't you?*_'He tipped his head towards hers, knowing his ears were scarlet, heart hammering, half hoping the elf would intervene, wanting and not wanting both.

Her lips were a revelation. Warm and soft, and tasting faintly of something sweet, like halva. She reached up and touched his arm, drawing him closer, and then, miraculously, mysteriously, her mouth was opening, and so was his.

It was...it was...their heads bumped when he tried to move, and only luck kept him from accidentally poking herin the eye with his nose.

She lightly pushed back and gazed up at him._ 'Not bad.'_

_'*Nor you.*'_

_'*You'd never kissed a girl.*'_

_'*No.*'_

_'*Did you like it?*'_

_'*Yes. Very much.*'_

_'*Good, so did I. Does it bother you that I'm ruined?*'_

_'*You aren't either.*'_

_'*Am.*'_

_'*If you are, I am too. I killed a man.*'_

_'*How would that ruin you?*'_

Draco shrugged. _'*It's worse than being attacked is.*'_

She only came up to his shoulder. Her eyes, he thought dizzily, were a blue-green, like a river in summer. Like a bezoar, like, like, like-he bent his head and kissed her again, and she put her arms about him. Her breasts were brushing against him. It was, he decided fuzzily, the happiest day of his life.

_'*We both did what we had to do, Drago.*'_

_'*I know.*'_

_'*Should we go and help them make bags?*'_

He wanted to kiss her some more, but people would notice if they were gone a long time. He nodded. He'd liked the kissing very much, but it certainly hadn't helped his little problem.

The bag room was warm and loud, and his mother was there, helping people who needed it. Draco's heart felt lighter, as it always did, at the sight of Narcissa. Mother turned and smiled at them.

_'*Draco, would you introduce me to your friend?*'_

_'*Vaike Kask, my mother, Narcissa Black Malfoy. Mother, Miss Kask is Paavo Kask's sister.'*_

Narcissa bent and kissed the girl's cheek. _'*Miss Kask, your courage is well known to me, and that of your brother.*'_

_'*Thank you, Madam. Your son often speaks well of you and your husband.*'_

_'*I should hope so*'_ said a voice from above them. Father came closer and bowed to Miss Kask. _'*Lucius Malfoy, Miss Kask.*'_

_'*An honour, sir.*'_

Father caught Draco's eye. _'*If you'll pardon us, Miss Kask.*'_

_'*Of course, Mr. Malfoy.*'_ When they walked out, Vaike was talking to Mother, and they'd both sat at a table and started to learn how the help make the bags.

_'How was it?'_

_'Father?'_

_'You're red as strawberries, Draco. Was it a very good kiss?'_

Draco nodded, feeling both proud and, strangely, shy. _'It was nice, Father.'_

_'You like this girl very much.'_

_'I do. She's tough, and nice, and good at magic.'_

_'Is she?'_

_'Very.'_

Father nodded._ 'In ordinary times, Draco, I would not approve. Her family is not what you'd call notable, is that correct?'_

_'I've never asked.'_

_'No great prestige, as the Malfoys have always had, nor great wealth, like the Blacks, or intellect, like the Lestranges. And no particular beauty, externally.'_

_'I think her pretty.'_

_'I didn't say you didn't. Frankly, Draco, I would object, but I'm not sure it would do any good. Would it?'_

_'I want to please you, Father.'_

_'What could a girl of one of our English families offer you, I wonder? We've no need of money, or prestige, or intellect, especially. You've more than proved to have the last, your cousins and you, and the second has followed apace. So Draco, if you are serious about this girl, I will do nothing to stop it, so long as I get a promise from you.'_

_'What is it, Father?'_

_'Your mother will kill me if she does not attend the wedding. My life is infinitely more pleasant if Narcissa is not striving to kill me. Kindly keep that in mind, if you would.'_

Draco laughed. 'Yes, Father. And I don't know whether we'll get married. I'm only fourteen.'

_'So is your cousin, Draco, and she is a married woman.'_

Father had a strange look on his face, as though it hurt him to say that. Draco looked aside, not sure how to deal with it.

_'You know, Draco, it is very hard for a parent to see something like this and not feel inadequate as a father, and a man.'_

_'Inadequate? Father, you raised an army for us!'_

_'And would do again in a heartbeat if needed. But Draco, this whole scenario is appalling. I fear every day what I will say when your grandparents ask me how I could ever have permitted it to go this far.'_

_'There's nothing you could have done, Father. He'd have killed you if you'd tried'_

_'I know that. It doesn't help, Draco. There are points at which I should have spoken and did not.'_

Father's voice sounded thick, almost muffled, and Draco, nearly panicked at the thought of seeing his father weep, half flung himself, hugging fiercely.

_'Please, Father, it will be all right. Please, don't cry.'_

_'Hush, Draco. I shan't cry.'_ Father was rubbing his back gently, and Draco relaxed into his hand, and closed his eyes. Father was talking softly, and it felt good to be held and not have to worry.

_'Father? I'm fighting a duel tonight.'_

Father sighed deeply. _'Over the girl?'_

Draco summed up what had happened. His father said nothing for a long moment. Then, very quietly

_'You challenged him to restore her honour?'_

_'No, Father. Vaike didn't do anything wrong, nor Madam Tamm. I challenged him because Meripa is an idiot.'_

_'This is a very hard path you've chosen yourself, Draco. Do you know that?'_

_'Yes, Father.'_

_'There's my good boy.'_ And they spent a long time talking together,like they had before the war came.

In the master suite, Hermione was making a bag. Her husband was as well, huge hands moving with surprising nimbleness, as Tamm, working faster than both of them combined, smeared the bag with fragrant bee's wax and tied the final knot of sinew. An elf appeared, taking it to heat it so the wax would seal it, and then adding a final layer ofcharms and spells to keep it water tight.

_'*Your mother makes these, Anu?*'_

_'*Yes, Miss. Other things, too. She tans the best hides in our village, and makes the best things with them.*'_

Viktor tied off the knot and started to smear the wax on, mimicking the way the younger lad did it. _'*How many does she do a day?*'_

_'*Five or six. Only during the season, though. Most days we work in our garden or go to market to sell things.*'_ He had told them proudly of their small herd of sheep and goats, and the little flock of chickens that were his.

Hermione caught her husband's slight grimace as he smoothed on the wax. _'*Are your hands bothering you, Viktor?*'_

_'*The left, where all those fingers got smashed.*'_

Tamm's ears pricked up. _'*Playing Quidditch?*_' He'd recovered very rapidly from the scolding he'd got about lying, and, having been reassured they still liked him (enough, Superintendent had pointed out, to correct him when he made an error), was eager to show them what he could do to help.

_'*Mmm hmm. I was just about your age, too.*'_

_'*What happened?*'_

Viktor told the story as they worked._ '*Broke all four in a number of places.*'_

_'*Have you had a lot of broken bones?*'_

_'*Quite a few.*'_ He hissed and shook out the hand, clearly hurting. Hermione set down her bag._ '*Let me call an elf, Viktor. Or a medi-wizard.*'_

_'*It's just the cold. It makes me ache.*'_ He moved his wrist, which crackled from the breaks he'd sustained (four). Hermione gave him an even harder look.

_'*Take a potion, then? For me?*'_

_'*All right, but I want to be awake when the duel happens. I'd like to have a ceremony after.*'_

_'*A ceremony?*'_

_'*Before we board the ships. I think it might help with morale.*'_

Hermione listened to him, nodding._ '*That's a good idea.*'_

_'*Morale?'_

_'People's feelings, Anu.*'_

Tamm tied off another bag and dipped into the pot of wax, carefully not to waste even a drop.

_'*Superintendent?*'_

_'*Hmm?*'_

_'*Is Malfoy going to marry Miss Kask?*'_

_'*I don't know, Tamm.*'_

Tamm finished sealing the bag and handed it to the elf to take.

_'*You could order it, couldn't you? You're the lord.*'_

_'*I am, but neither of them are citizens of Bulgaria, and even if they were, it would be an abuse of power.*'_

_'*Miss wasn't a citizen, was she?*'_

_'*No*'_ said Hermione, tying off her bag _'*I wasn't, but it was different, Anu.*_'

Tamm absorbed this._ '*Because the wolves were coming?*'_

_'*Amongst other things.*'_

_'*What other things?*'_

_'*Politics.*'_

Tamm made a face. '*_Ugh. That's always complicated.*'_

_'*Yes. Yes, it is.*'_

_'*Could we talk about Quidditch instead?*'_ Viktor laughed and obliged him.

At eleven o'clock, the courtyard was full. Cleared of the crates which had started the problem, or served as an excuse to start the problem, the combatants faced one another, bowed, and prepared to fight.

It was as far as they got, because a moment later a voice was booming over the courtyard.

_'*WHAT'S ALL THIS, THEN?*'_

Startled, hundreds of eyes turned at the sound of Desmond Feathering's boots tromping on the snow, and hundreds of feet snapped to attention, and lord and lady Krum calmly broke away to approach him.

_'*Good evening, Uncle.*'_

_'*My lord and lady Krum, I regret I could not come sooner.*'_

He bowed, and then rose with a scowl that nearly rivalled Snape's in intensity. He embraced his niece and shook his nephew's hand, and raised a brow at Draco, who had not moved from his spot opposite Meripa.

_'*There would seem to be some explanations in order, gentlemen.*'_

_'*Yes, sir.*'_

_'*The other Heads and I are will be in the hall. Your aunt sends fondest greeting to you both, and Malfoy._'*

He turned on his heel and left, and the Durmstrang students relaxed a fraction and turned back to the duel that was taking place.

Unseen, Lucius and Narcissa had slipped out and stood at the edge of the courtyard. Narcissa's hand crept into her husband's, and he held it in his, tightly, his signet ring pressing into her knuckle.

She had loved Lucius since she was young, still loved him, was still in love with him. This thing had tested them, no doubt, but feeling her stomach gently tightened when his flesh touched her reminded her of how much was between them, the most important of which was currently duelling an Albanian for insulting a girl he hardly knew, and to save the good name of a woman he'd never met. She was so proud of Draco she could hardly speak, and too afraid for him, anyway, to have tried.

My son, she wanted to say. My baby, my baby is a man. And he was. Physically, he was a gangling teenage boy, but every other thing about him was old now, older perhaps than his parents. She raised her free hand and wiped her eyes.

Most fights, most real fights, last seconds, and tend to become a blur of fists and legs and yelling. This one did the same, and ended with Meripa fallen down, slipped on a slick cobble. His cracked ribs made him cry out as they smashed against the stones, and Draco,standing above him, held his wand to his throat.

_'*Apologise to Miss Kask and Tamm and I won't hurt you.*'_

Meripa nodded and rose slowly, and when he was close enough, lunged for Draco's throat. Narcissa gasped, fighting the urge to hex the person who'd put hands on her baby, when Meripa was being pulled back by shouting Estonians, and pummelled by half a dozen fists and feet.

She caught sight of Tamm, leaping into the fray, blind eye be damned. Beside her, Lucius's face told its own tale. They had been married for over half their lives, and she could see, in the small movements of his face, his concern and pride, the way he watched her from the corner of his eye.

_'*STOP THAT.*_' The crowd abated at Hermione's voice, and she moved amongst them as fluidly as if she were dancing. Tamm scrambled up, nose bleeding, and quickly went to her side, wand raised, protecting her.

_'*What is this? Draco?*'_

_'*He swung on me after I beat him, cousin.*'_

_'*I see. Mr. Meripa?*'_

Meripa said nothing. Hermione stared at him a long moment and then nodded.

_'*Very well. Snetzka, gather Mr. Meripa's things, he's returning to Durmstrang.*'_

_'*You can't send me back.*'_

_'*I can.*'_

_'*I want to see Krum.*_'

_'*Lord Krum and I speak with a single voice.*'_

She never wavered. Narcissa could almost feel-all of them, she thought could almost feel-the power that rolled off of her. She thought of the story of her niece and the siege ladder and shuddered, imagining the sheerstrength it must have taken, the absolute concentration and skill.

Had her niece come to her then and asked to sit in her lap, Narcissa would have let her without the slightest hesitation, because she loved her. But now she felt a thrill of unease, looking at the girl she loved like a daughter. What was Hermione now? What had theyturned her into? Narcissa felt a terrible urge to weep and shoved it away. The time for that was elf returned with Meripa's things. Hermione handed her a packet of letters and said, still in that soft voice 'You are a man without honour.' Then he was gone, and the others were staring at the place he had been.

_'*If you'd all move inside now, please, our Heads wish to address us.*'_

She lifted her skirts and picked her way through the clean courtyards, and the reduced population of three schools followed. Snow, like feathers, was falling from the sky.

Neither Malfoy said anything.


	88. Chapter 88

**A/N: Love to Countess Black**

**Special thanks to my friend K for her help.**

**Sirius references Spartacus and Crassus, who defeated him. **

The wind on deck was frigid, but Moody-Feathering minded not a bit. He tugged his hat more tightly and watched the mountains below them. Small hamlets were scattered points of light far below, but he thought little about them. His hands, encased in selkie hide gloves, were gripping the railing. His mind was comfortably blank.

Boots. He whirled, wand raised, and relaxed to see it was only the shuffling form of Krum, dressed as he was. He lowered his wand.

'*_Nephew_.*' He wanted to set the tone.

'*Uncle. There's coffee in the command centre, and rolls.*'

_'*Thank you, I'll get some.*_' He looked the lad right in the face.

_'*Well, Krum, no one can say you aren't good at what you do.*'_

_'*It is thanks to the training I've received, Uncle.*'_

Moody-Feathering did not dispute it. _'*I regret we were stuck so long in Skopje. They're watching the borders quite carefully.''We had to. Uncle Rumen was afraid of malcontents sneaking in_.*'

_'*I understand. Any intelligence about what we're coming into?*'_

_'*They'll have retreated into the castle and sealed it for a siege. They've fifteen vassals, and whomever they brought, so I've told the captains to assume we'll be approaching under heavy fire.*'_

_'*What about supply lines?*'_

_'*The wells were poisoned under my orders to prevent the wolves using them. We've the water bags and enough food for a few days. The wolves will send out scavenging parties for deer and bear.*'_

Moody-Feathering nodded. He could tell it was bothering the lad.

_'*You couldn't have known it would go this way.*'_

_'*Bulgaria will need to be rebuilt, no matter who wins. It's going tobe ruinously expensive.*'_

He frowned darkly, clearly tallying in his head. Moody-Feathering waited a moment in deference to his calculations and then spoke again.

_'*That thing with the Ministry, that's one for the history books.*'_

Krum shuffled a bit more. '*_It was a lot of death and_ _screaming, Uncle.*'_

_'*History always is.*'_ Moody-Feathering watched more of Bulgaria fly by below them.

_'*They're calling you the Young Alexander, you know.*'_

Krum seemed nonplussed. _'*Oh. That's not bad.*'_

_'*No, not bad at all. There will be songs about this, I should think. Stories.*'_

_'*Wish they'd make songs about keeping the country unified. Perhaps it would give me ideas.*'_

Moody-Feathering laughed, startled. He liked Krum. He had always liked Krum, but it would seem the past weeks had done nothing to blunt the boy's humour. That boded well.

_'*Any news from Britain?*'_

_'*No, Uncle. None. Have you heard from Durmstrang?*'_

_'*Your aunt is well and sends her affections, but the parents are gathering and they are not happy.*'_

_'*Are they bothering her?*'_

Moody-Feathering gave him an amused look. _'*You think your aunt would let them?*'_

_'*No, but I thought I'd ask.*' _

Moody-Feathering had great faith in Hetty to resist the tidal wave of anger being directed at her. He had had a good letter from her on the subject, and a small parcel with the things he'd asked for. Lozenges, a second pair of warm gloves, and a small linen bag. The last felt very heavy in the pocket of his shirt, pressing against his heart. He'd never really worn it much, perhaps, after he'd got his magic eye, but it was the last part of Moody he really owned.

_'*I'd imagine this has been very hard on your in-laws.*' _

_'*Yes.*'_ Krum seemed ill-inclined to speak more of it, and Moody-Feathering respected that. He didn't like people who told tales out of school.

_'*Have you heard from the parents, Uncle?*'_

_'*Yes. There was quite an uproar.*'_

_'*I believe it.*_' Krum sighed deeply._ '*Hermione and I have written letters, of course, and some of the wounded, but...what does one say?*'_

The auror in Moody-Feathering, who'd written his share ofthose letters to grieving loved ones, answered at once.

_'*You lie, boy. You tell them their son or daughter died gloriously, and you sparethem pain. Don't let them guess. They deserve better than that.*'_

Krum was nodding. _'*I know.*'_

_'*It's a terrible thing, to make the choice to send men to their deaths. Isn't it?*'_

_'*Yes.*'_

Feathering wondered what he was thinking, what he saw in his own mind. Was he hearing them scream as they burnt?

_'*They died for you, lad. Never forget that.*'_

Krum nodded._ '*I hope to help make a Europe worthy of the sacrifice, Uncle.*'_

Moody-Feathering nodded slowly._ '*Holding the country together will help with that, nephew.*'_

_'*We've plans. It will be hard.*'_

_'*Everything worth doing is.*'_

_'*Uncle?*'_

_'*Nephew?*'_

_'*I will not be able to return to school, if I am to hold Bulgaria together.*'_

_'*I know. I assume Malfoy is your choice for Superintendent?*'_

_'*He is, with Kask or Vata as second.*'_

Moody-Feathering wished he had been able to see them; he'd retainedthe auror's sense of duty toward his subordinates, and the newly acquired teacher's urge to help his students.

_'*And when they graduate?*'_

_'*Tamm, once he's old enough.*'_

Moody-Feathering nodded again._ '*The eye is a total loss?*'_

_'*A Blinding hex.*'_ Krum's voice held a dry anger, anger which had simmered so long that it was as concentrated into a tincture of rage and disgust. Good. He had learnt to hate. Hate, Moody-Feathering knew, could keep a man alive.

_'*Will you speak to him, Uncle?*'_

_'*I will. I've something that might help him in that regard.*'_

Krum didn't ask. _'*I should go and speak to the others.*'_

_'*Of course.*'_ Moody-Feathering turned back to the railing, watching the landscape below them, as white and distant as the moon.

Below decks, Alise Sproga, dressed as a boy, was across from Olympe Maxime, along with an elven little man called Scabior who was, the girl told her without quite meeting her eyes, her fiancé. He was drinking scalding hot tea and seemed content to be excluded from the conversation, as they were speaking French.

_'You all knew what this was.'_

_'Yes, Madame.'_

_'The Malfoy lad made you no promises.'_

_''None.'_

_'Why?'_ Why had they come? She could see why the Sproga girl had come, but Yseult Ropion? The Volanges girl, now dead?

_'Hermione is one of us.'_

_'That's all?'_

_'What else is there?'_

_'And the others?'_

_'I don't know, Madame. They've their own reasons, no doubt.'_

She looked at Scabior, still sipping his tea. He nodded, smiling, showing excellentteeth. He was a thoroughly disquieting little man, she thought, and fought down her urge to shudder. Something about him made her nervous, almost afraid. Mademoiselle Sproga didn't seem to feel it. She seemed calm and relaxed, less self-conscious.

_'If your mistress has a moment, Mademoiselle Sproga, I should like to see her.'_

If it bothered the girl, she gave no sign. She nodded and rose smoothly. Scabior rose as well, and said something so heavily accented that Olympe could only nod. They curtsied and bowed, respectively, and then were gone.

Olympe looked at the table and thought about what she had seen so far. A diminished force of schoolchildren, most of the girls dressed in trousers and tunics, filing into the hall they'd been waiting in, hundreds of them, standing in ranks facing a dais, the room filled with a low, somnolent hum like a hive of bees. Ringing them like ashield wall were hundreds of men, tall and short, dark and fair, all of them wearing carefully non-descript clothing. The wolves, then. It was true.

The doors at the back opened. The first to enter were the monitors, Prefects and assistants, bowing or curtsying to their heads before taking their places. Many of them were badly injured; she'd seen people on crutches, with arms in slings, missing fingers, missing eyes, faces bandaged, the burnt and lame, and her stomach had heaved vilely. She forced it down.

Then, nightmare figures, Death Eaters, robed but not masked. They ascended the dais, and she could smell, like something primal, the perfume the Lestrange woman had dabbed on. It was jasmine, heady sweet, deadly, cloying.

Finally a small voice cried out from the back. _'*Drago Malfoy, seneschal of Castle Krum. Viktor, lord Krum and Hermione, lady Krum.*'_

A strange sound, hundreds of booted feet coming together at once. Durmstrang was saluting its own. Her own students, in their robin's egg blue comforters, cheered, and so did Hogwarts, especially a group in green and silver scarves. The three were proceeded by dogs, a pack of huge monstrous dogs that fanned out like commandos, sniffing for a threat. They circled the hall and went to the front, flanking the dais, ears perked up, ruffs fluffing a bit as they heard some small noise and turned their vast heads to investigate.

It was a very odd ceremony for Olympe, to say the least. She tried to concentrate on the words but found herself watching the students. The people the three Heads had come for were children; the people in front of the dais were not. One every face, inscribed like the scars so many of them sported now, was a knowledge won in blood, and the beginnings of a hardness more typical of veterans of long wars.

They could work a crowd, she'd give them that. There had clearly been little time to prepare a ceremony of any sort, but as each of the people to be recognised-and how like a parade at Judgement it was, the halt and maim come forth to receive their due, limping, leaning, listing!- approached them, an elf would hand over a decoration which one or the other would present in total solemnity.

The decorations themselves were scanty things, transfigured from cups and spoons, but it didn't seem to matter. The recipients donned them with pride, ending with the Malfoy lad, who, tears in his eyes, received a crown of braided, gilded grass from hiscousin and her husband both. An ancient honour, reserved for those who saved a legion or broke a siege.

The corps of decorated veterans, once the students of the three Heads (perhaps to be again, strange though the thought was, the thought of teaching them now that they knew how to make war) stood proudly, watching Malfoy wipe his cheeks without shame, and from the back of the hall someone, perhaps a wolf, started the chant.

'KRUM! KRUM! KRUM!'

They took it up, and the volunteers in the courtyard, and then the people still camped outside the walls. They'd embarked that way, the cheers following them into the sky.

_'Good evening, Madame.'_

_'Good evening, my lady.'_

The girl stopped and curtsied._ 'I'm glad you could come, Madame. Is there anything I can get for you?'_

_'No, thank you, Mademoi-my lady.'_

_'It's all right, Madame.'_ She nodded and an ancient elf appeared with a tray of coffee and rolls. The girl herself poured, and enlarged the cup . Olympe took it, grateful for the warmth, and then saw the ring on the girl's finger.

_'A wedding ring.'_

_'Yes, Madame. We married during the siege.'_ The Lestrange girl-not now, anyway-had taken no coffee, preferring to sip water from a goblet.

That feeling of iron control Olympe had perceived from her years ago was heightened now. The outside, she sensed, was velvet, but the inside had gone past iron and into diamond. Olympe had the sudden sense that Hermione Krum would be a bad enemy to have.

_'I regret any hardship this might have caused you, Madame. Politically, I mean. I appreciate this is likely a very awkward position for you to be in.'_

_'I expect it's awkward for all of us, my lady.'_

_'I agree.'_ The girl drank more water and then half rose at a shout in Bulgarian. She settled back down and seemed to find an island of inner calm.

_'Will you want to go back after we've landed, Madame? I could arrange an escort to the border for you, if you'd like.'_

Olympe smiled bitterly._ 'I'll stay, my lady. As my school goes, so do I.'_

The girl's eyes were dark with emotions Olympe could neither name or cared to name. She inclined her head, seemingly content with that explanation. Olympe suspected she simply didn't have the emotional energy to devote to questioning it at the moment.

_'Tales are being told of what you have done here, my lady.'_

_'Madame?'_

_'The rumour going round Skopje says lady Krum called a firestorm from a clear blue sky.'_

The girl's eyes gave nothing. She was as self contained as a snail, and as hard to parse.

_'That would be impossible, of course.'_

_'Of course.'_

_'It would be far more sensible to use what was already there, Madame._'

Olympe raised a brow. Was the girl sparring with her? Was she sayingshe'd done it or she hadn't?

Like Narcissa, she looked at her student and wondered: What was she now? What were any of them? Were they freeing Bulgaria? Or simply giving it a Dark Lord to rival the one in Britain? A new Grindelwald to unite them under his banner? The sound of boots, and thousands voices chanting a name...

Olympe stood up so quickly she nearly coshed herself on the head on a beam. _'I am light-headed. May I?'_

The girl jumped up._ 'Please do._' She proceeded her teacher, and they each took the deck, watching the ships flying over the sleeping country below.

Anu Tamm scrambled down from the crow's nest as the ships stopped. He was, he had been told, to be allowed off the ship on strict condition of being on his absolute best behaviour, and he meant to make them all proud of him. He wanted Malfoy to ruffle his hair and Superintendent to say he was good and brave. He liked both thosethings very much.

Jumping the last few feet down, he picked his way across the heaving desk, surefooted as an ibex, and took up his place next to Malfoy, armband affixed proudly in place. His chain, which he'd been given for defeating the werewolf Pavel, felt heavy on his chest. He wondered whether he should give it to that nice elf to hold, and thought probably the answer was yes.

From all their ships, lines were sprouting. Anu shivered, glad there were no spells this time. He'd watched it all from the crow's nest. He hadn't even known they were winning until the ships came down and everyone was cheering. It had all been smoke and screams and flames to him.

People were shimmying down the lines. _'*Malfoy?*'_

_'*It's the wolves, Anu. They're going to scout for us.*'_

Anu felt his jaw tighten. He didn't like the wolves, even if they weren't the ones who'd hurt his village. They'd hurt plenty of other villages, and that was enough for him. But he trusted Superintendent, so he hadn't said anything.

Malfoy turned and looked at someone behind them. _'*Hello, Headmaster.*'_

'Malfoy. Might I borrow Tamm? I understand the scouts will be gone some time.'_*Yes, of course.*'_

Malfoy clapped his shoulder and smiled a little, and Anu squared his shoulders and followed the Headmaster, determined to take whatever was coming with dignity.

The Headmaster led him to the command centre, which the Death Eaters rapidly found reasons to leave, giving him winks or pats on the shoulder to help him be brave. One of the tall dark haired ones (Miss's father or uncle, but he could never tell them apart) spoke to Headmaster and made him laugh before he left.

Then the Headmaster sat down in a chair and gave him a look. _'*Well, Tamm, what have you got to say for yourself?*'_

Tamm summed up what he had told the others, and Feathering said nothing, just let him talk. He found himself feeling nervous, talking about some of what had happened, and finished it by telling about Salazar, Snape's special English dog who'd found Vata and the others. He didn't mention how he was special, of course, but he wanted the Headmaster to know he was useful to them.

_'*Is Vata awake?*'_

_'*No, sir. He said…when I came, he said I was a brave, crazy little son of a bitch. Sir.*'_ The Headmaster snorted, shaking his head in something that might have been disgust, or amusement, or both.

_'*I've known men like yourself, Tamm. Bold fellows, the lot of them. I've written more letters than I can count to their widows and children, or their parents, or their siblings, describing how they died. Lying about how they died, because I could not bear to tell the truth of it to those poor people.*'_

A knot formed in Tamm's throat. _'*M-Malfoy said that too.*'_

_'*Malfoy's written his own share of those letters. It would poorly reward his kindness to you by making him write your mother one of those letters. Do you say so?*'_

The knot was the rock of Gibraltar now. Anu knuckled his good eye and was deeply ashamed to hear himself sniffle. '_*Y'sir.*'_

'Madam Feathering likes you very much. It will hurt her deeply to know you lied, even if you meant well by it. When we go back to school, I expect you to apologise to her and accept the consequences she assigns you, do you understand?'

_'*Yes, sir.*'_

_'*As for me, what do you think an appropriate punishment is for running off and defying your Superintendent?*'_

_'*Don't know, sir.*'_ The Headmaster rose and stood next to the table. He wasn't a big man, but to Anu, he looked ten metres tall.

_'*Bend over the table. Hands at shoulder level.*'_ Anu did it, stomach clenched like a fist. He closed his eyes, wondering whether the Headmaster would make him bleed, or hit his back, or...He tensed when he felt Feathering move, and prepared himself for a blow.

Moody-Feathering was slightly at a loss. He had never punished a child before. When Krum and Malfoy were at school, they'd kept things in line with what Moody-Feathering suspected was probably force of personality and the reputation they'd cultivated as fighters, and so he'd only ever dealt with a few issues.

Strictly speaking, the Headmaster of Durmstrang could do virtually anything by means of discipline. The office had come equipped with a whole closet of birches to that end, in fact, though he'd thrown them boy had courage, he'd give him that. Moody-Feathering finally conjured a slipper and gave the lad's bum a tap to establish his aim.

Drawing back his arm, he laid down half a dozen brisk smacks, three on each side. The boy yelped at the first one but didn't move an inch. He gave another half dozen and then Vanished the slipper. _'*Well taken, boy. You might get up now.*'_

Tamm stood, reaching back for a quick, ginger rub. Moody knew (Feathering's parents hadn't smacked him, which Moody considered a grave mistake) he was smarting a bit, but that the sting would fade to a slight warmth before long.

_'*We can move past this now, lad. And I've something for you, if you'd have it.*'_

He reached into his pocket and handed over a small linen bag. Tamm waited for him to nod before the boy undid the drawstring and drew out the leather patch. His face lit up when he realised what it was.

_'*For me?*'_

_'*Yes. It belonged to a friend of mine.*'_

Moody-Feathering took the patch and gently shook it out to show how one tied it on.

_ '*It's Impervious'd, and it won't come off during a fight.*'_ He explained the charm used to assure it stayed in place.

Tamm reached up and stroked the bandage that still covered the sideof his face. _'*Your friend doesn't need it any more.*'_ It wasn't a question. He knew precisely why the Headmaster's friend wouldn't need his eye patch.

_'*No.*'_

_'*How did he lose the eye? If you don't mind my asking, sir.*'_

_'*He was fighting a war he'd thought they won. He was wrong.*'_

_'*Is that why he...doesn't need it any more?*'_

_'*Yes.*'_ He had lost the eye in a fight with Evan Rosier, him and Lucullus Brown. He remembered the sickening pain of it, the **absence** he'd suddenly perceived, even as Rosier had crumpled to the ground, wand spilling from his limp hand and mask tumbling off, another masked fighter breaking the lines to run toward him before being hauled back, struggling, and Apparated by force.

Lucullus had got the worst of it, though, by far. Moody was the one who'd found, face contorted in his final hideous agonies, skin hung whole from a mirror like a ghoulish Christmas stocking. He swallowed hard, shoving the memories away, and looked to Tamm, who was watching him from a slightly lowered eyelid. He motioned for the boy to sit, which he did, grimacing ever so slightly.

_'*I'd hear more about what happened at the castle, if you don't mind.*'_

Tamm didn't.

Severus Snape was sitting with Salazar curled at his feet when the knock came. He rose, the dog leaping fluidly to his haunches, as the rakish body that currently housed Alastor Moody filled the doorway. Snape sat back down at once.

_'Cousin, how good to see you.'_

_'And yourself, Severus. Salazar, always a pleasure, fellow_.'

The dog bowed and offered a paw to be shaken. Snape spelled the door shut andthen warded the room. Moody-Feathering sank into a chair as Black changed back, and the two shook hands properly.

_'Quite all right, Moody?'_

_'Fine, Snape. Tired. Yourself?'_

_'Oh, rested and relaxed. It's been a bed of roses.'_

Moody-Feathering ignored him. _'Sirius, you look well. Thinner.'_

_'Has my cousin got to you?'_

_'Sorry?'_

Black explained about the fortuitous blowing of his cover.

_'And now she and Cissy are both mothering me about my health. It's Rodolphus is on it as well.'_

Moody snorted. 'Can't imagine Rodolphus as the mother hen sort._'Oh, he is._' Black settled into a chair and cracked his neck. Snape gave him a look, then filled Moody-Feathering in on the political situation.

_'Unbelievable.'_

_'Is it?'_

_'No, but I thought I'd be polite about it.'_

_'Quite. Any thoughts?'_

_'What about Emmeline and I? Are our covers still intact?'_

_'As best as I know.'_ Snape didn't mention his own thoughts on the subject, which he suspected the other men would not welcome at all, which is to say he believed both Moody and Vance could never be those people again.

Emmeline/Eugenia was the problem. He had deliberately given Moody-Feathering a cover that required nearly no acting on his part; as long as he answered to Desmond and didn't get overly paranoid in public, his behaviour was precisely what one would expect from a man who'd spent years as a mercenary.

The woman was different. She was not merely peripherally associated with Death Eaters, she was married to a member of the Inner Circle. A recently disillusioned member, but a man who'd gone to Azkaban for his beliefs. Who knew what he would do if he discovered the deception?

There was also the baby to think about. He alone, in this morass, was innocent of any wrongdoing. He deserved as happy a life as Snape's machinations could afford him, and that meant parents who loved him. In his heart, Snape didn't think Rabastan would hurt his son, but it would be better not to find out.

_'And Pettigrew?'_

_'Sorry?'_

_'Where is the rat in all this?'_

Moody-Feathering said it, but Black was leant forward in the chair, doglike, quivering with eagerness, albeit subtly. Snape tugged his cloak tighter about his shoulders.

_'About. When the time is right, I fully intend to deploy him to thebest of his capabilities.'_

_'You mean to have him cry and wet himself in terror?'_

The dog, of course. Snape rolled his eyes but didn't feel much ire. He supposed a few harmless jabs at the rat's expense would help the dog blow off some steam and that was all for the good.

_'More as side effects, really. I plan to have him open the gates for us when the time is right.'_

Moody-Feathering's face was at odds with his expression, which drew the planes and expanses into a craggy look which had served his old face perfectly.

_'You think he's got the sand, Snape?'_

_'I think he knows I'll give him to the Dementors if he doesn't.'_

The other two, who knew a thing or two about Dementors, didn't protest. Black cracked his wrist this time. _'I hope this battle ends it.'_

_'Don't we all.'_

Snape shot the dog a look of such friendly concern that both other men tensed expectantly, waiting for him to draw and fire on one or both. Instead, he called for his bag.

_'Now, Black, about this shoulder...'_

Black turned to Moody-Feathering. _'Help...me..._' He whispered. The other man rose.

_'I need to go and check on my students. Good day Sirius, Snape.'_

_'Good day, Feathering'_ said Snape, grinning, as he bore down on swished a diagnostic spell and frowned at the results.

_'Rheumatism in your shoulder and lower back, and your bones are quite thin. I haven't got what you need with me, but when we get back I'll start you on a course of potions. Meantime, stop cracking things.'_

He called for his bag and gave the dog a pain potion and a nutrition potion tokick-start bone healing. Black nodded his thanks.

_'Azkaban, you think?'_

_'Of course. What else hurts?'_

_'Nothing, really. Some of it is the strain of being Salazar.'_

_'One sees that with older Animagi. Minerva suffered in her knees because of the stress of shape-changing.'_

_'Did you just compare me to McGonagall?'_

Snape shrugged. _'You certainly haven't got her taste in clothing.'_

Black huffed._ 'Bastard._'

_'Ponce.'_

Snape reached out and roughly shoved the dog's head to oneside. He pressed his fingers into the trapezius muscle, and the dogwent rigid for a moment, biting on his lip to stifle a shout of pain,and then went still, sighing in relief.

_'How did you...?'_

_'One learns things. When we land, you're Salazar until I tell you otherwise.'_

_'I know.'_

_'Try not to be an insufferable twat about it, won't you? No teaching the other dogs to dance, or organising them into pyramids or something.'_

_'What about breaking them into units and starting a systematic massacre of any garden gnomes in the area? I could be their Spartacus.'_

_'Do you not remember what became of Spartacus, you simpleton?'_

_'I might have nodded off once or twice during my lessons, that's true._'

_'Remind me to beat you with a stick.'_

_'Not helping the Spartacus comparison, Crassus.'_

_'Hmmph. Mangy arse.'_

The dog transformed when the knock came, and greeted Lady, who was following Tamm. The boy bowed to Snape and then smiled. The grin disturbed Snape-when had he lost his ability to terrify children?

_'*Professor? Do you need to look at my eye?*'_

_*'Yes, indeed.*'_ Snape unwound the bandages after the boy had sat. He made a face when he did it-Moody-Feathering must have hided him. Snape didn't disapprove.

_'*Is it better today?*'_

'_*Yes. Have you kept your hands away, Tamm?*'_

_'*Yes, sir. Can I see it?*'_

_'*Your eye?*'_

_'*Yes, sir.*'_

_'*Not yet. Once it's healed a bit more.*'_

_'*Is it very gruesome?*'_ Tamm sounded interested, and Snape, knowing boys that age love that sort of thing, nodded.

_'*It certainly is.*'_

Snape was pulling the gauze out, studying the damage. The flesh was beginning to knit back together, but the shattered orbital bone needed reconstruction, and there would be cosmetic work to see the replacement lid wouldn't droop.

He caught sight of something dangling from Tamm's pocket. '*_What's that you've got, Tamm?*_'

The boy drew it out without looking. A scuffed leather patch, once black and lustrous.

'*Headmaster gave it to me.*'

_'*May I see it?*'_

Tamm handed it over a shade uneasily.

_'*You'll give it back?*'_

_'*Of course.*'_

Snape checked it for initials, identifying marks of any sort. Nothing, though the workmanship was good. He handed it back and the boy tucked it in his pocket.

_'*Did you know him, sir?*'_

_'*Him?*'_

_'*Headmaster's friend.*'_

_'*A bit.*'_

_'*What was he like?*'_

Snape finished repacking the gauze and started wrapping a cleanbandage about Tamm's head.

_'*He was brave, and a good wizard.*'_

_'*What happened to him?*'_

Snape finished wrapping and sealed the bandage.

_'*He sacrificed himself for the greater good.*'_

_'*A lot of people do that.*'_

Snape looked at the dog. _'*Indeed.*'_


	89. Chapter 89

**A/N: Love to reviewers and Countess Black**

**Life is sort of mediocre right now, to be honest :/ **

**Bellatrix quotes Peter (the disciple, not the rat) to Viktor. **

Alise felt him behind her, and stood slowly, arms full of blankets. Scabior's hands shot out and took the topmost stack, setting them on the closest hammock so he could give her a quick hug.

_'*Ello, duck. What's doins?*'_

_'*Almost done in here. How is it outside?*'_

Scabior sat on the hammock and whistled softly. _'*Burnt 's'far as the eye can see. All them dead animals. Thought milord was goin t cry.*'_

_'*Is Hermione all right?*'_

_'*If she aint, love, you'd not know t looks a er.*'_

That was true. She sat down next to him, and he wrapped an arm about her waist, as he often did. Alise closed her eyes and relaxed a bit.

Scabior made a sort of low humming noise which she took as either comfort or thought.

_'*Not s'bad in ere, is it?*'_

_'*No, it's nice.*'_ They were in the ship which had been designated as the sick bay. She laid her head on Scabior's shoulder and sighed deeply.

He hummed a bit harder. _'*Sumthin wrong?*'_

_'*I'm tired of war. And worried about Yseult.*'_

_'*She's fine in Sofia, darlin'. Appier there than ere, yeah?*'_

_'*I know. She'll be able to help deal with the parents.*'_

_'*Why are you worried, then?*'_

_'*She's too quiet.*'_

_'*Aint nothin you kin do fer it rite now, duck.*'_

_'*I know.*'_

They could hear the muffled thumps of footsteps as sailors walked across the decks. Alise suspected they didn't like being grounded, even if the ships were well protected. The wolves were spread through the woods, creeping close to the enemy and back again, and sometimes there would be a muffled cry as a sailor spotted movement that resolved into a familiar face.

Scabior kissed her forehead. _'*When's the last you slept?*'_

_'*Last night. I'm all right, really.*'_

_'*Shure?*_' He frowned, and Alise found she actually liked it a bit. It felt good to have someone watching her again, even if she didn't strictly need it.

_'*No.*'_

_'*Thought not. Lie down, yeah? I'll stays with you, jus try and rest.*'_

She laid back and shyly slipped a hand into his. She closed her eyes, faintly felt him slide off her shoes and then let herself drift. Though the hold was quite chilly, she felt comfortably warm as his hand slid into hers.

When Snape found them, Scabior was still holding the girl's hand. She groaned when he rose and quickly cast a Silencing bubble over her so she could continue to rest without hearing them.

_'Ello, sir.'_

_'Scabior. I trust you're behaving yourself with the girl.'_

_'A course I am._'

Scabior sounded affronted by the very notion that he might not have done what he was supposed to, and Snape, strangely, didn't doubt him. He had few illusions about what Scabior would do confronted with a pile of enemy bodies to loot, but if he said he hadn't had congress with the girl, he hadn't.

_'No doubt. Is the sickbay almost ready?'_

_'Soon, sir. Jus needs fer the braziers an such._' Scabior tugged his coat more tightly and stamped his feet.

_'As soon as we've fuel enough, Scabior.'_

_'Y'sir, milady's said. Portkeys workin yet?'_

_'That's why I came. Would you help us test them?'_

_'Be glad t. Lemme wakes Miz and tells er where I'm goin._'

Snape turned and feigned interest in the walls. He could hear soft voices, and the girl's heavily accented English. Scabior cleared his throat.

_ 'Ready, sir.'_

Snape led him off the sickbay ship and down the neat rows, passing small groups of people, nodding at Olympe Maxime, waving once to Feathering, who was walking with Tamm. Every so often a group of wolves would detatch from some shadow and give acknowledgement, more of Scabior than Snape. Did they recognise a fellow, wondered Snape?

Arco appeared from nowhere, wand raised.

_'*Who goes?*'_

_'*Severus Snape and Lemuel Scabior.*'_

_'*Prove it.*'_

_'*My godson is Draco Malfoy, and his mother is Narcissa.*'_

_'*Fine.*'_

He lowered the wand and let them pass, nodding politely. Snape and Scabior bowed as a group of girls led by Vaike Kask passed them, arguing softly. The command centre was all the cabins now, the walls having been removed by elves.

The girl was sitting in the middle of it, speaking to a mixed group of middle aged tenants and younger city dwellers, gesturing. They nodded and departed, having been given their marching orders.

_'Hello, gentlemen. How is Alise, Scabior?'_

_'Restin, milady. Worked erself clear t the bone all las night.'_ He looked displeased at the idea, and the girl said something to Krum's manky old elf, who handed over some phials.

_'Nutrient potions. Tell her she's taking the whole thing and getting some sleep or I'll send Bess.'_ Bess chuffed, perhaps indicating she felt some tough love was needed. Scabior squatted and the dog came at once, lapping his cheek and snuffling contentedly.

_'Shure will, milady.'_ He took the phials and went back to scratching Bess's ears, speaking softly to her. The girl turned back to Snape, handing over the pile of clothes.

_'Professor?'_

_'My lady?'_

_'I wonder if I could ask a sort of favour?'_

Snape looked at the clothing and then at the girl. He suddenly flashed on a frizzy haired eleven year old who'd brewed potions with him, chattering, and asked questions about every possible subject. Who'd sat in his lap, and hugged him when she thought he was sad, and now, at fourteen, was grown.

_'Please.'_

_'We're asking everyone to change into Bulgarian dress. The Death Eaters stand out too much, otherwise. We've clothes for you all_.'

She looked a little pale, but her eyes were bright, and her voice was strong. Did she thrive on this now, he wondered?

Snape hadn't changed his basic outfit in almost twenty years. It was a part of him, a shell, something that made him both blend in and stick out. But she was right, he supposed, and took the clothes from her.

The elf had to help him tuck the trousers into his boots, and adjust the tunic. He had to admit, it was certainly cosy- the tunic was lined in fur-but he felt faintly stupid. Fortunately, the others seemed to feel the same, except Rabastan, who looked strangely dashing, and Bellatrix.

Bellatrix, dressed as a boy, was glowing with that disturbing radiance he remembered her having when she fought. Never more than arm's length from the girl, she was glaring with joyful pique, clearly eager for the fight that was to come. Snape wondered whether every enemy she struck down would be the Dark Lord, or some rival, or both, or whether she just wanted to attack something. Maybe it was all of them.

A harried, rabbity looking Ministry offical stepped forward, bowing awkwardly. The girl nodded, and the Portkeys were produced, rows of them, each neatly labelled in a small, even hand he recognised as her own. It was strange, seeing the familiar curves and lines twisted into Cyrillic.

The man knew his business, and in under an hour it was done. Every lieutenant had given some personal trinket to serve as an inconspicuous Portkey, and so the rows were combs, handkerchiefs, cufflinks, shoelaces, religious medals and tunic buttons. Snape handed over the little card case the girl had made him years before, and then tucked it away again, feeling the tiny phial, empty now, waiting for its time to be used.

The girl stood up._ 'Mother? Is there any way I could ask you to oversee whilst the Professor and I talk?'_

Bellatrix glowered but sat in the place her daughter had just vacated. '_Don't wear yourself out, girl. I'll know.'_

Hermione pecked her cheek and then turned to Snape. _'Professor?'_

He followed her, curious about what his little spy was up to.

Arco's men spotted the flyers an hour later, and greeted them with raised wands when they touched down. Lord Krum and the seneschal stepped forward, empty hands raised at shoulder height.

_'*Prove your identity.*'_

_'*Your leader does not approve of children drinking. At the parley, he watered the wine he gave to Anu Tamm, my aide.*'_

_'*That's Malfoy. Now you, sir.*'_

_'*You were in the room with Pavel when we took his clothes and hair to Polyjuice Vata with.*'_

_'*My lord.*'_

Arco sketched a bow and motioned for them to enter the ship. The whole thing was as eerily silent as before, carefully picking their way through the trails the others had made in the snow.

Bellatrix was holding the command centre, glaring at a medi-witch quickly scampered away. _'Hello, boys.'_

_'Aunt Trixie.'_

_'Mother.'_

They both embraced her, and she stepped back and eyed them critically. _'You both look terrible.'_

_'Vas very cold up there, Mother. Is vind burn.'_

_'Seems like there's going to be a storm soon, Aunt Trixie. We should make everything is ready and increase the watches._' Snow was as good a cover as any for a small force who could move quickly.

Viktor nodded vigourously. _'Yes. Is Herm-on-nee-knee about?'_

_'She's talking with Snape for some reason. You should eat, both of you_.' She glowered her best at them, and Viktor decided that eating would be better than getting that look for any length of time.

Draco's father appeared, dressed, strangely, in a tunic and trousers. He looked very odd, with his blond hair tied back like Uncle Penko's. _'Draco, we are ready with the Portkeys. Would you help us pass them out?'_

_'Of course, Father. If neither of you mind…'_

_'Go, go. Tell Aunt Narcissa_ _I_ _say_ _hello_.'

He watched as the two Malfoys ducked through the door and made their way onto deck. He hoped it would not snow before they were done.

Snetzka brought big bowls of hot salted cabbage and pork, and he tucked in, starving. Mother picked, face thoughtful. She had an air of intensity about her.

_'Mother you are vell?'_

_'Fine, fine. How was the flying?'_

His face tightened. _'Bad. Ve go thirty kilometres. Bad.'_

_'Yes.'_ Bellatrix continued to eat implacably, eyes dark with some unreadable thought. She seemed not to mind his scrutiny. After a few minutes, they both pushed their bowls away and she suddenly sighed.

_'It's a dreadful thing, boy, to see everything you believe in crumble about you. Men have been driven mad by far less.'_

_'I am sorry.'_

_'I'm not. If this is what it is, better to know than not know.'_

Viktor had always had a healthy respect for his mother in law's magical prowess, and her reputation, but he was surprised to find that he had an even healthier one for her sheer will in all this.

_'Yes. It is bad it had to be for this, no?'_

_'If it had been any other thing, I would serve Him still, boy.'_

_'This means Drago von't take the Mark now?_' Viktor hoped so.

_'I don't know. I should think…let me tell you something: I have seen people underestimate Narcissa before. It never ended well for them.'_

It took him a moment to process what she'd said, but he got the gist clearly enough, and thought that was good advice. He stretched, feeling his joints twinge sharply. It was the cold. He resolved to ask Hermione, or an elf, to rub some heating salve on the places that ached.

_'What exactly did you find out there?'_

His English was not up to the task. He swished a translation spell and said '*_It's not as bad that way_*' and he pointed south '*_but this is going to take decades to fix, Mother The villages that aren't burnt are full of slaughtered livestock.*_' He shook his head disgustedly.

_'*And Dinev's host?*'_

_'*Hold everything within about ten kilometres of the castle, and presumably bands of scouts beyond.*'_

_'*You've the best guerrilla force in the world at your fingertips. Surely they can find a weak spot in his defenses.*'_

Viktor called for coffee for them both. _'*No doubt, but even if we should get the wolves in the castle, there's the vassals. It's not inconceivable they could form alliances and keep this going for years.*'_

Viktor's stomach was burning, and he set down the coffee, not wanting to contemplate the idea of years of small conflicts, endless sieges, holding the country together by sheer will and shows of force, watching Bulgaria hemorrhaging manpower and money.

_'***No**.*'_

Bellatrix's little hand was like a claw, latching onto his arm, digging into the wool of his sleeve with her hot hand. He could see the conviction in her, the woman who'd gone to Azkaban for her beliefs. It scared him, but like his mental snapshot of Hermione surrounded in flames, it had a hideous beauty, a terrible grandeur that was both awe inspiring and horrific.

_'*How much do you love my daughter, boy?*'_

_'*More than anything, Mother.*'_

_'*Then be worthy of her. Worthy of your name and worthy of ours.*'_

_'*They killed my mother.*'_

Bellatrix's hand crashed down on the table. '_*No! You know better than that!*'_

_'*Mother?*'_

_'*You can't look back now, boy. We're all in this together now, and if we're to survive, it'll be because you united the country. Now, how will you do that?*'_

_'*We have to take the castle as soon as possible.*'_

Her voice was hard. '_*And crush those that oppose you. Make them fear at the sound of your name and half the struggle is won already.*'_

_'*The other half is keeping the country together.*'_

_'*That's what you've got that pack of whining old men for, isn't it? To do the donkey work for you?*'_

Viktor chuckled despite himself. '_*I wouldn't phrase it that way.*'_

_'*Phrase it however you like, you're a war leader. Let lesser men worry about the nitty-gritty. And boy,…*'_

_'*Mother?*'_

_'*I knew Zhivka very briefly, but she impressed me as a strong woman. And she loved you.*'_

Bellatrix was not given to sentimental excess, and Viktor suspected it was counter her nature to say such things, but he appreciated she had done it.

_'*I miss her very much, every day, but she would want us to make things safe again. For all of us.*'_

_'*Truly, you are worthy of my daughter.*'_ She said it like it he had passed some test. Perhaps to her he had.

_'*I always believed that was the most important part of a marriage. When I was eighteen, the Dark Lord told me that of all His servants, Rodolphus was most worthy of my hand, so I married him.*_'

_'*Karkaroff told me the same thing, you know. To be worthy of Hermione, not about Father and yourself.*'_

_'*He was a petty little bastard, Igor, but he did have a way with words.*'_

_'*He said you were the finest warrior he'd ever fought alongside, and Father, and Uncle Rab.*'_

She smiled. _'*He didn't want to be killed for failing to come, I'm sure. Fat lot of good it did him, in the end. All of us, really.*'_

Viktor sipped his coffee. _'*May I ask you something?*'_

_'*I joined because I believed, boy. Was that your question?*'_

_'*Well, yes.*'_

_'*I thought He was the answer to all our problems. And He…men think all women really want, deep down, is babies and a house. Some do-most do. I never did.*'_

Viktor said nothing. He was curious, and disturbed, and strangely touched she was sharing this with him. He missed Zhivka fiercely, not the dry, muted pain of long absence, but a living thing, like a tentacle in his heart, squirming. Had it really been almost two years?

_'*That mask was freedom, boy. It was everything I'd ever wanted, and it was Him. He was…he was **everything**, do you see?*'_

He didn't. '_*I've read the letters, but I…it must have been different if one knew him.*'_

She shook her head slowly. A denial? '_*When you told us he wouldn't send the aurors, I wept, boy. In front of him, I wept. And it moved Him not at all. He wouldn't look at me. Ten years in Azkaban, and He wouldn't look at me.*_'

Viktor wished he knew what to say but he didn't. He'd always found the Dark Lord disquieting, eerie, strange, but this was not the time to express that, clearly. He waited for her to finish her thoughts.

_'*That did it for me, I suppose. The final thing, but not the first. The first was when he sold my twelve year old daughter for aurors. Not that I regret **you**, mind.*'_

_'*Mother didn't like it either.*'_

He shivered, abruptly feeling a small shiver of warmth on his neck. Mama, he thought, and felt safer. Perhaps she didn't mind. Just as Bellatrix had said. He said as much, figuring he owed his mother in law the same courtesy he'd just given him.

_'*Of course she doesn't. Love covers a multitude of sins, boy.*'_ He wondered what she was thinking of as she said it. Him and his wolves? The Mark on her arm? A little girl, taken from her muggle parents? All of them?

_'*Did my father say anything before you left, Mother?*_' He halfway hoped not, almost as much as he wanted him to have done. She'd have said, someone would have said, had Martin sent a letter, but perhaps they'd not had time to tell him of a verbal message.

_'*No.*'_

Viktor nodded. _'*I rather thought not.*'_ It was best this way, he told himself sternly. Best not to think about it too much. Best not to hope.

_'*You've done your duty by him. That's all you can do. Worry about the rest of it later.*'_

_'*Yes.*'_

_'*I was very close to my own father. I know how hard it is to lose someone you love so well.*_'

It was a relief, to hear it said. Viktor bit his lip to stop his eyes from tearing and made himself nod. _'*Yes.*'_

_'*It doesn't get easier, you know. They say it does, but they lie, boy.*'_

Viktor thought so as well. They talked quite a long time like that, drinking coffee and waiting to see what was false and what was true.

Snape, meanwhile, was having an interesting conversation of his own. He and the girl were in small clearing close to camp. The girl had found a large stump, and settled on it, and Snape, thinking the propriety of the thing was off, sat uneasily next to her.

_'Where's Salazar, Professor?'_

_'God alone knows._' Snape tensed as a twig snapped, but it was only Lady, who bounded toward them, Tamm-less for once. She sat at Hermione's feet and looked at them with wide, guileless eyes.

_'We're very grateful to him, you know.'_

_'I can't imagine why. He's a foul beast.'_

_'We're very grateful to you as well.'_

Snape went rigid._ 'Did you, madam, just imply I am somehow jealous of that mangy creature?'_

The girl, gallingly, laughed._ 'Professor, really! You and Sirius are both part of our family._' She reached up and pecked his cheek, and Snape, deeply irritated with himself, had to suppress a smile.

_'Hmmph.'_

_'Professor? How do you perceive my parents are doing?'_

_'You might ask them.'_

_'I'm asking you.'_ The dog opened her mouth and caught some snowflakes, and then rolled a bit in a drift, apparently not minding the smell of burnt wood and spoilt flesh which had turned it a dingy grey.

_'It will be a very hard for them, I don't doubt.'_

_'And you?'_

His mouth pulled up in a moue of something that might have been amusement or disgust or both. Snape himself was not quite sure. _'That remains to be seen.'_

_'Does it?'_

He frowned. _'I can't help but think you are getting at something, my lady.'_

_'I suppose I am.'_ She tugged her collar tighter and shivered. The wind was indeed picking up, and Snape could smell the cold in the air.

_'What, exactly?'_

_'Professor, whom do you work for?'_

_'Britain.'_

_'Yes, I know. But I mean…are you a Death Eater?'_

_'The Mark on my arm says I am.'_

_'And your heart?'_

_The dog settled at their feet. 'Someone once compared my heart to a tomb.'_

_'Well, they're wrong.'_

The girl sounded so sure that Snape was almost swayed himself. That conviction, so disturbing in her mother, was actually comforting in her. He suddenly wondered how it would have been to have fathered this girl, or any child. Would he have wanted her to live any more than he did at that moment, as they stared at foul grey snow and waited for war? He thought perhaps the answer was no.

_'I am not wholly sure myself, child. Is that answer enough?'_

_'Did you ever believe it as my parents did?'_

_'I believed enough to give the Dark Lord the greatest piece of my heart for quite a long time.'_

_'What changed for you?'_

_'I caused someone I cared for terrible harm.'_

Her eyes dampened._ 'I didn't mean to pry.'_

Snape shrugged.. In his mind's eye, Lily's face was absolutely clear, down to the small mole she'd had by her nose. How often had he dreamed of kissing that mole? How long had it been since anyone had spoken of her? Since he'd said her name? Oh, Lily…the pain burnt, but it felt clean, healing.

He thought of the thing which had taken over Lily's son's body and swallowed, knowing he could do nothing. But this girl, so like Lily in her courage and intelligence and drive, her fierce will to live, he could save, and the others. Was it enough?

_'She would have liked you very much.'_

Suddenly the girl's face was in his chest and her shoulders were shaking. He put an arm about her shoulders and waited. She pulled her teary face up and dried it on her sleeve.

_'I didn't mean to hurt you.'_

_'If I am hurt, why are you weeping?'_

_'Because…because…they all hurt, and I can't help them.'_

_'No. They made their choices, as you've made yours.'_

The girl nodded but seemed ill-inclined to move back to her part of the stump. The proprieties of this were emphatically not right. She tugged her collar again.

_'Do you think we'll win, Professor?'_

_'Yes. I think the odds favour us. The question is going to be holding the country together, more than anything.'_

_'I know. We've been discussing it, Viktor and I.'_

_'What conclusions have you reached?'_

_'It's going to take loads of work.'_

Snape actually laughed. _'No doubt. What else?'_

_'Viktor can't go back to school. One of us has to stay to govern.'_

_'You'll return to Beauxbatons, then?'_

She nibbled her lip._ 'I'd rather stay and help, but Viktor is adamant I finish.'_

_'What do you think?'_

_'I'm past that now, aren't I?'_

Snape had taught too long not to want her to go back. On the other hand, she had a point.

_'You've proved yourself very adept, my lady.'_

She was perhaps the smartest witch in her generation, or any generations for quite a few, but he wouldn't tell her that. It was not his way.

_'Maybe Madame would send me my lessons, do you think?'_

_'Something to consider.'_

They might have spoken more if they hadn't both leapt up in time to see Anu Tamm bounding toward them. He bowed, panting. _'*Word from Britain. Will you come?*_'

They would.


	90. Chapter 90

**A/N: Love to reviewers and Countess Black**

**Special thanks to my friend K for her help with this chapter.**

**A new member of the family has joined us at Maison Rage: PJ, a Doxie puppy, arrived last week. She's about nine weeks old, weighs two pounds and thinks she's a Great Dane. The cats are...not impressed, to say the least.**

In England, Ivan was worried. He set down the toy soldier the elf had brought him and looked out the window and across the grounds, which were cloaked in white. It did nothing to soothe his unease, which was great.

Behind him, the door opened, and Barty came into the library, baby on his hip. _'*Ivan?*'_

_'*Hello, Barty.*'_

_'*What's wrong?*'_

_'*I miss my father. Do you expect they're all right?*'_

_'*Of course they are.*' _

Barty sat on the rug and handed Edric his little wooden giraffe. The baby squealed with glee and waved the toy in one chubby fist, babbling. Barty was looking at him. Ivan came and sat next to him.

_'*Why haven't they written, then?*'_

_'*They're busy, is all. War is hard work.*'_

_'*Oh.*' _

A strange thought occurred to Ivan, and he picked up a wooden horse and made it dance for the baby, who giggled.

_'*Have you ever fought in a war, Barty?*'_

Barty jiggled the baby. '*_Of course. I'm a Death Eaters like the others.*' _

He let the elf take the baby and rolled up his sleeve, showing Ivan the Mark on his arm. Ivan was quite fascinated. It was a strange, squiggly sort of design, a snake coming from the mouth of a skull.

_'*Did it hurt?*'_

_'*Yes.*' _

Barty was looking at it too, and his face was distant and lonely. Ivan felt a stirring of something he'd never felt before. He could just touch the edges, like groping in a darkened room, but it was there, and he knew instinctively that whatever it was would make Barty terribly sad to be questioned on.

_'*Do the uncles have them?*'_

_'*Most of them. Desmond doesn't.*'_

_'*Why not?*'_

_'*You only get one if you're one of His Lordship's most trusted servants.*'_

_'*Oh. Is Drago going to have one?*'_

_'*When he's older, he will.*'_

_'*Will Viktor?*' _

Barty rolled down his sleeve._ '*If he's lucky.*'_

Ivan nodded English-style. '*_Do you think they'll be home for Christmas, Barty?*'_

Barty put an arm round his shoulder. '_*If I knew, I would tell you.*'_

Ivan squeezed his eyes against tears and sighed deeply. '*_What if we can't go home?*'_

_'*Then we'll stay here.*'_

Barty's voice was unusually calm and firm. He sounded more like a grown-up. Ivan's mental hands groped that hard thing again, the edges of it feeling cold under his touch, like the edge of a blade.

'*_There's been loads of fighting. People have been hurt.*'_

Ivan remembered the melee at the Cup and swallowed hard, trying not to remember. Viktor's nose had been bleeding, and his eyes were swollen. People had screamed, and there had been fire everywhere.

Was that how Bulgaria looked now? Ivan stared up the ceiling, which had some of those strange English-style drawings on it. Men and women were dancing on it, clearly some kind of feast or festival.

There was a commotion downstairs. Barty and Ivan both rose and made for the door. _'*Get behind me, Ivan. Stay here until we know it's safe.*' _

Barty's hand had gone to his sleeve but, finding nothing, hung at his side limply.

The door opened, and Aunt Eugenia half ran through the doors. She looked very pretty, Ivan thought, with her hair mussed and his cheeks pink. He wondered if she missed Uncle Rab and decided to hug her later to help her feel better, just in case.

_'*Come downstairs, there's a surprise.*'_

_'*What kind of surprise?*'_

_'*The best Christmas gift you'll ever have, Ivan.*'_

_'*It's not Christmas yet.*'_

She tugged his hand. '_*Hurry!*' _He and Barty both followed, more and more curious.

Eugenia didn't precisely not miss her husband, but right now she was more concerned with what was happening downstairs. Yana fell into step beside them, and both children, looking brave and disturbed by the change in routine, followed her to the dining room, where the visitor was eating a meal of beef and vegetables.

Yana saw it first. _'*Papa?*'_

Rumen stood up. _*Yana? Ivan?*'_

_'*Papa! Papa! It's you!*' _They broke from Eugenia's sides and ran to him, sobbing. Rumen spread his arms and knelt to embrace them, all of them crying. Lyudmilla came in by herself, and gasped, hand to her throat.

_'*Rumen?*'_

_'*Lyudmilla, thank God.*' _

He rose, children clinging to his waist, and reached to embrace his wife, who was staring at him like she couldn't believe he was there. Then she was in his arms, and Eugenia looked away, wanting to give them privacy.

Barty touched her arm gently, saying nothing. She had helped put him in Azkaban, she remembered, and let him squeeze her hand to comfort her. The person she had arrested and the child he was now were different people, and she had an obligation to the child that hinged on pretending she had never known the man.

Rumen stepped back from his wife.

'_*I've letters and things for you, Eugenia. Perhaps Barty would walk the children to Madame Cunegarde?*'_

Barty, to his credit, never complained. He scooped Yana up and took Ivan's hand, speaking animatedly to them as the door closed. The adults stared awkwardly at one another for a moment before sitting at the table.

_'*Viktor sent me to see you all and bring some letters.*'_

_'*How long do you have?*'_

_'*Not long at all.*' _Rumen started to eat again, clearly ravenous. The door creaked and Barty came back in and sat down.

_'*Would you like some violet sweets, Rumen? I've some in my room you could have.*' _His voice was low and serious, and there was a grotesque moment where it was all Eugenia could do not to laugh aloud at the absurdity of it.

_'*Would you, Barty? I would like that.*' _

Barty called an elf, who brought both the sweets and a large carafe of very cold wine, which they all took and sipped.

_'*Would anyone mind if Lyudmilla and I spoke Bulgarian a bit?*' _

Eugenia understood what was being asked and rose. _'*Barty, why don't we give them some privacy?*'_

Barty stood up as well. _'*If you need anything, don't hesitate to call us.*'_

Hours later, Eugenia got the summons, and slipped from her room after first sending an elf to be sure Barty was asleep. He often woke with the baby and tended to him. Strangely, appallingly, she felt comfortable with that. It was obvious, no matter what he had had been or was now, that Barty loved Edric deeply.

She walked as softly as she could down the carpeted corridors and slipped into the library, where Rumen and Lyudmilla were sitting side by side, still talking softly. She sat down and realized she wanted to hear almost as much as she didn't.

_'*Your husband sends his affection, Eugenia, and your brother.*'_

_'*Desmond is there?*'_

_'*He and the other Heads came to find their students.*'_

_'*Students?*'_

_'*Drago raised an army of his schoolchums and brought them.*' _

He explained what had happened, and Eugenia found herself fighting the insane urge to giggle, because surely the world had gone mad. Barty Crouch was caring for her baby and her teenage nieces and nephews were preparing to unite Bulgaria before they were old enough to drink.

_'*I can imagine Des was…upset.*'_

_'*That's one way to put it.*' _

Rumen's voice had an odd edge she realized was amusement. She smiled and he smiled back. His hair was going grey. From the chair closest the fire she heard a cough, and saw Martin for the first time.

_'*Rumen tells me your husband has been invaluable to our efforts, Eugenia. I cannot express how grateful I am.*'_

_'*Thank you, Martin.*'_

She looked round and cast a strong warding spell, and then Muffiliato, and then, to be sure, another ward. _'*How is it really, Rumen?*'_

_'*A few more victories might end us.*' _

He told them what he had seen and heard, and then, tale told, slumped back. His hands were shaking, and the glass of wine he was holding slopped a little.

Eugenia's heart was pounding slowly. She felt a strange fierce pride that the children had come so far on so little, but Rumen was right. What would they have left, if they won the country?

_'*Who's in charge of things now?*'_

_'*Penko, until I get back.*'_

_'*Sorry?*'_

_'*Viktor left me in charge of the Ministry. That makes me de facto Minister. Penko's taken my place until I return.*' _

Rumen sounded like he took no pride at all in this. Martin's brows raised but he made no comment. Eugenia would have given worlds to know what he was thinking at the moment.

_'*Right now they're waiting for parley with Dinev's people.*'_

_'*How does it look?*' _

This was the first active interest Martin had taken in anything in Eugenia's memory. The part of her that was still Emmeline, the auror part, noted it and parsed it, but the part that was Eugenia was simply glad, almost as glad as she was angry that he'd waited this long.

Rumen slumped even more. '_*This will take decades to fix, Martin.*'_

_'*We have the time, I daresay.*'_

For the first time since she'd known him, Rumen reacted with something other than polite interest or displeasure. His eyes narrowed, and he took a breath.

_'*We are not young, Martin, it is little for us to contemplate spending the next few decades at this. Viktor is sixteen. I had rather hoped he and his wife might have a few normal years before they had to run a country.*'_

_'*Surely, once this is over…*'_

_'*He'll have a standing army and a fearsome reputation, and we'll need both to make sure the country doesn't fall completely apart.*'_

Martin was looking at him like he was speaking Mermish. _'*Rumen, it can't be as bad as all that.*'_

Rumen was breathing in a slow, measured way. '_*One of those lieutenants Viktor left me is going to need a stick for the rest of his life, Martin, because he nearly lost a foot assaulting the Ministry, and it's a cursed wound. Another is burnt over so much of his body that he's swathed like a mummy to protect him from infection. It was not cursed, so he'll recover, more or less. Drago's aide lost his eye, and those are the ones I know personally. It is that bad, yes.*'_

Martin nodded slowly. _'*When Viktor goes back to school-*'_

Rumen stood up. _'*Have you been listening at all? Viktor can't go back. He's in this forever, just like the rest of us.*'_

Eugenia's auror sense, her Emmeline-part, spoke up, and she rose. _'*Martin, I feel faint. Perhaps you'd walk a bit in the garden with me?*'_

Martin got ponderously to his feet, courtly as ever. He reminded her of Erasmus Feathering, remnants of dusty courtesy trying to overcome a brain so compromised by age that it was like sunlight at the bottom of a lake, the edges of rays poking through that mass of darkness.

Neither of them spoke until they were outside. Martin looked up at the moon, which was getting fuller every night.

_'*My son should take that castle before the moon is full.*'_

_'*Yes.*'_

_'*The wolves worship it, you know. Lady Moon, they call it. Her, perhaps. Some heathenish thing. No offense.*' _

_'*None taken.*'_

_'*I would rather him be inside than outside with them. It would weaken him to send them away to change, and be too dangerous for them to stay nearby.*' _

He was still speaking to the moon. Eugenia wished she could help him, reach him in his isolation.

Like her affection for Barty, her pity for Martin disturbed her. If Edric was in danger, she'd have walked across hot coals to reach him, killed ten thousand werewolves, climbed the highest mountain or swam the largest sea. Why could Martin not do likewise?

_'*I will write and tell him, do you think?*'_

_'*I think he would like to hear from you.*'_

_'*He was the only child God ever gave Zhivka and me. We called him for my father.*'_

_'*He misses you, no doubt.*' _

She wanted to shake him, to scream. Why did he not see what everyone else saw? Why did he not understand?

_'*He's a good boy. I must insist he return to school, though. Education is so important.*'_

She could bear no more. _'*Martin, Rumen is correct. There's no choice in things now.*'_

_'*Viktor is sixteen.*' _His eyes were fixed on the sky.

_'*He needs you, Martin. Go to him.*'_

_'*I can't.*'_

_'*Can't?*'_

_'*Can't. Are you feeling better? Perhaps I'll stay here a while.*' _

She left him on the balcony, still staring into some horizon she couldn't see and didn't want to.

Rumen was staring into the fire when she came back in. _'*Thank you. I was afraid we would come to blows.*'_

_'*Not at all. How is everything else?*'_

She could tell by his face he was weighing what to tell her, and hated it. Emmeline had always wanted the truth, to ferret it out and hold it and look at it from all angles like a gemstone, and Eugenia, who'd never been an auror, had that same urge.

She sat in her chair and leant forward. _'*I am not a Death Eater, Rumen.*'_

_'*Your husband is.*'_

_'*My husband is, yes.*'_

He looked to the side. _'*I would tell you anything I thought would not compromise my wife and children.*'_

It would have to do. She nodded. _'*I would appreciate that.*'_

They stayed up until dawn, discussing the situation as it stood. When she finally went to bed, it seemed to her the world had once more shifted on it's axis.

Her husband would have agreed. He had listened as Snape read the Dark Lord's letter aloud and then set it on the table, bas-relief face inscrutable. He felt, really felt, the yawning gape that separated him now from the man he'd called his master his whole adult life.

_'*He's taking this better than I might have thought.*' _Bellatrix's voice was oddly soft, not her usual strident caw.

_'*It's a ruse. He's seething, can't you feel it?*' _Snape handed her the letter and she scanned it, eyes wide, and then handed it to Rodolphus, who passed it to the rest.

'*_I tend to think Snape is right, Trixie. The Dark Lord is feeling…penned in, Severus, would you say?*' _That from Malfoy.

She nodded, not even contradicting him. There was nothing to contradict, as none of them assumed a few kind words would end this thing. Once upon a time, he reflected, they would have, but those days were over forever.

_'*That's a very apt way to describe it, I should think. We must make sure we do nothing to add to that.*' _

Snape handed out the rest of the letters, which were mainly for Rabastan's brother and sister in law, no doubt about work matters.

Next to Viktor, Penko caught his eye and his lips quirked. Rabastan suspected it was hard for his lover, knowing what to say. He found great comfort in Penko, but the other man was younger, and perhaps would like some cues on what he was feeling.

He'd have to figure that out first, of course. He didn't know, precisely, because he felt everything. He had known the Dark Lord since he could walk, he had never not believed in His Cause, and now, shorn of that, he didn't quite know who he was.

Well, not shorn, but cropped. He wished his brother would say something, or Lucius. He had always taken his cues from Rodolphus, and now, casting about for the blueprint of a life after the Dark Lord, he wanted his older brother, always brave and strong and smart, to help him find his way.

His eyes drifted back to Penko. He was so lucky to have someone as smart and funny and caring as him in his life. Rabastan nipped the inside of his cheek, as he was wont to do when he was deep in thought, and reflected that for the first time he might need to help Rodolphus with matters of belief and not vice-versa. None of his immediate household, except possibly Barty, were Death Eaters, after all, and so perhaps that meant he would have an easier time of it.

Viktor and Hermione were conferring with Snape when the knock came. Viktor nodded, and the door opened to reveal Tamm, with Sirius-Salazar next to him.

'_*Found him, sir. He was sharing a rabbit with Lady.*'_

_'*Thank you, Tamm. Have you seen any owls?*'_

_'*Three from the castle. Arco's men shot them down. They've sent people to get them.*'_

Viktor clapped the lad's shoulder. '_*Tell Arco I said for them to bring back what they find so we can look them over. And have the elves pack them food, they might be gone a while.*' _Tamm bowed and went off about his errand.

Sirius waited a minute before he transformed back and, bowing to the ladies, sat down next to Rodolphus, shaking his head. _'*Nothing.*'_

Snape seemed to have expected it, and so did the lord and lady. Hermione's mouth turned down, and Viktor said something which made her shake her head. Rabastan would never get used to this nodding for no thing the Bulgarians did. Made it hard for a man to know whether it was an affirmative or not.

This evidentially was, as Viktor said '_*We'll have to send them an elf, then.*'_

_'*An elf?*'_

_'*To set up a time and place to parley. I'd rather do this via diplomacy than try and take that castle.*'_

_'*He had his chance, Viktor.*'_

_'*Yes, he did, but perhaps seeing us show up with an army has driven it home. And the Minister-former Minister-might well be dead. If someone else is ruling, he or she could be persuaded, hopefully.*'_

_'*Dog? Any thoughts?*'_

_'*Dinev's alive, so far as I know, but he's in a bad way. It's possible they just want it over.*'_

Snape nodded (English style, thank the ancestors) and looked at the lord and lady. _'*My lord Krum?*'_

_'*I'll send Snetzka this evening. In the meantime, how do we soothe the Dark Lord?*'_

Snape's mouth twisted. '*_Assuming such a thing is possible? We'll need to send a reply via courier. Someone important, I'm afraid.*_'

The group eyed one another, and Penko gave Rabastan a lightening fast wink. _'*I'll go. Haven't been to England in ages.*' _

He tried to make it sound like a jaunt, as though for a holiday, but the joke fell leaden onto the table between them all.

_'*We need you here, Uncle. To negotiate, perhaps, or lead troops.*'_

Narcissa raised a hand. _'*I could go.*'_

Lucius was staring at the table top, and his son looked torn between wanting to agree and get his mother clear of the war zone and fear of giving the Dark Lord another hostage.

_'*We should ask Rumen what he thinks. Perhaps one of the lieutenants might be highly-born enough to suffice.*'_

_'*Would sending a wounded fighter appeal to the Dark Lord's sense of pity, Professor?*' _Hermione cocked her head and Snape's mouth twisted again.

_'*My lady, you're amiss in thinking he's got one.*_'

That was how Rumen ended up their emissary. They watched him go. He embraced his brother and nephew, murmured something in Penko's ear, and was gone, bound for Skopje and then Feathering.

The men slipped off. '*_He was annoyed we didn't ask him first.*' _They were inside the cubby given over to their use. How lucky they were, thought Rabastan, that custom dictated two men might share a bed. Not that anything could happen on the ship, but it was good to sleep curled up together. He swished a quick Muffiliato and sat on the bed.

_'*Really?*'_

Penko was smiling wryly. _'*Rumen is quite fierce when he wants to be. I daresay he wants a bit of action aside from signing manifests and ordering the tenants about.*'_

_'*Who's in charge in Sofia?*'_

_'*I am, for right now. We need a Bulgarian there, and I'm the politician, so…*' _

He seemed neither pleased nor displeased at the idea. Rabastan felt relieved and selfish and glad that his lover would be out of harm's way.

_'*I'm in the market for an assistant. Do you know anyone?*'_

Rabastan grinned, not without regret. '_*I'm needed here, love.*'_

_'*I need an attaché who speaks English, Rab. You can deal with whatever comes from England, and I can scare the Conclave into being good boys and girls until this is sorted out.*'_

Rabastan snorted. '*_Someone's looking forward to that.*'_

_'*Damned straight. Some of them need a bit of scaring, and we're the men to do it. You can stand there looking intimidating and I can use the law to keep them docile.*'_

_'*What do the children say about it?*'_

_'*I'm sure they'll not say no. You've a young son.*'_

_'*So does Rumen.*'_

Penko nodded. '_*And he shouldn't fight, either. Ideally, he'll be back in time for us to return before the fighting starts.*_'

Rabastan could feel the beginning of a headache. _'*If the Dark Lord lets him leave.'*_

'_*I didn't want to say that, love.*'_

_'*You needn't shy away, Penko. We all know now…*' _He trailed off, sighing deeply.

Penko moved closer. '_*Should we discuss this, do you think?*'_

Slowly, carefully, Rabastan gathered his thoughts, warding things to be absolutely sure they wouldn't be overheard.

_'*I wish you might have met my father. He was a great man. Brilliant, and far-sighted, and a good correspondent. He was the first to answer the Dark Lord's call, you know, in the thirties. He and Dolohov and Nott Sr, they were the first.*'_

_'*It was my whole adult life. I took the Mark at eighteen. Now what do I do?*' _

He laid on his back and rested his head on his arm, deep in reached over and started to stroke his hair gently, an unerotic gesture of comfort.

_'*You didn't decide this moment.*'_

'I know. Hold me?'

Penko was glad to.

On deck, the elder Malfoys were walking in the cold air, her hand on his arm. Narcissa was quite a tall woman, but Lucius towered over her. It had always made her feel safe, protected.

She still felt that way, but it was salted with a new and bitter realisation of how terribly illusory that safety was, how thin the walls which protect us from disaster. They were speaking English, and had not bothered to charm themselves against casual listeners; the only English speakers on board were family, after all.

_'It's very cold this evening, isn't it?'_

_'Frigid.' _She groped for words to express what she was feeling and came up dry. Her husband wouldn't look at her. Finally she could bear no more.

_'Lucius, is there something you wish to say?'_

_'Narcissa, I...I'm sorry.'_

_'Sorry?'_

_'Everything is falling apart.'_

_'No.'_

_'No?'_

She reached up and cupped his cheek as she would Draco. _'We are alive, Lucius, and our son. That's more than many parents can say this evening, isn't it?'_

_'Yes. Yes, of course.'_

_'And I love you. I always have.'_

His arms were about her, his hands in her hair. She went still, startled by his sudden break with propriety, and then she hugged back, sensing what her husband would never admit.

_'You know, I miss our daughter every day. But I woke this morning and thought how kind the ancestors were in taking her before...'_

_'She could be used like our other children have?' _Lucius sounded unutterably weary, ancient. Had he had that thought as well?

_'Yes.' _

Her daughter had been born sickly and blue, and died a few minutes later, but at least she'd been spared all of this. Narcissa felt her hatred of the Dark Lord sharpening like a blade on the whetstone of her resolve, and found it good.

Lucius gently stepped back. _'If I had ever thought, Narcissa, there was a turning point, some time at which I might have stopped this abomination, you know I would give anything to fix it, don't you?'_

_'Of course I do.' _She leant into him and smelt him, his smell of cologne and clean clothes and pomade.

_'You know, Narcissa, purely for the record...if I were a betting man, I would wager it all on you.'_

_'On me?'_

_'You really think I believe you'll let all this go? My dear, I know you far too well.' _

_'That's true.' _She looked across the burnt landscape. The moonlight lent it an eerie beauty, all greys and whites. It made her want to weep with the beauty and horror of it, the two mixed together so well she could not tell which was which. Smoke clung to the air like perfume.

_'When the fighting is over, Narcissa, the Dark Lord will expect us to return to Britain.'_

_'I know.'_

_'He might have me seized.'_

_'I know.'_

_'If I asked you to stay here, would you? Viktor will give you an honoured place at his side, I don't doubt. And Hermione could well need a retinue.'_

Narcissa was still holding her husband's hand. _'You ask me to send my husband into perdition, Lucius?'_

_'I ask you to give me the reassurance that my wife will live and prosper, even if all that awaits me is a terrible death.'_

_'And Draco?'_

_'Draco is second in command to the most important man in Europe. I think he'll be all right here.'_

_'Draco's birthright is Malfoy Manor.'_

_'I know._' He closed his eyes briefly and then opened them again, blinking. She knew he was trying not to weep.

_'I could not protect him from this. Perhaps returning alone will give him a fighting chance.' _

_'No.'_

They both turned, surprised by Draco's voice. He walked from under the eaves of the stairs and joined them by the railing. He was taller than his mother now.

_'We've fought together thus far, Father. And I think we're safest in numbers_.'

Lucius clapped his son's shoulder. _'Draco...'_

_'He won't dare hurt us. Not now. Not with Viktor running things here_.' Draco sounded very sure. When had her baby grown up? Surely this man was not he, not her Draco.

_'I am not sure an army in Bulgaria will stay his hand, Draco.'_

_'In Bulgaria, no.' _Draco seemed unworried, and his parents exchanged odd looks. He spoke again, offhandedly.

_'But then, who says it will stay in Bulgaria, Father?' _His voice was so casual that she almost didn't hear the threat for a moment. Her breath caught in her throat, and Lucius had gone still.

Their son was still studying the landscape. Narcissa felt a chill go down her spine before he turned, seeming very like his old self. _'Wish I knew how the Harpies were doing.'_

_'The Harpies. Grandfather is spinning in his grave, knowing you support them.' _Lucius sneered his best, and Draco took the bait. Soon the two were having a thoroughly silly debate about something that mattered not at all.

Draco bent and kissed her cheek. _'Mother?'_

_'Darling?'_

_'When this is over, I should like to invite the Kasks to summer with us. Perhaps Italy?'_

_'That sounds splendid. We've not been to Florence in ages, have we?'_

Lucius nodded. _'Not to mention Rome. I do like the statues.'_

_'The statues in Rome have got an attitude, if you ask me.'_

_'You're just cross that satyr spat at you.'_

_'I was six. It was deeply traumatic.'_

Both parents laughed a little, and then Narcissa sobered.

_'We ought to invite the family. It would do everyone good.'_

_'The flying is supposed to be first class in Tuscany. Perhaps Viktor and Paavo and I can take a daytrip or something.' _Draco sounded more genuinely enthusiastic than he had in a long while, and Narcissa beamed.

Claws, skittering on the deck. They turned en masse to see Salazar's dark bulk moving toward them, nimbly skirting the icy patches. He barked and seized Draco's gloved hand, tugging him toward the command centre. Draco nodded.

_'I need to go. Shall I come and find you?'_

_'Please do.' _They watched him go. Lucius slipped an arm about her waist. She inhaled deeply.

_'Our son is dangerous, Lucius.'_

_'Terribly so.'_

_'I'm glad.'_


	91. Chapter 91

**A/N: Love to reviewers and Countess Black**

**Special thanks to my friend K for her continued help and support**

**There's an important culture note at the end which is also a huge spoiler.**

Hermione heard the commotion and rolled over, wishing she'd brought the dressing gown with her. She stood up, the bare planking stinging her feet, and quickly donned her clothing.

Leaving Viktor burrowed in the bedclothes, she ascended the deck in time to see Arco and the others hauling the prisoners on board. She stood up straighter, wishing she'd taken the time to smooth her hair, which was tumbled from sleep.

_'*Mr. Arco?*'_

_'*My lady, we found these men ranging a few kilometres from here. They had this on them.*' _He handed over a crumpled piece of paper.

Hermione opened it and read slowly, struggling a little. Her Bulgarian wasn't up to the task, because it would never have occurred to her husband to teach her words like that. Her face flushed slowly, and when she saw the illustrations, the shame and disgust she made her ball it up, shoving it in a pocket.

_'*This is all you found?*'_

_'*There were more but we burnt them. God knows how many they've got circulating.*'_

Hermione inhaled deeply. '_*I need to go a and wake lord Krum. He's going to be upset about this.*' _That was an understatement, to be sure.

_'*For now, secure the prisoners in a hold and have your men guard them.*'_

Viktor groaned when she shook him, but his eyes opened. _'*What's wrong?*'_

_'*We've some prisoners.*'_

He sat up, already throwing his feet over the side of the bed. Before he got any further, she put a hand to his arm. '_*We've another problem.*'_

She handed him the broadside. Viktor's face, normally so familiar and comforting, was transformed into hard plains by his rage. He stood the whole way up and stepped into last night's clothing.

_'*Why don't you get back onto bed, all right?*' _Hewas speaking very softly out of deference toward the fact they were surrounded by others sleeping.

_'*Don't we have to deal with this?*'_

He was fastening his tunic. '_*I'll do it.*'_

_'*What do you mean to do?*'_

_'*Avenge our honour*.'_

She knew she had to stop this, and climbed off the bed, throwing her arms about him. '_*You can't.*'_

_'*They've insulted us. If the other lords sense weakness, they'll pounce whilst we're out of Sofia. Not to mention the Borev vassals. Answering this swiftly is out only recourse.*'_

_'*So answer it, but remember what you told the lords: we're moving into the future. Hurting those prisoners isn't going to get rid of the pamphlets.*'_

_'*I also told the lords we would honour the traditions the tsars left us.*' _He was calming down but only slightly, and she sensed this could go either way.

_'*So try them in front of the Conclave, but don't kill them. If we won't let people talk, it implies we're afraid of what they're saying.*'_

He was nodding slowly. '_*You always make sense, don't you?*'_

_'*No.*'_

He laughed. _'*Do so.*'_

_'*No, I've had a few moments in my day.*'_

_'*Like what?*'_

_'*Trying to escape a castle full of Death Eaters and werewolves by running out the front door.*'_

Viktor managed a straight face for a full second before he started laughing, hard. He stood up, still chuckling, and raked his fingers through his hair.

_'*I shan't hurt them, love, but they need to be questioned.*'_

_'*Let's wake the others. They'll have a better idea what to do.*'_

They did that. As it turned out, neither of them needed to take part in anything. Scabior, roused from sleep refused to hear of it, as did Rodolphus, who had been woken as well.

_'*No, absolutely not.*' _

He so rarely put down a foot about most things that the lord and lady, little inclined to interrogations anyway, decided to gracefully accede the point.

By now, the others were stirring, and before they could come wholly awake, a contingent of wolves was sent with the prisoners to the Ministry. Hermione came to her father before he left and hugged him.

_'Father?'_

He looked down at her and kissed her forehead. _'Darling, I know the thought of being hard on people upsets you, but we simply must, do you see?'_

_'I know. But not too hard, Father, all right? We plan to try them before the Conclave.'_

Rodolphus hugged her tightly. _'Leave all that to me, darling. Just be careful.'_

_'You, too. And Scabior, you too, please.' _Scabior bowed, grinning, and dared wink at her.

_'Dont I knows it, milady. Miz'll never forgives me if I gets in t mischief.'_

_'Exactly, and don't think I shan't tell her.' _Hermione grinned back and waved as the two men vanished.

Shockingly little work was needed. None of the men (bound to a minor vassal) were especially inclined to suffer for Dinev or his family, and cheerfully spilt everything.

_'*It's not that we haven't got honour, mind you' said one 'but this is doomed, and anyone can see it.*'_

Rodolphus nodded. _'*Of course. How are things in the castle?*'_

The man's mouth hardened. _'*Suppose we tell you. Then what?*'_

_'*I won't start breaking fingers.*' _Rodolphus held up the tray of implements an elf had brought him and rattled them for effect.

_'*That's all well and good, but my wife and children are in the castle, and so are the others.*'_

Rodolphus considered. '_*You do know lord Krum is my son in law?*'_

_'*Everyone knows that. We all know you, and that other fellow as well.*'_

_'*The other fellow doesn't rate a name?*'_

_'*He's Krum's axe man.*'_

_'*He's lord Krum's head of security, and I trained him personally. I'd address Scabior with a little respect, were I you.*'_

The man nodded tensely. _'*So you were saying about lord Krum?*'_

_'*I'll intercede for you.*'_

_'*In return for what?*'_

_'*Get us in the castle.*'_

_'*Yes.*'_

The man laughed drily. '*_And you'll torture me if I don't?*'_

_'*No.*' _Rodolphus stood up lazily and took off his frock coat, which he'd changed back into as a means of intimidation. Scabior handed him the first tray and he frowned thoughtfully, and picked up a pair of barbed callipers.

_'*I'll torture your wife once we've taken the castle.*'_

Back at the ship, Hermione was sighing with pleasure as the elf sluiced water down her back. She could hear Alise stirring behind the screen and rose, wet hair dripping as the elf swathed her in a towel, and another for her hair.

She let Niska help her into a clean chemise and stockings and dismissed the elf. It felt strange to her to use French after so long speaking Bulgarian and English.

_'Alise, would you like a bath too? The camp showers aren't very nice._' That was quite an understatement, as the camp showers were essentially rain charms which had been warmed and contained in a tent.

_'I would like that very much. Let me dry your hair first, it will frizz otherwise.'_

_'It will frizz regardless.' _Still, Hermione sat on the stool and let her friend go to work, coaxing some order out of total follicular chaos.

_'Is something the matter?'_

Alise kept working. _'Did you know Scabior did that?'_

_'Did what?'_

_'What he's doing.'_

_'Interrogated prisoners?'_

_'He's torturing them, isn't he?'_

_'Not necessarily.'_

Alise's hands never stopped what she was doing. Hermione felt a blade of guilt twist in her stomach, sharp and huge.

_'We need their help, is all. We aren't going to hurt them.' _Much.

Alise flicked her wand and the curls dried. She separated a section and started to braid. _'Scabior is always so kind to me.'_

_'He likes you very much.'_

_'I like him. Did you know he did this?'_

_'We don't know that he's doing anything.'_

_'Did you?'_

Hermione winced as a pin dug into her scalp. _'I knew he worked for my father.'_

Alise finished the first part of the pinning and started on the next section. _'No one ever said?'_

The blade of guilt lodged in Hermione's sternum gave a hard wrench. _'No. I wouldn't let you marry someone who might hurt you.'_

Alise finished another plait and pinned it. _'I know that, Hermione.'_

_'How can I make you feel better?'_

Alise shook her head and started the final part of the braided crown. _'It's a new world. I'll have to get used to it.'_

Hermione felt like she'd been slapped. _'I'm sorry, Alise.'_

_'So am I.' _She finished the final plait and gently drove the dragon's bone pins in to anchor it, careful not to draw blood.

Bellatrix had just returned from a circuit about the perimeter, throwing the fear of God into a handful of sentries, when the sky went red. Her head went up, hand reaching for her wand, when letters emerged from the haze. 'Parley.'

She turned and sprinted for the hold, nimbly dodging patches of ice. Sirius, in dog form, fell in beside her, and the two pounded down the stairs and into the command centre, where her daughter and son in law were poring over a map, speaking Bulgarian to one another.

_'*They're calling for parley, boy. Come and see!*' _Both of them leapt up and the whole group went on deck and studied the message. The boy's jaw was tight.

_'*They should have sent Snetzka back with a letter. Something is wrong.*' _Bellatrix could see a look in his eye which suggested he had made the same deduction she had.

Hermione nodded. _'*I think so, too.*'_

_'*What do you suppose we should we do?*'_

Hermione studied the sky a second longer. '_*We need to go. Mother, would the Death Eaters be willing to wear their robes and masks?*'_

_'*Of course, girl.*' _Bellatrix could see the wheels turning in the heads of both the children, and it made her skin prickle, feeling that combat was close and she would be a part of it.

_'*Then let's assemble everyone, all right? Is Father home?*'_

_'*It's best not to disturb him right now. He needs to concentrate on the prisoners.*'_

_'*Would the others meet us in ten minutes in the command centre, then?*'_

Viktor was sending orders to his lieutenants. An hour after the sky went red, the group moved out to confront the enemy, hopefully to make a truce.

Robed and masked, Bellatrix walked next to her brother in law, head high. The robes and mask of a Death Eater had always made her feel proud, noble, even heroic, but tonight they seemed one more bit of sad trumpery in a play that would decide whether several thousand people lived and died.

Beside her, Malfoy was restive. She could sense, rather than see, the way his gaze kept finding his son, and she was appalled to realise she understood the impulse exactly. When she felt the same thing as Malfoy, the world was well and truly going to end.

Ahead of them all, Tamm was holding the banner, a white silk peace banner with the Krum crest-a black dog on a field of crimson-under it, flanked by the pack, Hermione's Bess leading. The wolves were arranged up and down the column, guarding their sides, and the rest marched after. They did not talk, or sing, or even breath too loudly. The air was fraught with the feeling this was the beginning of the end, the crest of the sea-change.

They came to a clearing. Viktor pressed a hand to his brow, and Hermione walked a few feet and spoke softly. '_*Mother, would you send up the Mark so they'll know we're here?*'_

_'*Watch what I do, girl.*' _Bellatrix had long imagined the day she'd teach her daughter the emblem of everything she stood for, but now, like the robes and mask, it struck her as tatty, meaningless.

_'Morsmordre.'_

The Mark bloomed above them, and the pop of Apparation echoed over the clearing. The two hosts faced one another.

Tamm stepped forward. Bellatrix could see the slight shake in his shoulders, but his voice was clear and piping.

_'*Viktor, lord Krum, and Hermione, lady Krum.*'_

One of the Dinevs broke off and bowed. _'*My lord and lady, thank you for coming. I am Anastas Dinev, seneschal of Castle Dinev. My father gives me leave to speak for the family in this.*'_

Viktor took a cautious step forward, hands raised. '_*I believe we know one another, Mr. Dinev.*'_

_'*We played against one another at camp two years past, as I recall.*'_

_'*Is there a place we might speak?*'_

_'*A pavilion, if you'd like. Lady Krum, will your ladies require a place to rest?*'_

'Thank you, sir, but we'll all stay together.'

A few vassals brought out the promised pavilion, and soon enough they were inside, sipping hot mulled wine, sitting on comfortable stools offered to them by the Dinev elves.

The young Dinev was a stoop-shouldered fellow of perhaps twenty five. He spoke courteously to them all, and seemed especially keen to meet Snape, for whatever reason Bellatrix could not possibly say.

_'*Madam Lestrange, it's an honour. If there's anything I might do to make your stay in Bulgaria more comfortable-*'_

_'*Don't kill my daughter or son in law. Or my nephew.*'_

Dinev laughed, startled. '_*I commend your honesty, madam. Please, if you need anything, don't hesitate to let my elves know.*'_

_'*Thank you.*'_

After the formalities, the work of detente began.

_'*I regret to inform you your elf has met with an accident.*'_

_'*Accident?*'_

_'*Yes, unfortunately.*'_

_'*Snetzka is hurt*?' _

The boy half rose, jaw clinched. Bellatrix saw Hermione's hand dart out and gently touch his knee and he sat down, still tense all over.

_'*No. She's dead.*'_

_'*What happened?*' _

_'*One of my men misinterpreted his orders and fired on her, thinking she meant to attack.*'_

_'*She would have to have been invited in for her to be inside your walls.*' _Bellatrix noticed redness slowly climbing from his collar and half hoped he'd get in a good swing-that story was so obviously a lie it was insulting.

_'*It was a terrible accident.*'_

He said nothing. Good, she thought with approval. Anger can be sustaining. She wished Rodolphus was there. He could have found the right way to talk the lad down from this. As it was, she settled for giving Dinev a glare that made him lose several shades from his face.

Viktor reached into his tunic and handed over the crumpled handbill. _'*On a similar note, I wonder, sir, whether any of your men would know about this?*'_

Dinev read the thing and lost even more colour. _'*My God. I'd no idea.*'_

'_*I'm sure you understand why we were perturbed to read this?*'_

_'*I...yes. Where did you get it?*'_

_'*We captured a scouting party this morning. One of them had it in his pocket.*'_

_'*Where are they now?*'_

_'*At the Ministry. We're keeping them as prisoners.*'_

Dinev put his head up. '_*You didn't execute them?*'_

_'*Lady Krum interceded for them.*'_

_'*That was most kind of you, my lady. Allow me to make a gesture of my own: When I discover the person responsible for this, I will turn him over to you for punishment.*'_

_'*Thank you.*' _Bellatrix nipped the inside of her cheek with her sharp little teeth; her daughter was so gentle, likely she'd scold the parties responsible and...was that true anymore? She was aware, abruptly, she didn't know.

_'*And the one who killed our elf.*'_

_'*We will pay the cost of the elf, surely.*'_

Viktor shook his head. _'*It's not about money. Snetzka served us loyally for four hundred years. She was a member of the family. And protected by the law of the tsars.*'_

Dinev looked pained. '_*I am not sure which one struck the fatal blow.*' _He flushed slightly, suggesting he had a better idea than he'd let on.

_'*And her body?*'_

_'*Was vanished. That order was not given at my command, I assure you.*'_

_'*I believe you. I take it your uncle is not well?*'_

_'*He'll be back on his feet in no time, I'm sure.*'_

_'*Did your family receive the Conclave's letters?*'_

_'*We did.*'_

_'*No one came.*'_

_'*No.*'_

_'*A surrender would be the best course for all of us.*'_

Dinev's mouth quirked. _'*Oh?*'_

_'*It would be a terrible waste of life, Dinev. My men are battle hardened and have proved their skill against a fortified enemy before.*'_

_'*That's true. But we're fighting for our homeland, Krum.*'_

Viktor nodded. '_*So are we, Dinev.*'_

_'*What would you accept in lieu of a surrender?*'_

_'*What do you offer?*'_

The talk turned to minutiae, and Bellatrix let her mind wander. She was glad she'd removed her mask; for the first time, she'd found it easier to breathe without it on.

_'*Have you got many women and children inside?*'_

_'*Yes, a large number. One of them is my wife. She's due in February.*'_

_'*Congratulations. Have you got adequate medi-wizards to tend her?*'_

_'*We do, but thank you.*'_

_'*Would you consider evacuating them, Dinev? They could go to your uncle's former quarters in the Ministry, or anywhere else you liked. Out of the country, even.*'_

_'*You would do that?*'_

_'*I'd give them an escort to the border in return for a promise that no attacks would be mounted in that time.*'_

Dinev nodded, and it took Bellatrix a moment to realise he was refusing. _'*That is most generous of you, lord Krum, but I can't accept.*'_

_'*I understand.*'_

_'*It grieves me this has come between us. You strike me as a man of great integrity.*'_

_'*Likewise.*'_

_'*If we should both survive, let's agree to meet for some wine and Quidditch talk. After, I mean.*'_

_'*I would like that.*' _They rose and shook hands, and then it was over. They Apparated back to the ships and started preparations to mobilise.

Rodolphus and Scabior came back not long after, pockets full of parchments of information, hand drawn maps and all sorts of other useful bits of things. They were intercepted by Snape, who walked from the shadows and waved Rodolphus into a small niche.

_'Scabior, would you tell Tamm he needs to have milady change his bandages?'_

_'Course, sir.' _He walked off and clamoured up the riggings like a large macaque, leaving the other two alone.

Snape filled Rodolphus in on what had happened. _'We move within the hour.'_

_'Tell him to hold off.'_

_'Hold off, Rodolphus?'_

Rodolphus handed him the parchments. _'Lemuel has some as well, but this is the main one.'_

_'It's a way into the castle.'_

_'Not a very big one, I'm afraid. Lightly defended, the man said, but that might still be enough to rouse the whole host.'_

Snape smiled a bit at his friend and unwitting pawn. _'I've just the fellow, Rodolphus.'_

_'Salazar?'_

_'Mmm, someone like that. Did you make headway as far as those scurrilous pamphlets?'_

_'As it happens, I did.'_ Rodolphus produced list of names and addresses. ' _Turns out one of those fellows's brothers works for one of the printers. Lemuel wanted to go personally, but...'_

_'His enthusiasm might produce the wrong impressions, I should think.'_

_'Exactly so. Don't tell him that, if you wouldn't mind. No one is more loyal than he, to be sure.'_

Snape nodded immediately. _'Precisely so. I'll have it taken care of.'_

_'Dare I ask?'_

_'No. Your daughter is matriarch of the ruling family. Your hands must be scrupulously clean.'_

_'Severus?'_

_'Rodolphus?'_

_'Thank you. I could not have asked for a better godfather to my child than yourself.'_

Snape inclined his head. _'I live to serve, surely. If you'll excuse me, I have to see someone.'_

He found Arco lighting into one of his subordinates. Even in Romanian, it sounded filthy and terrifying, and the man's form was top-notch. The other fellow looked positively panic-stricken. Eight out of ten, judged Snape professionally, and then tapped Arco's shoulder.

_'*Mr. Arco, may I have a moment of your time?*'_

_'*Of course. Excuse us, Sandu.*' _They walked a distance away, and Snape cast the strongest Muffiliato he could.

_'*If someone wanted a bit of dirty business done, and then wanted to make sure no one found out, which of your men would you recommend?*'_

Arco seemed unsurprised by the question._ '*Alin Tugurlan. He's very tall. They call him "Little Alin."*'_

_'*You trust his discretion?*'_

_'*No. I think he's a loudmouthed drunk with the finesse of your average troll. He would not be missed if he should vanish.*' _

Arco's eyes were friendly and calm. Snape raised a brow at him, slightly surprised.

_'*Lord Krum could've had us all executed and no one would have said boo, Snape. I want him to win because I think he's the best chance I have at a decent life.*'_

_'*He is.*'_

_'*Put in a good word for me with him, then, if you wouldn't mind. Would you like to bind this with a wizard's oath, or would you rather Obliviate me?*'_

_'*I'll Obliviate you. Look at me, please.*' _Snape did it, having planned on doing it anyhow, and then gave the baffled looking Arco a nod.

_'*I hope you resolve that problem with the fellow, then. I wouldn't put up with that.*'_

Arco blinked. '_*Yes, well, it shan't happen again. I'm sorry it inconvenienced you.*'_

_'*Not at all.*' _It always interested Snape, how rapidly the human mind could fabricate a scenario that had never happened with the proper suggestions.

Tugurlan was on watch, which suited Snape's designs precisely. He handed the fellow the list and a pouch of money. If he'd have had his option, he would have sent for Rice and his strangler's loop, but that was not an option. Tugulan slipped off with a sardonic bow. You fool, thought Snape, that was your death warrant you just signed.

The man departed, and Snape, making sure he was not seen, called the rat to him, using a Krum elf. He would miss Snetzka, who had struck him as a very cunning elf.

The rat had been snoozing on a beam in the Ministry, and shivered in the cold, having no coat to speak of. Snape didn't care. He stared at the creature before him, repulsed, and silently handed him the map.

_'You will go tonight. This is the south gate of Castle Dinev, here. You will open it tomorrow at five fourteen AM tomorrow, precisely five fourteen, do you understand? You will open the gate and let in our people.'_

The rat nodded, too cold to even complain. _'Yes, all right.'_

_'After that is done, you will report to me. I've another assignment for you. Elf, take him to the edge of the wards, and take care not to be struck down_.'

He'd had, at best, mixed success with the rat. He was too cowardly to be a really good spy, and he couldn't use him where he would be most valuable-for instance, as an assassin, because the odds he'd do a runner were just too high. Frankly, Snape wondered whether he needed the rat at all. He decided to muse on that another day, and turned to the second elf he'd called.

_'Find me the dog, would you_?'

The dog lumbered toward him, huge paws caked in snow. He transformed, brushing snow from his hands and swearing. _'Stuff gets into my paw pads, ought to be a law..._'

Snape outlined what the dog was to do. Black's eyes lit up, and he nodded enthusiastically. _'You're actually asking me to do this?'_

_'No, I just wanted to tell you about it and see what you thought, you manky arse.'_

_'I'm always in favour of a bit of chaos. And I can do anything I want?'_

_'Within reason.'_

_'All right, then.' _The dog made suggestions and Snape countered them, or gave in, an when they'd worked out a plan, Black changed back and Snape sent him to the edge of their wards, and then slipped back into camp, ready for them to move.

That night, a great many things happened, most of them trivial in nature. Draco, for instance, got to touch Vaike Kask's left breast, an experience which made him something close to euphoric. He smiled the whole rest of the night and Viktor, who saw him first after he'd got to do it, knew at once what had happened and grinned knowingly, prompting Draco to go red to his ears.

Viktor himself, going into his and Hermione's sleeping area, found her drinking from a phial with Yokov's writing on it. He started to ask and then didn't. He of all people knew that a baby was out of the question, and so he quietly murmured a plea for forgiveness and turned a blind eye.

After, they lay in the cramped darkness and talked about Snetzka. Her kindness, her humour, her courage in insisting to go.

Viktor wept a bit, and Hermione stroked his back, and then he did the same for her whilst he insisted they talk about what had happened with Alise. They came to no particular conclusion about what had been discussed, but Hermione felt safer for knowing Viktor would insist if she was only pretending not to want to discuss it.

In Sofia, the uncles were sitting up and talking, waiting for the word to come back. Paavo Kask had visited, hardily stumping about on his stick, and they had both been suitably impressed. His sister, Penko thought, would add badly needed vigour to the Malfoy line, a bit of hot blood to warm things up.

Other things, more important things, were happening as well. In other parts of Sofia, Alin Tugurlan was visiting a few houses. At Snape's suggestion, he'd visited a night apothecary and bought a phial of aconite.

The next morning, every printer associated with the slanderous pamphlets was found to have died, mysteriously, of a heart attack. Others got the message; the next pamphlets would be more circumspect, at least.

In Castle Dinev, Peter Pettigrew opened the door at exactly the right moment. Precisely a minute later (Wormtail having turned back and scurried up a beam when he caught the scent of dog), Sirius crept through the newly opened gate, followed by teams of wolves and aurors, who slipped in dozens and spread out a bit more each time.

Sirius bided his time. When he felt people stirring, he found the wolf to whom Snape had given his strange instructions. The fellow, looking dubious, none the less did as he'd been told, and so it was, much to the confusion of the Dinev watchmen, that a cry came from an obscure courtyard, to the effect that a grim, wreathed in fire, had appeared and was causing havoc, making a noise disturbing like a human laugh.

**Spoiler A/Ns:**

**Firstly, in the era before mass communication was widely available, defamatory pamphlets were a common way for political rivals to slander one another. Generally pornographic in the extreme, they tended to depict figures associated with the opposition engaging in 'depraved' behaviour to undermine their power. **

**Secondly, Viktor is upset not only because he loved Snetzka, but because sacred hospitality has been breached.**

**Sacred hospitality is a customary system of rules that, in various times and places, have had the force of law. It governs the status of guests, of hosts and of third parties. It's absolutely ancient-the Greeks had a system for it, and so, probably, did earlier people. Some cultures still observe it, or iterations of it.**

**In this case, Snetzka was both a guest (she'd been invited in, remember) and a messenger under a peace banner, which should have protected her. Killing a guest is a horrific violation of the ancient law, which was part of the reason Viktor got so upset. It would be easy to construe this as both a studied insult and a test of his promise to honour the old ways.**


	92. Chapter 92

**A/N: Love to reviewers and Countess Black**

**Special thanks to my friend K for her help.**

**The Kindly Ones were what the Greeks called the Furies in order not to get their attention.**

**Haraam means 'forbidden' in Arabic.**

Anu Tamm had not slept in a long time. He blinked, determined not to miss anything, and rubbed his eye, which itched. His other one itched just as much but he knew better than to touch it.

He had been up here in the crow's nest the night before, too, watching for anything suspicious, when he'd noticed Arco on the deck, waving up at him. He rose and swung down the rigging, careful to make sure Malfoy's Nene wasn't watching. She'd seen him do it once and got very upset, so he'd promised not to do it again. Not doing it in front of her counted, he'd decided after careful consideration, and also, what she didn't know she couldn't tell her very tall husband.

Lady was waiting for him. He squatted, feeling a tinge of guilt, and hugged the dog's neck. Technically speaking, he knew dogs to be haraam, but she was a working dog, so he hoped it didn't precisely count.

Rising, he slipped through the throng of sailors toward Arco, who was smiling. Anu liked Arco, but he also feared him a little. The wolves that had burnt his village were Albanians, but he would never be completely comfortable about wolves.

If Arco noticed he never said anything. He gestured to the hold where Anu knew the others to be. '*_You're wanted, kiddo. Be careful on those ropes, all right? Malfoy'll have my head if you break yours up there.*'_

Anu nodded. _'*I'll be careful, Arco.*'_

_'*I know.*' _

Anu nodded and moved past him, ducking into the small stairwell and directly to where the others were studying a map, speaking in low voices.

_'*Drago? Your thoughts?*'_

_'*What about Dinev? If he's really dying, some of them might try to make a last stand. We want to prevent anything that can be made stories of later.*'_

_'*Well said, Draco.*' _

_'*Thank you, Father. I say get to him first, get him to sign something and take the rest without a fight.*'_

_'*Suppose the lords decide to fight anyway? A lot of people stand to lose a great deal. Some of them might perceive a glorious death to be very desirable.*'_

_'*Which is why refusing to give it to them should be one of our goals. No one makes songs about idiots who get beaten by schoolchildren.*'_

The group chuckled and Anu coughed so they'd know he was there. Superintendent smiled and motioned him closer.

_'*Hello, Tamm.*'_

_'*Superintendent. Miss. Malfoy.*'_

He bowed and waited, Lady at his heels. Superintendent bent down and rubbed the dog's ears. The dog chuffed, nosing his hand.

_'*Lady's been taking good care of you?*'_

_'*She's brilliant. And Salazar. They're both really good dogs.*'_

_'*Yes, they are.*'_

_'*Are we fighting soon?*'_

_'*Tomorrow, Anu, probably. I have a special job for you.*'_

_'*What is it?*'_

_'*You know where the sick bay is?*'_

_'*Fourth ship from the end, between the Welch and the Lithuanians.*'_

_'*Correct. When we fight, we'd like for you to help make sure the wounded get there. Would you do that for us?*'_

_'*Yes, Superintendent.*' _

Anu checked his hand as it rose to his face. The more his eye healed, the more it itched, and the harder he had to struggle not to dig at the new flesh. Snape had told him he could have the surgery soon to fix his eye socket, and he could barely wait to have things back to semi-normal.

_'*Thank you, Anu.*'_

_'*I've a letter. For the Vatas. Ismaili helped me.*' _

He reached into his tunic and handed over the parchment, which was slightly creased from the day and night it had spent in his pocket. Still, it was perfectly spelt in Tosk and he was very proud of it.

Superintendent handed it to an elf. '_*We'll post it directly.*'_

_'*Thank you. Is he all right? Vata?*'_

_'*He's under heavy sedation, Anu, but they're doing what they can.*'_

Malfoy was silent, staring at the map. _'_

_*Anu, do you remember when you talked about your village after the wolves came?*'_

_'*Yes, Malfoy.*'_

_'*Come here and look.*' _

Anu stared down at the map, which was covered in English writing. He didn't know what he was looking for but he did it, nodding.

_'*You said the men of your village threw snow up to confuse the wolves?*'_

_'*Sort of. They made wall. Moving walls of snow. It was harder for them to figure out who to fire on. The boys stood on rocks and threw things to make it harder.*'_

Malfoy nodded. _'*Do you know how they made the walls?*'_

Anu nodded. _'*Wind spells, except you sort of*' _he motioned with his hand to show the gesture one made with one's wand. Malfoy gave the Superintendent a look and then rose.

_'*Would you mind showing me?*'_

_'*All right.*'_

The night was clear and cold, the slivered moon above them watching shyly. Malfoy picked up the knack at once and they practiced the spell for some time in relative silence.

_'*Malfoy, are you all right?*'_

_'*I am.*'_

Anu watched him as he created the snow wall again. It was thin, not good protection, but the swirling snow obscured visibility and made it hard to see. Would it be enough?

Lady danced through the snow, snapping at it high-spiritedly. She snorted, rolling, and then came to her feet. Anu rubbed her neck, speaking softly to her.

Malfoy swished his wrist and snow rose in a whirling spiral, spraying everywhere. The dog leapt up, snapping, and then fell on her side, grinning in doggy amusement.

_'*Malfoy?*'_

_'*Hmm? Hold your wrist higher. Yes, like that, and make sure the gesture is crisp. Well done.*'_

_'*When this is all over, are we going back to school?*'_

Malfoy sighed. _'*I don't know, Tamm. Viktor probably isn't.*'_

_'*Why not?*'_

_'*Because this is the easy part. The hard part will be keeping things together once the country's won.*'_

Anu thought about it a moment. _'*This will never really be over, then?*'_

_'*If the country stabilises enough, it will.*'_

_'*What's enough?*'_

_'*Making sure the lords will accept the Ministry's power as legitimate.*'_

_'*Oh. That's going to take a long time?*'_

_'*Not if we're lucky.*' _Malfoy raised his wand and Tamm mimicked him.

_'*Do you know Serpentsortia?*'_

_'*No. What does it do?*'_

_'*Lets you throw a live snake at someone.*'_

_**'*What?*'**_

_'*If I teach you, do you promise not to torment anyone with it?*'_

_'*Yes. We need some, the ships are getting rats.*' _Malfoy taught him how to do it, and to Anu's pleasure, he learnt the knack of it in three tries, and conjured a living snake, which Malfoy then Vanished.

_'*Talk to the captain before you unleash any live snakes, won't you?*'_

_'*All right.*' _

Lady barked, not liking the smell of snake that hung about, and rolled a bit, trying to get the ash mingled with the snow into her fur to cover her own smell. She rose, shook off briskly and sat next to Anu, sniffing the air.

_'*Will you come back to school, do you expect?*'_

_'*I hope so.*'_

_'*I do too.*' _He was afraid the other boys would use his missing eye against him, or torment him in other ways. When he expressed this, Malfoy laughed a little.

_'*I think those days are over, Anu.*'_

_'*Really?*'_

Malfoy nodded. _'*You knocked out a werewolf and helped with two battles. No one will doubt your courage.*'_

_'*Vata said I'm one brave, crazy little son of a ...you know.*'_

_'*I remember.*'_

_'*Why can he say it but I can't?*'_

_'*He's too big for me to cuff on the head.*'_

_'*That's true. And now if someone bothers me, I can throw a snake on him.*'_

_'*Anu.*'_

_'*Well, I can.*'_

_'*That doesn't mean you should.*'_

_'*No, but it's an option now.*'_

Malfoy had rolled his eyes and motioned Anu back to the ship, shaking his head, trailed by the dog. Twelve hours later, the troops started to mobilise.

So Tamm was in the crow's nest, and Hermione was not thinking about him. All about them, the troops were readying themselves for battle, and she stood in the middle of it all, like the calm in the eye of a storm.

Beside her, robed and masked, the Death Eaters were waiting. She could see her father and uncles, and Mother, radiating a disturbing vitality. Next to Mother, Aunt Narcissa looked drawn but alert, not masked but robed nondescriptly. Hermione wondered briefly which of the two was more dangerous.

_'*Are you sure about this?*' _

Viktor was wearing flying gauntlets and a dark, shapeless cloak to his identity.

Hermione looked up at her husband and smiled. '_*No, but it'll have to do. Be careful, all right?*'_

_'*You be careful. Sound the retreat if you need and we'll cover you.*'_

_'*And the dogs?*'_

_'*Ready. The elves will bring them with you when you go.*'_

Hermione reached into her pocket and handed him her handkerchief, freshly dabbed with rose otto. _'*For good luck.*'_

They had bidden one another farewell privately that morning, and so they shared a final long look. Then Viktor mounted his broom and rose into the air. It was the signal. The rest of the air support followed and they were gone.

Hermione felt a moment of terrible panic-what had she got herself into?-and crammed it down. _'*Seneschal, are the wolves ready?*'_

_'*They are, my lady.*'_

_'*Good luck, Draco.*'_

_'*You too, Hermione.*' _He took Arco's proffered arm and the wolves vanished.

Hermione looked over her own fighting force, mostly students and aurors, and the vassal lords with their men.

_'*Lord Vidanov, is everything else in order?*'_

_'*It is, my lady.*'_

_'*Professor Snape, are the Death Eaters ready?*'_

_'*Yes, my lady.*'_

She held out her arm and felt the host shift like the limbs of a giant animal. She nodded, and they Apparated to the battle field, hoping for the best.

Inside the castle, Sirius, in dog form, dodged another sleepy, confused Dinev man, baying, and raced up a set of stairs, bowling over a fellow at the top and sending him sprawling.

He flew down a corridor and out onto a battlement, and then down the stairs and into the snow. He cut across the courtyard and doubled back, the flames on his back crackling merrily as he dashed up hill and down vale, howling to wake the dead.

He finally looped his way to the south gate, where the wolves were waiting for him. Transformed back, Disillusioned and translation charmed he took up his spot amongst them.

He had caught glimpses of familiar faces on his circuit about the castle, which suggested to him that the wolves, like jellyfish, had fanned out in clusters. The closest wolf, the one who'd lit him, bent his head closer. Sirius bent his back.

_'*Snape had you light me on fire.*'_

_'*Well met, friend.*'_

_'*The gates?*'_

_'*Ours.*'_

_'*When?*'_

_'*Any minute.*'_

_'*Good luck.*'_

_'*You too.*'_

It was ten very tense minutes before the first blast came. It shook the walls, and then the shout came from the inner Keep. There were wolves sapping them. The others knew their cues, and within minutes the gate was surging with Krum fighters.

It was a nightmare. Sirius ran with the others toward the centre of the castle, shouting and blasting at any face he didn't recognise. It had been more than a decade since he'd actually fought another person, and his arm remembered the old motions faster than his brain.

He caught sight of either Rabastan or Rodolphus, masked and robed, cutting a swath through the enemy, knocking down five and six at a time, leaving screams in his wake. The air stank of blood and charred flesh, even though he was in human form.

The gates slammed shut with four matching clangs, cutting the vassals camped outside the gates off from the main castle. Sirius could hear them pounding on the gates, feel the gate shivering under the onslaught of their spells. He charged forward anyhow, still firing at anything that moved. He ducked a jinx and tugged the wolf next to him, wounded through the shoulder, up and toward the central courtyard.

Wolves were pouring through the breach in the walls, and more fighters from the gates, into the churning, seething mass of Dinev men, who had the advantage of knowing their ground. The invaders were peppered with shots from above, with spells from fighters holed up in niches and out of the way rooms, and from below, popping from entrances to cellars and then back down again.

It was exhilarating. Sirius let the wolf go and brought down three of the enemy, laughing a little at how much like his old self he felt again. He could hear Bellatrix over the shouting, her voice exulting shrilly as she downed her enemies. His eyes found her; she'd removed her mask, or lost it, and was laughing, surrounded by a ring of enemy dead, shrieking at any who'd dare get close to come and fight her. She looked terrifying, a Kindly One in robes, hair frizzing, and also painfully beautiful, the blood on her face simply adding to her dark allure.

Sirius ran toward her and brought down a Dinev man who'd been poised, wand raised, in her blind spot. He fell and Bellatrix cackled, calling for more to come, spinning, opening one from stem to stern and spilling his innards, gleaming wetly, into a steaming pile at his feet.

Sirius pushed past her and toward the main Keep. He could hear the shrieks of women and children from inside, and remembered Snape mentioning that his little cousin had put out word that anyone who harmed either answered directly to her. If her mother was anything to go by, that wasn't an idle threat.

The other Death Eaters were milling about the breach, fighting and downing them. One of them was Lucius Malfoy, imposing in his robes and mask, his wife beside him, fighting in deadly tandem. Whichever Lestrange he hadn't seen earlier was there as well, using a lash of pure flame to clear more space for the Krum forces to push their way deeper into the heart of the castle.

And then there were dogs. Milling, mauling, baying, they flew at the enemy, snarling, foaming, and downed whomever they could catch. He noticed a dog with an arm in its mouth and another down, mouth locked on the neck of a Dinev man. The last strike had belonged to them both, the dog and the man had boarded the ferry together.

A robed fighter fell, and Sirius, nauseously, saw that it was Snape's spare form. He transformed and ran toward the downed man, who was scrabbling to stand up once more, gushing blood from any number of cuts.

Sirius leapt, snarling, on the Dinev man, finding his throat through pure instinct. All thought was gone, all human weighing of things; he was fangs and muzzle and paws now, every fibre of his being demanding this interloper be destroyed utterly. He twisted as he pulled his head back and the man fell, geysering blood from his carotid arteries, head lolling on his ripped neck.

Sirius lost count of how many he'd taken when the war horn rang across the courtyard. Snape had managed to wedge himself against a wall and was firing, face grey with pain, one leg shattered in a dozen places from a Smashing jinx.

_'*CLEAR THE WAY!*'_

Sirius dove, shielding Snape as the men dove away from the breach. The horn sounded again and a streak arced through the breach in the wall and flew directly upwards, the wards giving way. The sky darkened as the rest of the air support followed, and soon the courtyards were a swirling morass of snow clouds, spells cast from on high to confuse the defenders.

Sirius melted back into Salazar and hunkered neared to Snape, growling low in his belly as a shape blundered near and then melted away. He scented the yeasty smell of a Karakachan and moved so a wounded dog could guard Snape, and then ran into the centre of the melee, baying.

The dogs converged, and Sirius howled a final time. They turned as one, a pack of killing machines, and then loped toward the tower door. The Dinev men were vanishing, Apparating themselves into warded rooms or simply running to boltholes to prepare for a last stand.

Sirius used his nose to find Viktor's warm wool and sweat smell, overlaid now with cold and blood. He nosed the lad, who touched his head without looking. _'*Take the wounded! Hurry!*'_

The ones that could walk found those who couldn't and Apparated them. Sirius raced back to Snape and changed, grabbing the berk's arm and taking him to the ship. It was even worse than the courtyard, the shrieking injured being tended to by far too few medi-witches and wizards, wounded students pressed into service as orderlies trying to make some sense of things.

A medi-wizard ran up to them. _'*Is he bleeding?*'_

_'*Yes! His leg's broken!*'_

_'*He's a Seven.*'_

_'*A Seven?*'_

_'*Triage.*' _

The medi-wizard turned and waded back into the fray. Sirius sat with his back against a railing, awkwardly angling Snape to make sure his head was elevated and his leg didn't move.

Snape didn't seem to like that much. He groaned, thrashing, sometimes trying to speak. He put an arm behind himself and tried to sit up. Sirius pinned him back down at once.

_'You're bleeding everywhere, lie still.'_

Snape shook his head. _'No. The girl...'_

_'I'll watch her, Snape. Lie still.'_

_'No, they need...'_

_'You alive, you great berk. You're no good to them dead of blood loss_.'

Snape's eyes narrowed. _'...Dog...'_

_'Arf, arf, now stop acting a prat. Sleep for a change.'_

_'No. Won't wake up.'_

_'Dramatic, aren't we, when we've got a scratch?'_

_'Fuck you.'_

_'Get in line. You know who doesn't like to share her toys.'_

_'Bastard.'_

_'I take it I'm not getting a Christmas card this year?'_

The medi-wizard elbowed back toward them. _'Why the hell didn't you say this was Severus Snape? Lady Krum will kill us if he's not up and about!' _Two student-orderlies lifted Snape, careful not to jar his leg.

Snape lifted his head, eyes bright with pain. _'Flea dip.'_

_'Virgin.'_ Sirius bowed to the baffled looking medics and Apparated back to the fighting, trying not to laugh.

He found Draco shouting at wolves, rubbing his head with his hand. _'Cousin, what can I do?' _

They were at the base of the central tower, trying to force their way despite the defenders who had taken to firing from arrow slits.

Draco moved his hand down, seemingly very calm despite the shots which sometimes pinged six inches in front of his face. 'Take _the dogs and start sweeping. I'll send some wolves with you, we need to get them flushed out from all these damned rat holes. Be careful!'_

Sirius changed into Salazar and barked, drawing the dogs to him. They came slowly, many of the wounded, and not a few confused. These humans had clearly lost to their Pack and their Man-Wolves, so why did they not show their bellies and submit?

Sirius chuffed the honest answer-he had no earthly clew-and found Arco, whose arm was dangling, hit by a Bone-vanishing Hex. Sirius growled and tugged the sleeve to indicate the wolf needed treatment. Arco shooed him away.

_'*I know, I know. Later. Hila, Barbu, take six dogs apiece and whatever men can be spared and start flushing them. Snape's dog and the others are coming with me.*'_

Sirius had heard most of the battle for the Ministry through the walls, and whilst he had fought the aurors close to Dinev's office, it had been small scale compared to this.

The dogs fanned out, sniffing the ground, tracking the other fighters. The cellars would be the worst; they were dark and cold aside from being full of niches a person could slip into, and those they saved for last.

Sirius found himself making his way up a flight of stairs next to Arco, tensing at every landing they came to. This castle was newer than Castle Krum, and less twisting, but still built to give defenders the advantage.

Arco, arm flapping, looked down at him wryly. _'*Well, Salazar, where to?*'_

Sirius turned and spoke to the dogs in canine silence for a moment. They reached a consensus and Sirius barked and started right, the others following. Arco sighed and came after, leading the other wolves.

After he'd got done speaking to his cousin Sirius, Draco had gone back to the business of trying to take the tower. He still had the majority of his wolves, and they were fighting as bravely as anyone could want, pummelling the doors and windows, trying to create an entrance without potentially killing the women and children trapped inside. The air support was still fighting, trading shots with Dinev men on the roofs of buildings and Hermione's people were holding the breach fast against Dinev's vassals.

He saw a few fighters peel off and dive straight for them. One of them was surely Viktor, he thought, and wasn't surprised when the lead flyer headed straight for him, avoiding the spells directed at him, and set down.

Viktor was breathing hard. _'*Where's Hermione?*'_

She was sprinting toward them, as it happened, hair flapping in the artificially created breeze. She pulled up short and gasped '_*We can only hold for so long!*'_

'*_How much longer do you think we have?*'_

_'*Twenty minutes if we're lucky!*'_

_'*All right. I'll direct air support to keep them close, you make sure they don't get in.*'_

_'*We need to lead to a sortie and split their forces. Once some surrender the rest will follow.*'_

_'*Who's going to-*'_

She turned and ran, shouting orders as the vassals outside the breach shoved harder and nearly got in. They watched her yell something at Vidanov and then half of them vanished, taking Hermione with them.

_'*She's leading it herself?*'_

The door to the tower broke with a cheer, which turned to screams as defenders poured out. There were so, so many of them, and they'd taken the time to regroup.

Neither lad had any time to speak, or do anything but plunge into the fighting.

Hermione was thinking about her book. Specifically, about the first gift Viktor had ever given her, his family history, and Miraslava leading the women to finish the dying Bogomils.

How would she feel about this? Hermione could only speculate, and that for a second as she found herself in the thick of the fighting, downing men and a small handfuls of women right and left. She remembered every defence lesson she'd ever got and concentrated on them, not letting the thrashing, clawing fear touch her mind.

Paisi went down, face gone, banner falling, and she realised they were overrun, that they couldn't win this. She tried to move forward and found she couldn't; her people were hemmed in one all sides, about to be fallen upon, so she turned round.

_'*Retreat!*'_

They did.

Severus Snape attained a kind of syrupy awareness near midnight. He tried to sit up and found he was Stuck to the bed, unable to move very far of his own volition. He grimaced; his throat felt like clay, and he needed to empty his bladder.

_'Professor?'_

_'Where am I?' _

_'On the ship. You were wounded quite severely.' _

The girl was looking at him, face smeared with smoke and dirt, hair matted. Her tunic was ripped, and she was carrying her right hand oddly, not quite closing it.

_'I recall. The battle?'_

_'We called a stop to it so both sides could tend their wounded.'_

Snape became aware that he was lying on a feather bed. The last time he'd been conscious, he'd been on a hammock, or perhaps a blanket. He tried to sit again and she shook her head.

_'No, Professor. You lost a bit of blood, but they reset the leg and gave you replenishing potions.'_

_'The others?'_

_'Alive, mostly. We lost some wolves and a number of aurors. Three Krum lords, one hundred and seventy students...and you were wounded.'_

_'I should like to see it. Have you a mirror I could use?'_

_'That's not the best idea right now. Your knee has been damaged, it looks worse than it is.'_

_'My lady.'_

_'Professor Snape.'_

_'My lady.' _He used his sternest tone, and vexingly, she smiled through the grime crusting her features and took his hand. He made himself tolerate it, appalled and slightly, secretly amused by her daring.

_'Salazar is right, we need you well, Professor.'_

_'Where is the bas-the dog?'_

_'Helping Tamm. They're still bringing the wounded.'_

_'The hospital ship must be nearly full.'_

_'It and three others. They're taking them one ship at a time to Sofia to hospital, but...' _She shrugged one shoulder, and Snape closed his eyes a second. Most of them, the gesture said, were beyond saving.

_'What happened?'_

_'The defenders had tunnels to the tower. When it was breached, they came out firing, and the ones from outside managed to get in.'_

_'I am sorry, my lady.'_

_'I am too. That's a lot...a lot of letters, isn't it, to write to their families?' _

She swallowed, voice breaking, and then it receded as she became lady Krum once more.

_'Shall I send you Salazar? He's nearly done, I'm sure.'_

_'He's unharmed?'_

_'Cuts and bruises. Everyone is talking about his loyalty to you, you know.'_

_'Loyalty?'_

_'The faithful dog who defended his fallen master. There's already a song going round.'_

Snape made a ghastly face. _'I suppose you shan't making singing it a hanging crime, my lady?'_

The girl had the unbelievable gall to laugh and tug his covers higher as she stood unsteady, wavering a bit in place. She said something to an elf, and a minute later they heard thumping and the heavier thud of paws.

Salazar burst through the doors, muddy to the neck, and stopped short when he saw Snape was awake. Tamm was right behind him, speaking so fast it took Snape a moment to realise he was speaking Albanian.

The girl swished her wand and it switched mid-stream to English. _'*-needs you, my lady.*'_

_'*What's the problem?*'_

_'*We need priests, a lot of them won't make it to Sofia. Father Hlutev is overwhelmed.*'_

She said something else to the elf, and Snape heard the pops as first one and then dozens of priests were brought to tend the dying.

_'*Where's Viktor?*'_

_'*He's helping in the sick bay. The priest needed someone to do...things.*' _Tamm seemed as unsure as Snape himself was and the girl stood up.

_'*I have to go, Professor. Salazar will keep you company, all right?*'_

Snape watched her go, shepherding the still-speaking Tamm. The dog changed back and quickly Silenced and warded the tiny sleeping space.

_'How is it, dog?'_

The dog looked at him unblinking and then dropped his head. '_You know the stories about Clegane the Cruel and his field of blades during the second Goblin war?'_

_'Of course.'_

_'Worse than that. All those screaming kids, God...' _the dog looked close to collapse and Snape, not especially wanting some sort of scene with the filthy cur, put his head up and said _'You've a cut on your face. Shaving again?'_

_'I caught the edge of something.' _The dog suddenly frowned at him.

_'Lie back down, you aren't well at all. You need poppy tincture for the pain?'_

_'No. No, I'm fine.'_

_'Liar.'_

_'Cur.'_

_'What about some wine, then? Take something, Snape, you look like Death himself.'_

_'That would be adequate. Send an elf on your way out.'_

Snape drank the wine and hissed with annoyance as the huge dog-bulk settled on his good side. He hadn't seen the git change.

_'Get on the floor, you manky cretin.'_

The dog grumbled, ignoring him. Snape thought about giving him a shove and couldn't, Stuck as he was.

_'Well, don't think I owe you anything'_

The dog chuffed and put his head down on his paws, eyes glimmering with amusement.


	93. Chapter 93

**A/N: Love to reviewers and Countess Black**

**Special thanks to my friend K for her help.**

**Rabastan quotes 'The Killer Angels'.**

Alastor Moody, snug in the earthly form of the man who'd had a second life as Desmond Feathering, faced his students. Many of them faced back with heads wrapped in bandages, missing ears, missing eyes, missing fingers, a few missing limbs, and one, De Vries, would never walk again-two of his fellows were carrying him on a chair between them.

He stood straighter and felt a not unwelcome flush of pride in them. They were brutal. Ruthless. Hard blokes, as someone like Scabior would say. Their eyes glittered in the torchlight, interested and alert as owls.

_'*You have all been my students. But tonight, I am honoured to call you my brothers in arms as well. It was a hard fight today. A lot of good men and women fell, and more were wounded. But you stood fast, men, and that's what counts.*'_

They were listening intently, nodding in rhythm to his words, and he could feel the energy. Whole or maimed, they had come to fight and by God they had, that was what counted.

Beside Krum and Malfoy, Kask was swaying a little, leaning on his crutch. The loss of most of his foot seemed not to have bothered him much, at least that he was letting on. Moody-Feathering decided to have a word with him later about the subject, and offer to help him learn to navigate his prosthesis.

A strange thing happened as he studied the boys. It was like he was seeing them and not seeing them, seeing other boys he'd taught, other boys he'd sent to die. Those boys had been aurors, and later members of the Order, but they'd been boys much like these, and he wondered whether it was his fate to send generations of lads to their deaths in blood stained snow, in buildings and under the open sky. He felt like the ghost of himself, endlessly repeating the same futile action.

Well, no matter now. He'd taken Snape's Faustian bargain and now he'd make the best of it, and be damned before he sent these lads to their deaths without a kind word and a bit of hope.

_'*Many of us will not survive tomorrow. Those who do will be changed forever, even as they were at the Ministry and today. The survivors will have an even harder task ahead of them; to spend every day in the knowledge that they lived whilst good men-perhaps men better than themselves-did not.*'_

_'*Men of Durmstrang. I salute you.*' _He raised a hand and the room erupted into cheers and clapping.

Krum and Malfoy both spoke, but he found himself half listening at best. He had the sense the room was full of ghosts, but whose ghosts, and why, he couldn't quite say.

In Sofia, Penko Krum stood up as his lover stepped through the Floo, looking exhausted, tugging off his mask. Penko went to embrace him, feeling for broken bones and other wounds whilst Rabastan stood limply against him.

'_*Don't have long.*'_

_'*What happened?*'_

Rabastan outlined it emotionlessly and then sat down, legs shaking. Penko called for some coffee and held his lover's hand, saying nothing. Rabastan gulped the coffee and then closed his eyes. '_*A lot of people will die tomorrow, in the taking of that tower.*'_

_'*No doubt. Should I...should I come?*'_

Rabastan opened his eyes. '_*No. We need you to stay here. Is there any news from Britain?*'_

_'*None. I'm sorry, love.*'_

_'*I'm not. If anything should happen to me, may I have a promise?*'_

'*Anything.*'

_'*Take care of Edric and Eugenia for me. Take them away from Britain and make sure...*'_

_'*Make sure what, Rabastan?*'_

Rabastan's eyes were enflamed from the smoke; he rubbed them with the heel of his free hand.

'*_Make sure the Dark Lord never gets ahold of my son.*_'

_'*All right, Rab.*'_

_'*Swear.*'_

_'*I swear.*'_

Rabastan nodded. '_*Thank you, love.*'_

_'*Should you like to lie down?*'_

_'*Yes. No.*' _

Rabastan leant up and pressed a kiss on his mouth, hard, working the clasps on his robes, shedding them like a skin. His mask he flung onto the pile, and the rest of his clothes joined them.

_'*The bedchamber?*'_

'_*Please.*'_

He was alive, and Penko, and that was enough. They could hold one another in the dark and feel they'd come home, even if they hadn't, and might never again.

Back at the ship, Hermione was looking at the stars. The deck was quiet, and though she knew she'd have to go below again, into the world of stenches and blood and sick, she wanted this one calm moment to appreciate things just as they were. The people she loved were alive. None of them were badly hurt, and she had a perfect moment of silent contemplation.

Her own death could well be at hand, she mused, and touched her pendant from Viktor. She could die tomorrow. Would that be so bad? She had loved and been loved, lost and found, and lived for and with others. Was that enough?

The hatch opened. A priest was chanting, which almost covered the pleading moans of the maimed. She turned back and started to go below again, feet nearly slipping in her tiredness. They were swelling in her boots, and she had a desperate urge to take strip to her underwear, strip off the whole day and begin from her skin outward.

Viktor was bent over a bed, speaking softly to whomever was lying there. Hermione gave them some space and went to find a medi-wizard.

_'*Is there anything I can do?*'_

_'*No, my lady. Are you all right?*' _

He was staring at her right hand, and Hermione looked down, slightly flustered.

_'*It's a bit numb, but really, I'm fine.*'_

_'*May I see it?*' _

She raised her hand and the medi-wizard took her hand, carefully pinching joint by joint, squeezing every inch of her hand.

_'*I feel the pressure.*'_

_'*Does it hurt?*'_

_'*It feels...funny. I know you're touching me, but it doesn't feel quite like it should.*'_

_'*Nerve damage*' _said the medi-wizard. He released her hand and gave her a level stare that reminded her of Yokov.

_'*Hopefully it can be repaired. You didn't happen to hear the spell?*'_

_'*No.*'_

_'*We'll figure it out. My lord.*' _The man bowed, and Hermione could sense her husband behind her.

_'*Healer, is everything all right?*'_

_'*My lady's hand is not quite as it should be.*'_

Hermione let her hand drop down. _'*It'll be fine, Viktor.*'_

The medi-wizard slipped away, and the hatch beckoned invitingly. Hermione looked toward it, eyebrows raised, and Viktor followed, gently helping her when her hand didn't want to grasp the rail.

The deck was still. The few people on it cleared off when they saw the lord and lady, and so they had privacy as they slowly went to railing and looked on the spoilt landscape.

'It vas bad day today.'

'Yes.'

He put a hand on her back and said nothing else for a long time. She was glad of his solitude. There was something infinitely comforting about his taciturnity in the face of the unknowable.

_'Vhat is vrong vith your hand?'_

_'It's *numb*.'_

_'Since the battle?'_

_'Yes.'_

He was looking at the moon, which was fatter tonight. _'Numb. Is good vord for things.'_

_'Yes. What is it in Bulgarian?'_

'Numb.'

She tried it out on her tongue, almost getting it. Viktor corrected her accent and took the numbed hand in his, stroking it light as feathers. She shivered at the contact, and at his closeness, at her own death, which was as close as he.

He brought the hand to his lips and kissed. _'Let's go to bed._'

In their sleeping area, she struggled with the frogs on her tunic. The fingers on her right hand didn't want to work. She found herself flushing a bit, feeling strangely inadequate at this small thing she suddenly couldn't do.

Viktor leant over and gently tugged the frogs free, and then eased the tunic over her head, careful to go slowly. She sat down and he tugged her boots off, and socks, and then her trousers, folding them neatly on a chair for an elf to take.

Hermione herself did her small clothes-Viktor was still shy about that-and then slid under the bed furs, sighing as the wonderfully soft selkie hairs stroked her bare shoulders and back.

Viktor got under as well, and rested a hand on her belly. Death was near, or victory, and she wanted to commune with her husband on the last night before what would surely be a great sea-change, an end and a beginning.

Hermione put her hand, the numb one, on top of his, leant closer, and kissed him on the mouth. He kissed back, still in silence, and they christened the new era in their narrow borrowed bed as they waited to see whether they would conquer or die.

The day started clear and cold, a smell in the air that promised a fresh snowfall. Dressed in fresh clothes, the lord and lady received their people for a last time before the die was cast.

One of them was Paavo Kask, who would be joining the flyers. _*I can't walk for shite-sorry, ladies- but I can still fly.*' _

He grinned, and Hermione thought she heard the heart of every girl there speed up a bit. Handsome he might not have been, but she had the idea Kask wouldn't lack for female companionship any time soon.

The others clapped and a stocky Irishwoman named McGinty stepped forward, bowing.

'*_Beg pardon, milord, but we were thinking, it might be better for us to fight together again. It was a good idea, the mixed units, but things being as they are...*'_

Hermione understood at once. They didn't think they'd win, and wanted to die surrounded by their own people. She looked sideways at Viktor, who seemed to understand as well.

_'*Of course, Miss McGinty. Please, gather your countrymen together.*'_

The lords came too, and Viktor recognised the heirs to the three fallen amongst them as lords, took their oaths and gave Hermione the leading of the van, with the Death Eaters.

When the time came to muster them all together a final time, it was with some wonder Hermione saw their host, poor tattered thing, the banners scorched but proudly raised, and new ones as well; the students and aurors had spent the final night in making their own.

The green and gold of Ireland, the black double eagle for Albania, Estonia's tricolour and dozens more were represented. Some of them were regional, invoking saints and heroes of the old hometown. Some of them were schools rather than nationalities: Durmstrang's own eagle, the wreath of Beauxbatons, the four quartered seal of Hogwarts.

The three Heads were there as well. The day before, they had stayed behind to succour the wounded; now they would come and fight, or at least minister to the fallen at the heart of things.

A priest appeared and those so inclined knelt down to receive the blessing. Others did what their traditions called for-the Irish and French were joined together, counting decades on a rosary they passed hand to hand. Some of the Albanians, Tamm amongst them, were faced away from the others, bowing and kneeling in unison as Ismaili chanted in a clear, wavering voice.

The small contingent of Death Eaters were gathered about a brazier. Hermione rose and joined her parents as her father sprinkled a pinch of incense onto the coals and raised his hands at chest height, palms up.

_'Ancestors, hear us.'_

_'And come quickly to our aid.'_

_'Accept our petitions.'_

_'And answer them with speed.'_

Hermione had no idea what she was supposed to do. She wasn't even sure what they believed, precisely, but she thought it would please them to have her there, part of the family that had given her birth a last time.

Her mother slid a hand into hers without looking at her. Hermione closed her eyes and sent up a prayer to her muggle Mum and Dad, and her Nan. She hadn't given them much conscious thought lately-it hurt too much to think what had happened to them, was all.

Now, at the threshold of Elsewhere herself, she found it made her feel braver to think of them. If she should die, they would be waiting for her, ready to catch up. Would they be proud of her? Would they want her now at all?

Of course they would. She had fought werewolves and buried a mother in law and run a castle and learnt two languages and fought a war. She knelt up a bit straighter, feeling a warmth in her bones. She had her answer, then. Death was nothing to be afraid of, not when so many people waited for her, to lead her on the journey.

Mother was squeezing her hand. Hermione squeezed back. She had been, she knew, extraordinarily lucky. I have been so loved, she thought, and dried her damp eyes on her free sleeve.

The supplication ended and the group rose, embracing. Small knots of people were doing likewise as the troops prepared for the fighting. Anu Tamm, eye wet, came and hugged Draco.

_'*Let me come with you?*'_

_'*No, Anu.*' _Draco hugged back and bent to murmur something in Tamm's ear. Tamm nodded at once, sniffling and drying his eye.

_'*Anu*' _said Viktor, who'd made his way over '*_if we should fall, it's your job to make sure the world knows what happened here. Can you do that?*'_

Tamm abruptly embraced him, hugging hard. _'*You mustn't die! None of you can die!*'_

Viktor patted his back. _'*Hush, we'll be right back.*'_

Draco had taken off his Portkey and hung it on the younger boy's neck. _'*Do you know how to use it?*' _The whisper must have been the word to activate it, Hermione realised.

_'*Y-yes. Here, take mine.*' _Anu took off a small charm on a thong and handed it over, and Draco donned it. It was a small silver and glass eye, much like the one he'd given Edric.

_'*Help the wounded, Anu.*'_

Viktor and his corps of flyers mounted their brooms. She handed him the handkerchief, not fresh but newly dabbed with perfume. There were no words. They vanished into the clouds.

Unbeknowst to nearly all of them, they were not the first. A smattering of wolves, under the direction of Snape's mysterious factor, had left at three AM for points unknown. The rest of the Polyjuice had gone with them.

Snape himself had felt quite philosophical about it, watching the dog prepared to go. He stepped into the coat he'd looted from somewhere ages before (unbeknownst to him, Sirius had paid for it and all the rest, and that's a story all its own, and one for which we haven't time, more's the pity).

He finished with a tatty looking fur hat, tugging it over his ears. Snape felt a moment of bitterness he couldn't go-this would be his triumph, if it worked. If it didn't, he would have rather been there to share the fates of his...students? Children? He wasn't sure, honestly...than wait here for whatever it was to befall him.

The dog was looking at him. _'If I should die, Snape...'_

_'I'll see you properly buried, Black.'_

_'Actually, that would be nice, but I wanted to tell you to stay the hell out of my things.'_

Snape glared up at him. _'Get out.'_

_'Snape?'_

_'What?'_

_'Find out what happened to Reg for me. I could die happy if not for that.'_

_'All right, Black.'_

Sirius extended a hand. _'Swear it?'_

Snape shook his head. _'Swear it.'_

_'See you in Hell, Snape.'_

_'It wouldn't be Hell if you weren't there, Black.' _

Snape laid his head back down and the elf came and took Black away. Snape found himself hoping the bastard survived. Life would be dull without the dog to torment, he decided, and closed his eyes, determined to use this time to plan their next step.

This step was complicated enough as it was. Salazar crossed the no man's land with a roving pack of strays that had come to feast on the leavings on the battle, and then slipped into a few tents, phials of strong sedative in hand. Eight lords he dosed and then carefully sent across the wards to the waiting wolves, who took them directly to the Ministry.

Eight wolves each plucked a single hair and, able now to cross the wards, slipped into the camp, looking perfectly as though they belonged. Salazar slipped back out of camp and waited by the rendezvous point, sometimes transforming to chase the occasional rabbit.

When the pack found him, he knew it was time. He spent a few moments communicating with them in that silent canine language that says everything with the flick of an ear or a single syllable, and then lined them up, preparing them to strike, letting them sniff so they knew who they should not attack. Hermione's Bess whined once, very softly, ears down. She could smell the Predator in the air.

When the attack commenced, the dogs of Castle Krum charged headlong, to their destiny, to war. Sirius had had a wolf light him, and he ranged ahead of the others, resplendent in a cloak of living, frozen flame.

Historians would spend a lot of time, in later years, discussing the events of the battle of Castle Dinev, and especially the roles by the magical strain Karakachans lord Krum had brought with him from his ancestral home.

Especially interesting were the reports of a huge grim, fighting alongside the pack, wreathed in flames, seeming to command the others. Most historians write off such reports as mass hysteria, or possibly a small scale outbreak of spattergroit, but as no outbreaks were mentioned, the whole incident is generally shoved into the uncomfortable box into which events which have no rational basis are stored, events for which the explanation is a sullen shrug.

Stranger still was the behaviour of some eight Dinev commanders, who ranged themselves at the back of the ranks with all their forces. The enemy fought a vicious struggle to retake the breach they'd created the day before (repaired with whatever was at hand, and defended more by troops than by the emergency patch job), but should have been engulfed and destroyed to a man when the Dinev fighters circled about them, cutting off the retreat.

Instead, by order of the eight commanders, they closed ranks, and in the heat of combat, did not stop and question, or realise they were shielding the Krum troops until those same troops smashed through the breach and joined up with the air support, which was inside already by means of some mysterious traitor who, lost to history, has been speculated to be anyone from the lord's son and seneschal (unlikely indeed) to a disgruntled third cousin (by far the most likely candidate).

Whatever the truth, the consensus runs, the evidence more or less speaks for itself. With the rest of the army cut off, in flight or else fighting one another, the bulk of the Krum host came through the breach and went to work besieging the tower.

Viktor was not considering history at that moment. The flying, under heavy fire, had been unpleasant but not unduly terrifying. Snape had told him the wards would be open and they were, and the group had set down on a roof. Currently they were pinned under an onslaught from the opposite side, ducking hexes and trying to figure out the next move. What to do, what to do?

Very probably, the voice saved them. It was loud, Bulgarian, verging on panic.

'TRAITORS! THEY'VE SOLD US!'

'POPOV'S MEN HAVE TURNED!'

'NO, IT'S KOUNEV! HE'S THE TRAITOR!'

'BASTARDS! SCUM!'

Confusingly, some of Dinev's vassals had seemingly turned on him, or something, because they were pouring through the breach, firing on the men in the courtyard, and into their own ranks, seemingly everywhere. Snow was flying, and then higher as some of the fighters threw up moving walls of the stuff, using it to obscure their position.

Viktor made a split second decision and ran for the edge of the roof, jumping into the courtyard some twenty metres below, cushioning himself, skidding on the cobbles. He could feel something in his heel shatter at the contact with the stones but ignored it as the others joined him and they waded in, hoping they were firing at the right people.

Into this chaotic cauldron the remaining defenders charged with enormous bravery, hesitating to fire lest they hit a brother of cousin. The Krum defenders took advantage of it, and pushed forward, finally breaking through the wards and starting the process of breaking down the door, using spells to batter the thick iron and oak door.

A sound rose from the inside of the tower, a hideous keening wail that shook the fighters to their bones. The women, Viktor realised, suddenly worried they were doing for themselves to keep from being taken. What would they do if all they found were rooms of dead children and poisoned women?

The door was starting to splinter and the defenders redoubled their attack, pouring shots down. Many of the Krum fighters were shielding the ones working on the door, or else had started to throw up crude wooden walls to block them from sight.

Viktor caught sight of Alise Sproga, darting toward the limits of their lines, dragging the wounded back into the shoddy safety of the walls. Where was Hermione?

_'*THIS IS LADY KRUM. SURRENDER AND NO ONE WILL BE HARMED. I WILL PERSONALLY GUARANTEE THE SAFETY OF ANY WOMAN OR CHILD WHO SURRENDERS TO LORD KRUM AND MYSELF.*'_

The wails were redoubled, and the defenders first poured more spells on and then seemed to slacken. A sound even stranger and more eerie than the screaming overcame the violent pounding on the doors; silence. To the astonishment of the Krum fighters, the door slowly opened.

A line of priests emerged from the tower, followed by women, holding children by the hands. Many of them were weeping, eyes red, cheeks tear streaked. The first priest was holding a large monstrance, and many of the fighters, Krum and Dinev, dropped to their knees as he passed.

Viktor stepped forward, looking for his wife. She was bleeding from a few shallow cuts on the cheek but otherwise looked very well. She came to stand next to him, and the priests approached them slowly.

The priests stopped short of the lord and lady, kneeling down, the first holding the monstrance high above his head. 'My lord, Castle Dinev begs your mercy. We yield.'

Viktor knelt as well, and kissed the monstrance. It was cold against his lips.

'Father, rise, please. We accept.'

The priest rose slowly and raised to wand to his throat, making sure not to make any sudden movements.

_'*MEN OF CASTLE DINEV, THROW DOWN YOUR WANDS. THE CASTLE HAS FALLEN. LORD KRUM HAS ACCEPTED OUR SURRENDER.*'_

Fighters were coming from everywhere, Krum and Dinev together, many of them wounded. Some stopped and helped the people they'd been fighting only minutes earlier. The groups stared at one another. Was this victory? It tasted of ashes.

As always, Hermione knew what to do. _' _Who is the wife of Anastas Dinev?'

A blonde and very pretty woman, heavily pregnant, raised a hand. Hermione smiled and approached her.

'Madam, your husband is alive?'

'I don't know, my lady.'

'When did you see him last?'

'This morning.'

'Would you send an elf to see him? And then sit down?' Hermione looked at the woman's belly, brow wrinkling in concern for the baby.

The woman pressed a hand to her stomach. 'I'll be fine, my lady. Our elf will go at once.'

The elf brought back the man himself. He was dirty and sweat had tracked clean places on his face.

He bowed. 'My lord Krum, we meet once more.'

'I am glad of it, Seneschal. Could I ask you to write the letter whilst your second sees to the wounded?'

'Yes, my lord.'

'How much time will you need to load your people onto the ship?'

'By your leave, my lord, an hour would do.'

'Of course. I will bring my ships here, if you don't mind.'

'Please.'

How stupid this was, thought Viktor. They sounded like politicians. He mentally winced and sent for Draco. Draco was walking slowly, looking a trifle unsteady. Still, he was smiling.

_'*My lord?*'_

_'*Send for the ships, please, cousin. We'll need to bathe and change at once.*'_

Draco grinned. '_*My pleasure.*' _He sent an elf as Dinev called for his own men, issued orders and then wrote the letter, proclaiming Viktor the uncontested ruler of Castle Dinev. The first letter went to the Conclave and the rest to the other major lords.

Viktor approved the letters and then tried to broach a delicate topic. 'Your uncle is...?'

'Dying in the lord's chambers. We could have him moved if your lordship wanted-'

'My God, no. I'll have medi-wizards sent to see to him at once. And a mid-witch for your wife, if you'd like.'

Dinev looked relieved. 'Your lordship is most gracious, but my wife is rather stubborn. It would be easier to convince a troll to dance ballet.'

Viktor laughed. 'Your wife's not met mine. And please, call me Viktor.'

As soon as the ship landed, Tamm was off, bounding toward them heedless of protocol. He flung himself on Draco, laughing, and then stepped back, seemingly remembering himself.

_'*Sorry, Malfoy. Superintendent, you won.*'_

_'*Yes, Anu, we won.*' _Tamm hugged him as well, and pecked Hermione's cheek.

_'*What can I do?*'_

_'*Find an unburnt banner to replace the one that's up there, would you?*'_

Tamm bowed and made his way off, followed by dogs. Lady, whose fur was scorched, was right at his heels, chuffing curiously.

_'*We need to bring our wounded to Sofia, and ask the Dinevs if they want theirs brought as well, please. And find Arco, please, we'll need him.*'_

Arco, boneless arm bound to his chest, bowed low. He agreed to see to security and sent some of his people to get the wounded back to the hospital safely. Viktor breathed a sigh of relief at that, until Hermione said

'*_Snape.*'_

_'*Sorry?*'_

_'*He'd never forgive us if we sent him back.*'_

_'*We'll have him brought, then.*'_

Draco suddenly cocked his head thoughtfully. '*_Viktor, should we send wolves to make sure none of those lords are trying to sneak off?*'_

_'*That's a good idea.*'_

The wolves were sent to corral the lords and their men, and soon some small islands of orders were brought from the ocean of confusion in the courtyard. The wolves circled casually, trying to suss out any hints of danger or defiance. There were very few. Most of them just wanted to go home, and to hell with politics.

Vidanov had bruited about that he would pay good money to anyone who brought him a prize. One hundred asens for an enemy banner, three hundred for a seneschal's pin and five hundred for a lord's ring. Some of the fighters had one or the other, and Vidanov, laughing, was agreeably writing up chits for the bank to debit his account.

Viktor's eye was caught and he stiffened as he noticed Tamm clamouring easily up the tower, holding the Krum banner stuck to his chest. Underneath, Lady was growling and barking, clearly issuing doggy threats about what would happen if Anu didn't come down right this second.

Surefooted as a little ibex, Tamm got to the top and rested, waving. Viktor, fearing the problem would be the dissent, summoned his broom and mounted it, taking to the air.

Tamm beamed as he saw Viktor getting closer. '_*Hello, Superintendent!*'_

_'*Anu, what were you thinking?*'_

_'*You said to replace it.*'_

_'*Not like this! You could have fallen!*'_

_'*I'm a good climber.*' _Tamm looked crestfallen, and Viktor set down on the flat top of the tower, setting the broom down.

_'*Yes, you are, but you aren't used to climbing with one eye.*'_

_'*I climb the rigging.*'_

_'*This is different.*' _He scowled to dissuade any more argument and folded the Dinev banner neatly, shrinking it and handing it to Tamm to tuck in his pocket.

_'*Show this to the tall fellow in the grey, Anu, and he'll pay you for it.*'_

_'*Really?*'_

_'*Really.*'_

The world below them wasn't white. It was muddy brown, or else burnt black, or grey, or all of them. Some patches were red. Dogs were ambling about, and students were circulating to collect the wounded and dead. They had a routine for that now, realised Viktor with a pang, and cuffed Tamm on the back of the head.

_'*I've got half a mind to tell your mother about this.*'_

Tamm immediately grinned and shook his head. '*_No need for that, Superintendent.*'_

_'*No?*'_

_'*No.*'_

_'*Why not?*'_

_'*I can't fall off the tower. Won't get to be a captain if I do.*'_

_'*A captain?*'_

_'*Of a ship.*'_

Viktor smiled. _'*Is that what you'd like to do?*'_

_'*Yes! Only Albania hasn't got a navy yet.*'_

He could his people raising their standards, preparing to formally receive the surrender when it came.

_'*Superintendent?*'_

_'*Yes?*'_

_'*Is all this yours now?*' _Tamm was looking across the ruined fields and scorched mountains.

_'*It's all Bulgaria's. I'm holding it for a while, that's all.*'_ Tamm seemed to accept this, lost in his own thoughts.

_ It's nearly the holidays, you know, Anu.*'_

_''*I do.*'_

'_*How would it be if I invited your mother to join us?*'_

Tamm's eye was big with wonder. '*_Nene can come here?*'_

_'*Yes. There's going to be a lot of people who need a lot of things, and I'd like her to help.*'_

Tamm looked downcast for a second. '_*She can't read, you know.*'_

_'*That's all right.*'_

_'*What about our herds?*'_

_'*We'll send someone to tend them, all right?*'_

Tamm was beaming again. '*_Superintendent, we __**won**__.*'_

Looking over the blasted remains of a once fertile land, Viktor had a moment of doubt. But then he remembered who he was and stood up straighter.

_'*Yes, Anu. We won.*'_

He took the Krum banner and raised it up to flap above the tower they'd spilt so much blood to win. The bells in the chapel started to ring, and distant ones answered. All over Bulgaria, he knew, bells would be ringing, and then in other places, as people from all over Europe got the news and started planning for how the winds would change.

He was ready. They were ready. Viktor lifted the broom and helped Anu on, correcting his seat automatically. He'd teach the kid a bit of Quidditch, he decided. There might be some time now.

That illusion was dashed as soon as he hit the ground. Owls were coming in flocks, and Vidanov approached him, bowing low. Something about the gesture made him uneasy.

'My lord, the Conclave has recognised you as ruler of Bulgaria. They request you proclaim a new Minister as soon as possible.'

The hair on Viktor's arms stood up. He looked for Hermione, wanting to centre himself, but she had gone off somewhere, probably to bully Madam Dinev into seeing a proper mid-witch or something.

'Have they suggested candidates?'

'No, lad. My lord. It's at your discretion. Unless your lordship would prefer we proclaim...something else.'

'Something else?' His skin was crawling. Hermione, Hermione...

'We could proclaim a tsar.'


	94. Chapter 94

**A/N: Love to reviewers and Countess Black**

**Special thanks to my friend K for her help.**

**I'd like to point out, again, that RL Bulgaria is a modern country, and bears little resemblance to the Wizarding Bulgaria, which is definitely not.**

Rita Skeeter rolled over and put her feet, which were icy cold, on Traver's legs to warm them. He groaned, opening one eye. He did have nice eyes, thought Rita dispassionately, big and golden brown.

'Ree?'

'Sorry, Metellus.'

'No, no, 's'all right. Wh'time's?'

'Nearly six. Go back to sleep.'

'No. Need to be at Rowle's office by seven thirty.'

Rita's nose, sharpened by over a decade of journalistic work, was quivering, but she made herself play it cool. 'Haven't had Thorfinn over in a while, have we, love?'

'I'll invite him. Send Punky for some malmsey, would you?'

'And that goose liver to go with it.'

'Mmm, sounds wonderful.' He rolled back on his side and buried his head in the pillow. 'His lordship's going to call you this afternoon.'

'All right, love.' She wondered what this could be about. She sensed Metellus wanted to be asked; he fancied himself some sort of Father Christmas, she thought grumpily, and sat up, patting her hair back into shape.

'Did his lordship say...'

Travers rolled on his back, looking smug and excited, a very odd combination. 'He likes your work, darling. He's thinking he might send you on holiday.'

'Holiday?'

'Pack a warm coat.'

Rita had been carefully getting information from Travers for years. She'd become his mistress largely because of the information he liked to show off, and had kept him by acting like she didn't want a scoop.

She lost her reserve for a second. 'Bulgaria?'

'We'll see. Ree?'

'Yes, Metellus?'

He sat up too, and kissed her shoulder gently. 'Wear something a bit low cut, hmm?'

Dressed in her dove grey velvet, and decked in a matching silver fox stole, Rita's heels (red; a flash of something a little disreputable made men ever so much more forthcoming) clicked on the stones of Hogwart's corridors as she was led into the school's heart, into the presence of the unquestioned leader of Britain.

Beside her, Travers looked ready to burst with pride. Rowle had come as well, and that awful Amycus Carrow, who would have burnt holes in her bodice if his eyes had been heat charms.

An auror opened the doors, and the men were bowing toward a slight figure perched on a very large chair. Rita curtsied, eyes downcast, and then was gently pushed forward by Travers. 'Madam Skeeter, my lord.'

'Ah, yes, of course. Severus tells Us you are Our sole competent reporter. Is that true, Madam?'

'If Professor Snape feels that way, my lord, I wouldn't contradict him.'

The Dark Lord laughed. 'Quite so. He is currently in Bulgaria with Our dear friend Viktor Krum. You've heard about lord Krum, I should think?'

'One does hear rumours, my lord, but the Prophet reports only verified facts.'

'No doubt. It would behove Us to have a reliable reporter in Sofia, to get the facts of this unusual doing for the British people. Would you, madam, be that reporter?'

'It would be a great honour, my lord.'

'We regret, naturally, that we cannot go Ourselves. Lord Krum is so very young, isn't he? And his little wife is even younger. You have met them both, is that correct?'

'I have, my lord.'

'Then perhaps they would be inclined to speak with you.'

'If I might be of service, my lord...'

'Thorfinn?'

Rowle's sleepy looking eyes widened. 'My lord?'

'Make it happen. We want Madam Skeeter in Sofia by tomorrow.'

Hermione was currently enjoying the most awkward meal of her life. She picked at some apple and walnut salad (which was actually quite well made, if not as well as the cook at Castle Krum did the same dish), and trying to relieve some of the tension which seemed to ooze from the very stones.

As it turned out, the young Dinevs had a daughter, Zenobia, who was three. She was blonde and winsome, and had decided Viktor was her new best friend. She was delightedly regaling him with stories about her kitten between bites of salad, and asking whether his 'big huge dog' would let her ride his back.

_'*That dog is Professor Snape's, but I'm sure he'd be glad to introduce you, Zenobia. That's a very pretty name, by the way.*'_

_'*My grandmother' said the young Dinev 'was Greek, and named her before she p-a-s-s-ed a-w-a-y.*'_

Zenobia nodded enthusiastically. _'*And the dog can meet Snow, too!*' _Snow was the kitten.

_'*After we've eaten, we'll go and meet all the dogs, all right?*'_

_'*Yes! Papa, will you come too?*'_

_'*Of course, angel. Now be a good girl and go with Chorba whilst we discuss politics, all right?*'_

Zenobia hopped down agreeable and followed the elf, still talking. The adults watched her go.

_'*An engaging child, to be sure.*' _That from Father, who was sitting next to Mother and Uncle Rabastan.

The Dinevs seemed pleased by the compliment. _'*She's our most precious jewel.*'_

_'*Perhaps after dinner...*' _Viktor let it hang, and Hermione wondered what he was about until she realised he was hinting about a potential alliance.

How did she feel about that? She munched some apple and considered. She loved her husband dearly, but she might have liked the children to have some choice in things, even if she had not.

Things had worked out beautifully for she and Viktor, but she suspected it was largely a matter of luck, and because their lives had been plaited together so wholly that it was hard to see where one ended and the other began. She didn't mind a bit-Snape had chosen exquisitely for her-but for all she was happy in her husband, the chances she might not have been were high enough to give her pause.

Viktor seemed to notice her expression and caught her eye, giving her a look that suggested they could discuss it later. She tilted her head ever-so-slightly and ate a bit more salad.

The strained silence returned. Finally Madam Dinev the younger (the elder was with her husband) said

_'*What will you do with us?*'_

_'*Galina!*'_

_'*Don't pretend you weren't wondering, Anastas. We could all hang by nightfall and you know it.*'_

_'*No one is going to hang you, madam, nor your husband. I'd just as soon forge alliances through marriage as violence. Hermione?*'_

_'*Of course. We want you to help us to in fashioning a new Bulgaria.*'_

_'*You talk about this new Bulgaria a good deal*' _said Galina Dinev fearlessly_ '*but what does that mean, precisely?*'_

Viktor and Hermione couldn't look at one another, lest they laugh at her frankness. To Hermione, she was a younger Cunegarde, all vinegar but strangely endearing in it, at least sometimes.

_'*May I ask a question in return, madam? What proportion of your tenants are genuinely literate, would you say?*' _

Hermione thought that was as good a place as any. Madam Dinev blinked and set down her spoon.

_'*Pardon?*'_

_'*What about infant mortality rates? How many babies survive their first year?*'_

_'*I'm sure I don't know.*'_

_'*The first step to a new Bulgaria is addressing the needs of the common people. Do you think so, Viktor?*'_

Viktor seemed as startled as the rest of them but recovered quickly. '_*Naturally. And other concerns as well-modern farming techniques, better defences against brigands and trolls, improved housing.*'_

_'*Surely the law of the tsars has provisions for that manner of thing.*'_

_'*The law of the tsars is precious, yes, but they could not have foreseen the events of our age. The tsars would want to see a prosperous and happy people, I daresay.*' _Hermione gave her husband a pleased look.

Galina Dinev was studying them both thoughtfully. '_*Why didn't you say they were __**smart**__, Anastas? I would have surrendered sooner had I known that.*'_

_'*I was concerned with their wolves, not their minds, dear. No offence.*'_

_'*None taken.*' _

Hermione grinned and sipped some well-watered wine. It was a vintage special to Pernik, quite light and sweet. She liked it.

_'*Will you be relocating, do you think?*'_

_'*Relocating?*'_

_'*To Sofia.*'_

Hermione shook her head Bulgarian style. _'*Castle Krum is our home.*'_

_'*Indeed. My cousin Ivan will be taking Castle Borev. As soon as he's old enough, of course.*'_

_'*How old is he?*'_

_'*Nine, very clever and mature for his age.*'_

_'*His mother was a Petrova, is that right?*'_

_'*That's right, the daughter of Branomir Petrov and Ana Arnaut.*'_

The Dinevs mulled this over. _'*He's healthy, your cousin?*'_

_'*All Krums are, and smart as well. He's learning English, even.*'_

_'*Impressive. He's a sister, is that right?*'_

_'*Yes. Yana is seven.*'_

That seemed to please them even more. _'*We should discuss this over drinks.*'_

_'*Yes.*'_

One of the wolves put his head up and opened the door just as Tamm started to pound. He stepped into the room, face crimson, and bowed.

_'*Wolf's here for you, Miss. Says it's important.*'_

_'*Did he send a message, Tamm?*'_

_'*Yes, Miss. He said I should only give it to you.*'_

_'*Privately?*'_

_'*Yes.*'_

_'*All right, Anu, thank you. Would you all excuse me a second?*'_

Hermione went to the antechamber to see who her mysterious visitor was. It was a wolf, nose bloodied.

_'__*Eugen Arco sends his compliments, milady. There's problems in the yard.*'_

_'*Like what?*'_

_'*Two of Kounev's men tried to...attack...a girl. One of the ones in blue?*'_

_'*A Beauxbaton girl.*'_

_'*Yes, milady. She fought em off-feisty little thing, that one-and screamed. We got em in the cellar.*'_

_'*The girl is unhurt?*'_

'*_Well, yes, they'd not got too far. The men, though...*'_

_'*What happened?*'_

_'*She was pushing a cauldron of porridge through the yard when they tried to hurt her. She threw it on them. One of them is badly burnt.*'_

_'*Did you catch the name?*'_

_'*Sproga. It's why Arco sent me. He wanted to make sure there -*'_

Hermione was half out of the room already.

Alise was in Hermione's borrowed solar. Hermione came through the door and went at once to her friend. _'Alise, what happened?' _They were speaking French, which gave them some privacy.

_'Two of them tried to jump me.'_

Hermione sat on the arm of the chair and went to stroke her friend's hair, checked herself. Her muggle Mum, she remembered, had volunteered at a women's shelter and said it was best not to touch someone who's had a bad experience without permission.

_'Is it all right for me to touch you, Alise? I'd like to give you a hug.'_

Alise nodded and moved over so they could squeeze in together. Hermione opened her arms and Alise rested against her, a touch stiffly at first and then more relaxed as she started to cry.

The door flew open and Scabior, dusted in snow, ran inside. _'What appened?'_

_'It's all right, Scabior.'_

Alise put her head up, wiping her eyes, and explained. Scabior went still and then slowly approached, as though Alise were a doe in the wood.

_'Darlin, I'll makes sure they dont never urt you again, awrite?'_

_'I am really fine.'_

_'Aint fine.' _Scabior glowered and sat on the other arm of the chair, looking fierce. Hermione wondered whether leaving or staying would be more harmful.

Alise helped her with the issue when she relaxed against the back of the chair, a hand in each of their's.

_'Hermione, you vill deal vith this?'_

_'I suppose...yes, Alise.' _She'd made up her mind.

_'I am not only von this happen to.'_

_'I'll make an example of them, Alise, don't worry.'_

_'I don't vorry.'_

Scabior was still brooding. _'Milady, I known you fer a long time, yeah? Kin I speak freely?'_

_'Yes, of course.'_

_'This isn't jus about what appened ere. All them lords and such'll be lookin real careful like t sees ow they kin gets one over on you. You gots t make em see you aint a kid, nor milord, yeah?'_

Hermione nodded, stomach clenching. Scabior, she had learnt over the years, was good at guessing how these things would go. She felt a moment of sadness; he might have been a healer, she thought, or a dragon tamer, or a potions master, or anything but this if he'd had help when he was young.

No time for that now. She straightened her shoulders and nodded her head. _'Alise, would you like some company tonight?'_

_'Company?' _They both looked startled, and Hermione hastened to add _'I mean, shall we sleep in here? Viktor will be all right by himself for a night.'_

_'No, is all vright. Maybe Scabior stay a bit?' Ve keep elf.' _

_'Should I have some food sent?'_

_'Not porridge, please.'_

Viktor met her in the corridor, limping slightly. He was refusing to get his shattered heel looked at until the badly wounded were tended to, which was certainly noble of him but made her feel very nervous in practice.

'Everything all right, love?'

She shook her head and explained what had happened. Viktor offered his arm and led her toward the table again.

'You'll deal with it, then?'

'Yes. Scabior is right.'

'I agree. Would you rather I wrote the order?'

'No. I need the seal.'

'Remind me to have them send a goblin to see about getting you a ring made.'

Hermione lightly tickled his elbow. 'Is that the custom?'

'No.'

Over a good stew of lentils (the castle was nearly out of provisions, which thing Hermione added to her to-do list with a mental groan), the subject turned to what was going to happen next.

_'*Would it be possible for one of us to visit with your uncle, Anastas? Professor Snape, perhaps?*' _Snape, who was well dosed with pain potion, nodded, face dour.

The younger Dinev looked uneasy.

_'*My uncle is past lucidity.*'_

_'*I take it your aunt and father are there with him?*'_

_'*Yes.*'_

Hermione could sense, like a whirlpool, the potential for disaster looming up ahead. She hoped she was making the right gamble with this one.

_'*Has he got a medi-witch or wizard with him?*'_

_'*My uncle is beyond help, my lady. The chandelier did irreparable damage.*'_

_'*I am thinking more about easing his suffering. It cannot be easy for your aunt and father to see him this way.*'_

_'*We've been giving him strong pain potions, my lady.*'_

_'*How much does it help?*'_

Dinev looked even more uneasy. _'*It could be better.*'_

_'*Then please, let us send for someone.*'_

The Dinevs reluctantly agreed. Viktor looked relieved, saying nothing. It always interested Hermione, the way she could read the story of her husband's thoughts in the quirk of a lip or the wrinkle of a brow. Was it the same for him?

_'*Will you be meeting with your vassals?*'_

_'*I thought we would take a break to rest and then meet back here after dinner, if that suits. I'd like to send for the family in England, amongst other things.*'_

And so that was what they did.

Rita Skeeter hit the ground in Sofia at four thirty PM, and found herself being escorted through the corridors of the Ministry, which were crammed with people. She could hear shouting in at least twenty languages, and studiously ignored cries in English asking about various children.

Penko Krum was sitting behind the desk, but rose when she entered, bowing.

_'*How good to see you again, Madam Skeeter. I hope the journey was not too arduous?*'_

_'*Not at all. I bring letters from your brothers and sisters in law.*'_

_'*Thank you. Please, sit down.*' _He indicated a chair across from his and she sat at once, making sure her skirt was just high enough to give a flash of knee cap. He didn't seem to notice, calling for some sort of ungodly yoghurt drink for them both.

_'*Lord and lady Krum regret they could not receive you personally at the moment. They are quite busy in Pernik, to say the least.*'_

_'*I can only imagine. My knowledge of Bulgarian politics is not very good, I'm ashamed to say. Are you the Minister now, Mr. Krum?*'_

_'*That's a very complex question, Madam Skeeter. I am head of the interim efforts here until my brother Rumen returns to us.*'_

_'*But surely there will be a more permanent solution soon?*' _Rita gently tugged her skirt a millimetre higher, hoping it was loosen the fellow's tongue. He continued blandly sipping yoghurt.

_'*We can hope.*'_

_'*No thoughts on who that might be, Mr. Krum?*'_

He sipped more yoghurt. _'*None.*'_

Rita found herself rather liking this fellow. He knew how to play, that much was for certain. She also sipped her foul drink, and then set the glass down.

_'*Can't I have a statement, Mr. Krum? Britain is so much in awe of what's been done here.*'_

Krum smiled. _'*I am rather in awe myself, madam.*'_

_'*To what do you attribute lord Krum's remarkable success in this endeavour?*'_

_'*Well*' _said Krum gravely, finishing his vile drink _'*I've always said we Bulgarians are a hot blooded people, madam.*' _And more than that he wouldn't say.

Meantime, Scabior was staying with his fiancee, who had calmed down quite a bit.

_'*Are you goin t be all rite, you thinks?*'_

_'*I think so.*_'

She had a funny look on her face, and Scabior, instincts honed as a cat's, cocked his head.

_'*What else?*'_

_'*You offered to, to deal with those men. Did you mean like with those fellows with the pamphlet?*'_

_'*I sup'ose so, luv, why?*'_

_'*Did you hurt those people?*'_

_'*Urt em ow, darlin?*'_

_'*Did you torture them?*'_

Scabior shook his head at once. _'*No, sweet'eart, I didn't. They wanted t tells us an they did.*'_

_'*Why?*'_

_'*Because they knew we was goin t puts a good word in if they did, was all.*'_

_'*Do you sometimes? Hurt people?*'_

Well, yes. That was exactly what he was supposed to do, after all. It was his job. But, he reminded himself, Miz Sproga was a young girl who didn't understand how things worked. It was his duty to shield her from ugly things like that.

_'*Sumtimes, darlin'. Sumtimes they tries to urt me first.*'_

_'*No. I mean, do you...*'_

_'*Torture people?*'_

_'*Yes.*'_

How did he answer that one, he mused? He had in the past, to be sure, but it had been a while, and mainly Lestrange did the wet work. He bent closer and looked her in the eye.

_'*Luv, I'd not do that for no information I could gets sum other way.*'_

She nodded slowly. _'*Hermione's father?*'_

That one was trickier. '_*Same for im, I'd say.*' _Not precisely true, perhaps, but he could sense hesitation on her like a second skin.

_'*What makes you ask, Miz? Sumthin you eard?*' _If so, he'd have a chat with that person about keeping their fucking mouth shut.

She shook her head no. '*_When you took those men to the Ministry, I wondered.*'_

_'*War is ugly, darlin'. You knows that.*'_

_'*I do know.*'_

_'*Is there anythin else?*'_

_'*No. I didn't mean to offend you.*'_

He shook his head at once. _'*No, no, you was rite t ask. Better to be onest, yeah, about things?*'_

She rose and shyly settled back in his lap. Scabior adjusted so she could be comfortable and started to stroking her hair, still crisp at the ends.

_'*That's me girl*' _he said softly, and realised that it was true.

In England, Thorfinn Rowle stepped through the Floo and bowed to the startled occupants of the drawing room. There was a sharp intake of breath, a deep silence that settled on everything like dust.

Even the ginger cat deigned to come off his velvet cushion to perch on Cunegarde, squinchy face set in lines that telegraphed both interest and patrician disdain. He sniffed the air once and settled back down, golden eyes fixed unblinkingly on the visitor.

'You are to be congratulated. Lord Krum has won a great victory and is in complete control of Bulgaria. The Conclave has acknowledged him as rightful ruler and he sends word that he wishes the family to join him at once.'

The room was still silent. Finally Barty stood up. 'Thorfinn, you say they're all alive?'

'Yes. Lord Krum has broken his foot and Professor Snape has been rather badly wounded in one leg but other than that, they're well.'

Barty whooped with joy and ran for the staircase. 'Ivan! Yana! We're going home! We're going home! Martin! Martin! They're alive! We're going home!'

Rumen and Lyudmilla both started to cry, embracing, and Eugenia felt her own eyes dampen. She cradled Edric, jiggling him when he fussed. Her husband was alive, and so was her lover, and so was her husband's lover. Their family had come through the fire.

Abruptly, Rowle's fishlike face popped back into her consciousness. She offered him wine, which he refused.

'The Dark Lord has need of me. He will provide transportation for you all, of course.'

'We are most grateful.'

'I will relay that to him, surely.' Rowle looked uneasy, almost nervous. 'He has always been so fond of your family.'

He couldn't mean...'Of course.'

'He feels it would be best for the baby to stay here. It is a dangerous journey for an infant, he feels.'

Eugenia's knees felt weak. She sat down, still clinging to her baby. 'Thorfinn, I...'

'My wife would be delighted to take Edric for a few days. Honoria loves babies, you know. Ever since our Clytie went away to school, she's been ever so lonely.'

Lyudmilla and Rumen had taken note of what was happening. Lyudmilla approached Eugenia, patting her shoulder.

'Eugenia, love, don't worry. I'm not up for travel anyway. I'd be glad to stay and care for Edric.'

Rowle, put on the spot, looked disturbed. 'Surely you wish to return your country?'

'I do, but Mr. Feathering is not at all well. You can't expect us to abandon him in his need, when he took us in so generously?'

'I, err, no, of course not. But lord Krum was quite insistent on wishing to see his beloved family.'

Cunegarde spoke up. 'I knew your grandmother, young man. She was a fine lady. You don't really mean to make my great-niece surrender her son to you without so much as a by your leave, do you?'

'Madam Lestrange, my grandmother always spoke well of you. You of all people must understand-'

'Niobe Rowle helped deliver my Ermentrude. She wouldn't approve, I assure you. I'll stay.'

'Madam Lestrange-'

'I am 119 years old. Too old to be gallivanting about the Balkans, and what use would I be to them anyhow, I ask you?'

'Surely, Madam, you wish to see your great great niece?'

'Of course I do. I am very fond of Madam Krum, but I am just as fond of doing my duty. Mr. Feathering's first wife was my sister. I owe it to her to see he's taken care of.'

Rowle exhaled deeply. 'I will speak to the Dark Lord.'

'See as you do.' Cunegarde gestured imperiously toward the Floo and the startled Rowle bowed low and vanished.

They turned and looked at her, shocked. 'Aunt Cunegarde, that was...'

'What? I've my wiles, you know. I got three husbands, didn't I?'

There was no arguing with that. The door flew open and a storm of voices and small bouncing forms rolled into the room, talking at the top of their lungs. Behind them, Martin was walking slowly, like an old man.

_'*My son is alive.*'_

_'*Your son is ruler of all Bulgaria.*'_

_'*Oh?*'_

_'*Martin, don't you understand? Viktor did it.*'_

Martin sat down, easing his bones into a chair. '*_He's a good boy. Always a good boy.*'_

Rumen turned on his heel and walked out, every angle on his body sharp. Eugenia felt a moment of aching pity for them both, for them all. Then her son yawned and she dropped her face to smell his soft little head.

Lyudmilla cancelled the translation charm and said something flatly in Bulgarian. Martin shook his head (was that an agreement or a refusal?), shoulders slumping.

_'*I'll stay here, then.*'_

Eugenia's eyes widened but she bit off the protest that tried to emerge. Whatever was going on here, her concern was Edric and Barty and the other hostages to fortune in her charge. She held her baby tighter and gave a silent prayer of gratitude that Edric would at least be with people she knew. That was something. That was the only thing.

The carriages departed British soil under cover of darkness, leaving three hostages behind. The others, wrapped in heavy robes against the chill, were quiet. Even the children seemed to sense the history was being made.

The courtyard of the Ministry was clean but scorched, and rubble still littered the once gracious pathways. A squat boy on a crutch hobbled toward them, bowing awkwardly.

_*'I'm Paavo Kask. Krum's asked me to welcome you.*'_

They followed his uneven progress into a comfortably appointed conference room, gleaming with beeswax and lit by dozens of candles. Elves bustled here and there, sometimes pausing to offer them refreshments.

_'*Papa, why aren't we at home?*'_

_'*I don't know, Yana. We will be soon, I'm sure.*' _Rumen felt a touch uneasy about it himself. He sat up straighter and tugged at the collar of his robes, wishing they were at Castle Krum and everything was sane again.

_'*Viktor, lord Krum, and Hermione, lady Krum.*'_

'*_Thank you, Anu, but you needn't announce us to the family, all right?*'_

_'*Sorry, Superintendent.*'_

They rose as one anyway, and made their manners as the lord and lady came inside. Viktor was limping, and flanked by nondescript men in dark clothing. Wolves, thought Rumen, and shivered despite his resolve not to. Students came after the wolves, boys and girls both, Scabior with his fiancée and the blonde Frenchwoman who was one of Hermione's friends.

The adults might have been distracted by the various changes but the children weren't. They ran toward their beloved cousins, shouting with joy, Barty right behind them, and that smoothed the awkwardness enough for the others to do likewise.

After the hugs had been exchanged, Rumen caught Viktor's eye. _'*Nephew, we need to talk.*'_

'_*I know, Uncle, but it will need to wait a bit. The Conclave's called an emergency session to help deal with things. We need to discuss that before...family problems.*'_

Martin. Rumen swallowed hard, feeling a knot that was a blend of hatred and love. He would spare Viktor as much pain as he could, and if it gave Martin undue credit, then that's how it would be.

At a nod from his niece, the wolves and students filed out, clearly watching the door. The family was finally alone. Rabastan was holding his wife, talking softly. Rumen didn't dare meet his eye; he feared what he would see there.

_'*Uncle, the Conclave has called an emergency session so we can declare a new Minister. Would you be amenable to becoming the new Minister?*'_

Rumen's heart stopped for a second. _'*Say that again?*'_

_'*Would you be our Minister? I think you'd do well at it.*'_

_'*Viktor...my lord...*'_

_'*There's one thing.*'_

_'*What is it?*'_

_'*I'd like to betroth Ivan to Zenobia Dinev. She's three.*'_

_'*I...let me speak to Lyudmilla, but I'm agreeable if she is.*'_

_'*Her parents seem nice people. I knew the father from camp.*'_

Rumen nodded numbly. _'*Viktor...this is all so much.*'_

_'*I know.*' _His face twisted wryly and his uncle touched his shoulder in silent understanding. Viktor rubbed the back of his neck, the tendons popping.

_'*And Ivan will get Castle Borev once he's of age, per our agreement.*'_

Rumen nodded again. '_*Yes, yes.*'_

_'*I've a sort of favour to ask you, in regards to that.*'_

_'*What is it?*'_

_'*I'd like to appoint a seneschal for him, when the time comes.*'_

_'*Will he need one?*'_

_'*I would think so.*'_

_'*All right.*'_

A wolf approached, bowing. '*_My lord, a large crowd is gathering outside and the Conclave has arrived. They're awaiting your pleasure in the antechamber.*'_

_'*Hermione? Which first?*'_

_'*What's the mood, Mr. Arco?*'_

_'*The crowd is friendly but boisterous. The Conclave is...well, you know.*'_

_'*The crowd, then.*'_

The whole family went, stopping only to quickly freshen up. The children, still uneasy round crowds, let Draco hold their hands as they came onto the balcony. Below them, thousands of people were cheering. They'd been there since the news of the victory had got out that morning, but news the lord was in the city had fired them up.

Rumen suspected that Viktor was one of the few people on earth who had had the experience of hearing his name chanted by a crowd, let alone multiple times. Beside him, Hermione was smiling , one hand on her husband's arm.

'KRUM! KRUM! KRUM!'

It went on for five minutes. By then, the children were brave enough to creep to the edges of the balcony and wave tentatively at the crowd. The Death Eaters, robed but not masked, kept a good eye on them as they did it, and Barty, who'd immediately appointed himself Snape's nurse.

There was a small commotion at the back when the heads of the Conclave pushed forward. The wolves started to come forward but a gesture from Hermione stopped them; the Conclave would not dare move against them with the crowd so obviously in their thrall.

In a way, what happened was worse. The lords dropped to one knee, and stayed there until Viktor, clearly shocked, nodded for them to stand. _'*Please, get up and address the crowd with me.*'_

They stayed kneeling. _'*Lordship, Bulgaria is united for the first time in centuries, and all under your aegis. The people have come out in support of your rule, and your vassals have petitioned to urge your lordship to accept the crown and become our tsar. The Conclave has joined its voice to theirs. Will your lordship not answer the call?*'_

Viktor was whiter than the moon. He visibly wobbled on his hurt foot. Rumen forced himself to freeze, every muscle screaming at him to go and help, go and end this.

The crowd was roaring approval. At one of the lord's signal, two goblins waddled forward, carrying a matched set of crowns on cushions. They offered them up indifferently, seemingly not interested in the affaires of wizards any more than usual.

Rumen felt like vomiting. Oh, little bear. Little bear, I am so sorry.


	95. Chapter 95

**A/N: Love to reviewers and Countess Black**

**One of the lords quotes a gospel but which one eludes me.**

**'Anu' is a gender-neutral name that means 'grace' in Estonian.**

**Sose is Albanian and means 'Enough'.**

Viktor stared at the crowns and wanted, for a second, to burst into tears. He inhaled deeply and shoved down his feelings about this. He needed to stop this before it went too far, that much was obvious. But how?

Hermione's nails were digging into his arm in shock. He reached up to gently squeeze to stop it and she relaxed a bit. The goblins were still holding the crowns unmoving. They were very beautiful crowns.

_'*I am not insensible of the honour that has been paid tonight, my lords, truly. But Bulgaria is a modern country. Surely an autocracy would not be the best proof of that?*'_

_'*Lordship, our country needs a strong leader to unite us. You have proved to be he. Please, take the crown.*'_

_'*Our laws do not allow for one man to hold so much power. The law is inviolable.*'_

_'*Our laws may be changed, lordship. Please, this crown is yours.*'_

Viktor stood up straighter. Mama, if you're there, we need you. _'*I am no tsar, my lords. Please, select something more in keeping with my small talents.*'_

The crowd was going mad with it. The drama, the humility of the lord and lady, the robed Death Eaters watching impassively, it was intoxicating to them.

The lords turned to Hermione. _'*Ladyship, word of your courage has reached every Bulgarian and warmed our hearts. Please, use that courage now and take the crown.*'_

_'*I am greatly honoured, my lords, but lord Krum is correct; we are content to submit to the rule of law.*'_

_'*The law is for the people, not the people for the law, ladyship.*'_

_'*We are not experienced enough in the ways of governing, my lords.*'_

_'*We will help you, ladyship.*'_

Viktor saw Draco, looking quite as shocked as he himself felt, watching the whole thing play out. What was he thinking, he wondered? What were any of them thinking?

_'*My lords*'_ said Hermione firmly '_*your help is most welcome, but I cannot accept a crown. Perhaps we might move this inside?*'_

_'*As you'd like, ladyship.*'_

The crowds were still cheering as they vanished into the Ministry.

The group sailed briskly along the corridor. It no longer seemed strange to Viktor to have Anu walking ahead of him, nor the escort of wolves that Arco and Scabior both flatly insisted was obligatory, but tonight he felt their scrutiny anew, and hated it. They would, he had the sudden dread premonition, never get to be just normal again.

They moved into a large, airy conference room, the crowns sitting at the centre of the table. The goblins had come as well, presumably to protect their property, and took the chairs offered them with ill concealed annoyance.

_'*Good evening, gentlemen. May I ask your names?*_' Viktor smiled at them and the older goblin made a face.

_'*Not that it matters, wizard, but I'm called Strongrope, and my companion is Trueweight.*'_

_'*It's a pleasure. Can I send for some refreshments for you?*'_

Strongrope snorted._ *'Thank you, no. Do try and hurry, if you would. Goblins are not interested in men and their petty struggles.*'_

_'*Show some respect, goblin. You're in the presence of the lord of Bulgaria.*'_

_'*I'm the presence of a boy so young he hardly shaves and a bunch of fools who'd let him lead them because he's got an army.*'_

Viktor laughed out loud. It had been a very long time since anyone had dared be so honest with him, and it was refreshing. Hermione was giggling too, and the others, after an appalled silence, chuckled as well.

_'*Thank you for your honesty, Mr. Strongrope.*'_

_'*Just Strongrope.*'_ The goblins seemed slightly more at ease now, and settled back to watch things play out.

Hermione cleared her throat. _'*Could we ask the lords of the Conclave to withdraw for a few minutes whilst the family discussed matters? And where is lady Batcheva, I don't see her.*'_

An older lord stepped forward. _'*Ladyship, my mother sends her most respectful greetings and begs your pardon. Her lumbago is acting up something terrible these days, she could not rise from bed.*'_

_'*Please tell her we missed her and hope for her speedy recovery.*'_

Elves came and took the children and Barty, which left the immediate family, the vassals, Arco and a few of his top men, Scabior and Alise. and the lieutenants, along with Vaike Kask and a washed out looking Yseult .

_'*Thoughts?*_' Viktor was tired of being articulate and clever. His head was pounding, and his heart, and he just wanted today over, one way or another.

_'*It's a trap.*'_ Uncle Lucius said it as calmly and naturally as he might comment on good weather or a mildly funny joke he'd heard. Every head swivelled to look at him.

_'*It is. Narcissa, Rodolphus, you see it too, don't you?*'_

_'*The thought' _said Aunt Narcissa_ 'crossed my mind, yes.*'_

_'*A trap how, Father?*'_

'_*If they accept, their enemies accuse them of starting the war to increase their personal power, especially since Stefan is dead and Pavel in fear of his life. If they refuse, their enemies say they ignored the call. A no win situation at best.*'_

_'*Very astute, Uncle. Uncle Penko?*'_

_'*They're not wrong, in some ways. We need a strong central power to hold things together. But a tsar? I've my doubts.*'_

_'*For one thing*'_ said Rumen in his measured bureaucrat's voice '_*is that the international community can be pushed only so far. They've tolerated the wolves, but a new monarchy? It will make them nervous.*'_

Hermione was nodding vigorously. _'*Yes, precisely. The balance of power needs to be respected, and we'll have to have allies if the Dark Lord...is getting cool toward us.*'_

'_*Not to mention the massive firestorm that all these students are going to generate. Lithuania is sending me five owls a day, demanding the return of their students at once.*'_ Penko pinched the bridge of his nose tiredly.

_'*Not to mention all those poor people downstairs wanting to know whether their children are alive or dead.*'_ The lists that reflected the final tally after the battle of Castle Dinev was not yet published.

The table got quiet. _'*Are they?*'_

_'*Some of them are. Many of them...we need to do something about that, too, and soon.*'_

_'*That's the next thing on the agenda. Blixo, get the casualty lists, please, and a list of whomever is alive and unhurt. We'll start there.*'_

Hermione was nibbling her lip. '_*Aunt Narcissa, could you help with that? Maybe get the students and parents in a ball room together so they can spend some time together?*_'

_'*Excellent idea. And Yseult as well. Yseult, would you do that?*'_

She nodded, looking very wan, beautiful blonde hair limp. She had circles under her eyes. _'*Yes. Yes, of course.*'_

Rodolphus cleared his throat. _'*God only knows, children, how much we sympathise with those poor people downstairs, but the main thing this second is figuring out this issue with the Conclave.*'_

_'*Drago, what do you think?*'_

_'*Well*_' said Draco, grinning '_*much as I'd like to be able to say I've slept in a snow cave with the tsar and...tsar's wife...of Bulgaria-*'_

_'*Tsarina.*'_

_'*Tsarina of Bulgaria, this could be the straw that broke the hippogriff's back in terms of the Dark Lord. And what about the neutral countries? France is too close to Britain to want to muck about too much with this, I'd think.*'_

_'*And the Germans are a wildcard.*'_

_'*Precisely. And some of the others-Sweden, Denmark, Poland-what they'll do is anyone's guess.*'_

_'*I feel confident the Swedes will want an alliance with us, as will several of the others. We'll need to import significant amounts of things for a while, and something tells me Mr. Lofstrom won't sneeze at that chance.*_'

_'*You think the merchants have that much sway over their local Wizengamots? Or Conclaves?*'_ Lucius Malfoy was clearly enjoying all the talk of economics, nodding his approval at the lord and lady.

_'*I think they will if we make exclusive contracts with them.*'_

_'*Viktor, the treasury is not full. Where will the exchequer find the coin?*'_

_'*It won't. It's customary for a lord to take tribute from his vassals, isn't it? We'll simply take the war tribute we're owed and invest it abroad in things we need.*'_

Everyone was quiet for a second. _'*Viktor, that's...*'_

Hermione was beaming, which made his stomach squirm with pleasure. He liked making her proud of him.

_'*Will it be enough?*'_ Rumen, pragmatic as ever.

_'*It will be if we sweeten the deal with the promise of aid from our army should they need it. If the Dark Lord truly means to move against us, he might start with an ally to prove a point. They'll want to know we'll help them out.*'_

_'*And marriages, of course.*'_

_'*Naturally. We need a list of who has an eligible relative and then we'll set to work on that. Uncle Penko, you're an excellent go-between. Would you do this?*'_

_'*My pleasure.*'_ Penko was still pinching his nose. Hermione called for a pain draught and he swallowed it at once._ '*Thank you, love. Stress headaches are the worst, aren't they?*'_

That motion carried, at least. _'*So what will we do now?*'_

_'*Uncle, isn't there precedent for getting out of this gracefully?*'_

Rumen was tugging his side whiskers thoughtfully. _'*You know, there well might be. Let me look through some books and get back to you in a few hours.*'_

_'*And for now?*'_

Hermione touched his wrist. _'*The country is stable and we've a Ministry full of grieving parents to help. Let's not prolong this for them, Viktor.*'_

_'*Yes.*'_

_'*Uncle, send an elf for whatever books you need.*'_ He rose and the others did as well, except the goblins, who were glowering.

_'*So you won't be needing our products, then?*'_

_'*Take them to your vaults, and if they are needed we'll let you both know. Thank you, Strongrope, Trueweight.*'_

_'*Hmmph, typical waffling wizards.*'_ They took the crowns and started toward the Floo for the bank.

Downstairs, parents of living students were being herded into a ballroom. The doors on the opposite side of the room were thrown open, and hundreds of students poured in.

Narcissa never forgot the sound of it, parents and children finding one another and crying for joy. A large Christmas tree had been set up in a corner, and the rich piney smell clouded the air. It was the happiest bedlam on earth, sobbing parents and children embracing, candles blazing above them and a small orchestra of elves, attached to the Ministry, who had appeared with traditional instruments and started to play softly.

_'Mother!'_

_'Daddy!'_

_'Mum!'_

_'Pa! Pa, it's you!'_

_'My baby!'_

_'Darling!'_

_'Sweetheart, you're alive!'_

Narcissa wiped her damp eyes, thinking of the reunions happening in the basement, reunions of a far worse sort. She was so, so lucky, so incredibly lucky. All those poor parents, the bodies shrouded beneath coarse linen clothes, each with a name written on it...

Draco nearly danced up to her. '_*Mother, this is Madam Kask, and Mr. Kask, her husband.*'_

The Kasks looked startlingly like their children. Both stocky, but Madam Kask was possessed of a striking pair of blue-green eyes, and Mr. Kask a thick head of sandy blond hair. Taken together, it was easy to see them in their twins.

_'*It's an honour, madam.*'_

_'*The honour is mine. Please, let's gets some punch and we'll talk.*_'

Draco bent closer to Vaike, watching them go. _'*I need to go and help them.*'_

_'*Should Paavo and I come?*'_

_'*Not right now. Enjoy your parents.*'_ He slipped from the room, dreading the next thing, his final duty to his fallen peers. Uncle Desmond was there as well, and Madame Maxime, both of them deeply sombre. This was going to be horrible.

Anu appeared from some niche, with Sirius-Salazar in dog form, and they joined the silent parade to the chamber where the dead were laid in silent sleep. Anu looked almost afraid.

_'*Anu, are you all right? Would you rather go to the party?*'_

_'*No, Malfoy. It's the least I can do.*'_ Draco squeezed his shoulder gently in approval and they found Viktor and Hermione, both of them looking like they'd rather be anywhere else.

The parents were in a room, sitting on long benches. When the group entered (Draco saw Aunt Bellatrix and his father in the back, and his uncle Rodolphus as well), everyone rose silently. Most of the parents were weeping, some openly and some covertly.

_'*I cannot begin to tell you how deeply sorry we are for your losses. If there is anything any one of us might do, please don't hesitate to ask. We'll take everyone in tens so people might have some privacy with...with their children.*'_

Draco dreamed some nights of screaming, men and women and children, shrieking and shrieking. Sometimes it was the Ministry, and they screamed whilst they burnt, Hermione's firestorm engulfing them.

Sometimes they were the people of Saranci, Poibene and the others, screaming whilst they trudged in an endless frozen hell. Sometimes they were the women at the first battle of the Ministry, where Aunt Zhivka had fallen, a fan of blood and brains on the marble, face slack.

He knew without a doubt he'd hear it tonight, and a great many other nights as well. Anu's stories added to the chorus, and this, he thought, would add a whole new section, an impression confirmed by bringing in the first ten families.

_'Oh God no!'_

_'My son, my son!'_

Most of them couldn't form words at all. They wailed, ripped their clothes, pounded their heads, cradled their children in their arms. Some of them wanted to speak to one or all of them, or none of them.

More students came filtering down, many with parents in tow. The bereaved, recognising faces they knew, pounced, hugging, crying, demanding to know what had happened in the final moments of their children's lives.

The stories would be told and retold, passed through the generations of families and acquiring, over the years, the patina of near-legend. Courageous charges, stopping to help a wounded classmates, self-sacrifices, last words, final thoughts of home and Mother. The ugly truths of things were obscured for the moment, and allowed to slip away; the screams, the burns, the horrors of the breach at Castle Dinev.

The Kasks appeared as well, and Draco watched, relieved, as Vaike and Paavo helped manage the crowd. Especially Paavo, with his maimed foot and his air of fierce pride in what had been done here.

The Heads, too, were there, trying to offer what comfort they could. The Headmaster, especially, had a knack with them. It was he whom the woman slapped.

Draco couldn't quite believe it when it happened. One moment she was weeping and the next she had cracked Desmond Feathering across the face hard enough that her ring cut his cheek.

Draco's feet carried him seemingly on their own. He got there at the same time as Viktor and Paavo, and also Madame Maxime, who reached down and gently pulled the woman away to make sure she couldn't hit a second time.

_'*WHY DID YOU LET HIM GO? YOU KILLED MY SON!*'_

Hermione moved with as much dignified haste as she could and approached fearlessly. The woman was still screaming and writhing, trying to kick, trying to claw.

Paavo, leaning on his stick, gently tapped her shoulder and she moved aside.

_'*Madam, your son wanted to go. We had a choice and we took it. Your son is Hans Espe, isn't he?*'_

_'*Y-yes.*_'

_'*He was one of the first over the walls, madam. I saw him fall myself. He was defending one of the ladies of Beauxbatons who had been hurt.*'_

The woman's sobbing kept on but her muscles were relaxing. Kask pressed on, clearly in pain from his foot.

_'*It was Hans and Bendiks Celms who dragged me to safety after my foot was hurt. I owe your son a great debt.*'_

The woman wailed and launched herself at Paavo, hugging his neck, sobbing into his chest. Paavo nodded and the other backed off a bit, pointedly finding something else to look at.

_'*Why did you go?*'_ A red eyed man in tatty looking robes spoke in a soft, hoarse voice. He was French, and his daughter had died when her ship had been hit during the battle at the Ministry.

_'*Why did any of you go?*'_

_'*Because it was the right thing to do. We knew a lot of innocent people were dying and felt we had to help them.*'_

_'*You all knew what this was going to be?*'_

_'*Every one of us.*'_

The man nodded. '_*Celine was all I had in the world. She must have been so frightened, when her ship was struck.*'_

Hermione's eyes were wet. _'*It was instantaneous. They didn't know, monsieur.*'_

_'*Her mother...she always said Celine would do great things. Thank God Marie did not live to see this day.*'_

_'*Your daughter*'_ said Alise quietly '*_went to help strangers in a foreign land because she knew them to be suffering. It is a testament to your love for her, that she felt such love for others.*'_

The man was weeping in loud gulps. A wolf came and gently led him away so others might come and the process might start again.

Uncle Desmond was rubbing his cheek. Draco was relieved that the ordeal had taken a pause, even one as short as this.

_'Uncle, your face?'_

_'It could have been worse, boy.'_

How, Draco wanted to ask him, what's worse than this? He closed his eyes for a moment and heard the first screams start in his mind.

The whole process took some seven hours. At the end, the group was totally drained. None of them thought they could sleep, and so they slipped off in ones and twos, trying to recharge their spent energy.

Vaike Kask and Alise had their own charge to carry out. Along with two elves and a third brought to help, they Portkeyed to Tirana and then Apparated to a small village high in the mountains.

Anu hadn't been joking. Eighty percent of the village was a blackened ruin, even now. Most of the survivors had left, no doubt. They followed their directions until they found a small shelter, a single room built, lean-to like, against the side of the cave.

An elf ventured in and returned a moment later with a small, slim woman blinking sleep from her eyes. She looked perhaps forty, and it took them a moment to realise this had to be Anu's mother. A hard life had driven the youth from her.

_'*Madam Tamm?*'_

She nodded once, eyes nailed to the ground. Alise made sure to move very slowly so the woman could track her motions.

_'*Are you the mother of Anu Tamm?*'_

_'*I am. Is he all right? My son?*'_

_'*Your son is a hero. Lord Krum of Bulgaria has sent for you so you might share in his triumph with your son.*'_

Her head snapped up. _'*My Anu? He's at school. Durmstrang. It's a different boy you're thinking of.*'_

_'*No, madam. Your Anu is with us. He sent this as proof.*'_ She held out the charm Anu had traded Draco in return for his Portkey and Madam Tamm gasped, hand to her throat.

_'*Is this really happening?*'_

_'*It is. We've brought elves to tend your flocks. Will you come with us?*'_

Madam Tamm nodded once. Five minutes later, her worldly goods in a sheepskin bag on her back, she put her hand in the elf and let herself be Apparated away from the village that had been her home for twelve years.

Anu woke up feeling like something had happened. He had fallen asleep on a chair with Salazar next to him, comforting him with small friendly grumbles and chuffs. The comfort of the dog's undemanding, easy presence had allowed Anu to rest a bit, forgetting the things he'd seen and heard that day.

He felt a hand on his arm, opening his eye in response. '_*H'lo, Superintendent. Everything all right?*'_

Superintendent nodded. _'*I need some help with something, Anu. Could I ask you to come with me?*'_

_'*Course. Hello, Miss.*'_

_'*Hello, Anu.*'_ Miss stopped to fix his collar and make him drag a comb through his hair. '_*Did you have a good rest?*'_

_'*Salazar stayed with me. He's a good dog.*'_

'*He is that. In here, Anu*.' Malfoy was there too, and he smiled, opening the door.

_'Nene!'_

_'Anu!_' He ran toward his mother and she ran to him. Nene looked well, he thought, burying his face in her shoulder. She hugged him hard, hard as he could ever remember, and was crying.

_'*Nene, don't cry! We're all right! Malfoy took care of me.*'_

She stepped back and took his head in her hands. '_*Anu, your eye!*'_

_'*I know, I know, but they're going to fix the socket and I've even got an eyepatch, a nice one!*_' He dug in his pocket to show her, and Nene wiped her cheeks and stood up.

_'*Malfoy, come meet my Nene.*'_

Malfoy bowed. '_*It's an honour, madam. Your son saved my life.*'_

_'*He did?*'_

_'*He and Paavo Kask did, yes.*'_

Anu's mother was named Sose, and she had had a very difficult life. Disowned at fifteen after the attack that gave her the child that became Anu, she had found a village that allowed her to stay after months of wandering. She'd delivered him herself in the lean-to, which had once housed a hermit, cutting the cord with a blunt knife and wrapping him in her shawl, crying and slick with blood.

In the village she had found a place that tolerated but didn't welcome her. They used her skills but made it clear she would never be one of them, and so she had given her son the name of an ancestor, an Estonian who had come to Albania with nothing and risen in the world.

Now, at twenty seven, standing with that same son-the boy she had been exiled for, the son that she had named Grace in the hopes that some would rub off -she sat down in the nearest chair and stared, totally overwhelmed.

Anu pulled back, not quite sure what to do. He looked at Malfoy. Wasn't she happy? Malfoy tugged his arm gently.

_'*Give her time, Anu. She's had an awful shock.*'_

_'*But this is good.*'_

_'*It's a lot, is all.*_' Anu nodded, troubled, and patted Salazar, who mumured comfortingly and nudged him with his big, shaggy head, grinning.

It was a very strange night, to say the least. Anu's mother, who had started the day living by herself in a lean-to in an obscure village, was now an honoured guest of the most feared man in Europe, a man who had the improbable notion she could somehow teach him anything.

More accurately, that she could teach a number of women, burnt out of their villages as she and Anu had been, to make water bags such as she made to sell at regional markets.

He wanted loads of them, and moreover, that man's wife (who was very young and quite pretty in the way she herself had once been) had another proposal, even stranger and less probable than the first.

_'*We've a castle, you see, standing empty. The lord won't be able to take it over for some time. He's nine years old at the moment.*'_

Anu's Nene (her given name was Sose because she was the third daughter and her family had wanted a boy) nodded slowly. She wasn't quite sure how she was supposed to react, but she wanted to show them she was interested in their plight, bizarre though it was.

_'*Would you be willing to act as our housekeeper in the intervening years?*'_

_'*Housekeeper?*'_

_'*You would oversee the elves and make sure things are running smoothly. And help with the bags, of course.*'_

She nodded slowly again. She had no feelings about leaving the village, she found; her home was her son and her small flock and being able to make enough to live on. Now, like a dream, all those things were taken care of. Was this happening?

It was. She slumped against the back of her chair, feeling distinctly peaky. There was no question of accepting; it was just that her good fortune was making her dizzy. Her luck, it seemed, was finally on the rise. She smiled at her son, the little bit of grace in a very hard life, and felt herself the most fortunate woman in the world.

Madam Tamm was coughing. It was a wet hack that made Hermione's hackles rise. She looked at Snape, who nodded his consent. He'd look at it, and perhaps show her how to help her son with his eye.

_'*Madam, your cough needs to be looked at. Would it be all right if Professor Snape examined you? And your son's eye?*'_

Madam Tamm looked half panicked, and Hermione wondered how to fix this until Mother, of all people, spoke up. '_*I'll come as well. Snape can look at my, er, bones.*'_

Snape nodded gravely. '_*If you would come with me, ladies...*'_ Leaning on his stick, he led the way, Salazar walking beside Anu.

The group watched them go. Penko had slipped in and smiled approvingly at their backs. '_*That was extraordinarily generous of you, my lord and lady.*'_

_'*I think these bags could be the key to helping restart our economy, Uncle.*'_

Penko cocked a brow. '_*They're good bags, to be sure, but how do you figure that?*'_

Hermione's neck was stiff with stress. She would ask Viktor to massage it later, she decided._ '*If we're to have an army, Uncle, they need to be outfitted properly. Having their own water skins are a very good start.*'_

Viktor was nodding. '_*And perhaps our allies will want to buy some as well.*'_

_'*I don't quite follow.*'_

Hermione and Viktor looked at one another and came to the same conclusion. Viktor warded the room whilst Hermione muffled everything, making sure that only the group could hear the next part.

_'*If they're going to send people to join us, they might.*'_

_'*Join our army?*'_

Hermione nodded, feeling the excitement of the idea they'd generated during one of their talks at bedtime. '_*A pan-Balkan army. Pan-European, even.*'_

The room was very, very quiet. _'*What you're suggesting is unprecedented.*'_

_'*Only an idea, Uncle Penko. Nothing solid yet.*'_

_'*No, but still, most interesting.*'_ Penko looked like he was chewing this over, not displeased but definitely thoughtful.

_'*You know Uncle Rumen is the new Minister, don't you?*'_

_'*I'd rather guessed.*'_

_'*Would you be willing to take over the Conclave, and act as the public face of things?*'_

Penko nodded at once. _'*I was hoping you'd ask. I quite want to match wits with lady Batcheva. She's a tough old harpy.*'_

_'*It's part of her charm.*'_

Penko leant toward his nephew. '_*Once this thing with the Conclave is taken care of, Viktor, we should talk. Rumen and you and I.*'_

_'*And Hermione.*_' Viktor sounded utterly sure, and Hermione was more than willing, but she was dreading that conversation. She knew what it was about, and she felt terribly hurt on Viktor's behalf that Father Krum was not there.

_'*If you'd like.*'_

The group finally broke for sleep a few hours before dawn. Hermione got her neck rub, and then reciprocated, scolding her husband sternly about getting his foot checked again. He'd finally got it healed but she could tell, from the way he grimaced, that he needed more pain potion than he was taking.

_'You're going to end up needing bedrest if you keep this up.'_

_'Need bedvrest now.'_

_'Me, too.'_ She put her head on his chest and snuggled in, feeling very calm, wrapped in the comforting warmth of bedding and body heat. He reached up and stroked her hair.

_'I do not vant to talk vith the uncles about Father, you know.'_

_'Why not?'_

He shrugged, careful not to jar her head._ 'Don't know. There is too much there. Lots of feelings.'_

_'I don't blame you.'_

_'Vonce everything is calm, ve should go to the house in the rose valley for a vhile, just you and I.'_

_'And Bess.'_

_'And Crookshanks.'_

_'And Rinky.'_

He snorted. _'And volves, and Drago, and Vaike...'_

_'We should hide somewhere. Then maybe we could be alone.'_

_'No. Probably ve get attacked by troll. Our luck is not good, Herm-on-nee-knee.'_

They both laughed a little, and went to sleep not long after. When Rumen woke them at nine, they were glad to hear he had the answer, but it rather complicated things as well.

Still, it was a relief, and that was something, wasn't it?


	96. Chapter 96

**A/N: Love to reviewers and Countess Black**

**Special thanks to my friend K for her help.**

**_Besa_ is an idiomatic concept that really has no English translation. My understanding is that it encompasses personal honour and adherence to traditional hospitality but also means more than that, and has to do with one's standing in the community and as a person.**

**The spellings are not terribly consistent because I'm on a borrowed machine again.**

**Two days later:**

There were boxes everywhere. The elves were stacking them carefully in the family's rooms, and then the corridors, and then taking them back to Castle Krum, and still they piled up in profusion.

Sose Tamm walked carefully amongst them, flanked by dogs. She looked better than she had even two days earlier. Snape's potions and the firm insistence of the elves on nutrition potions and good food was already helping. Her skin looked rosier and her cough was much improved.

Her son was with her, carrying a crowbar. He looked very well too, taller and heavier than when she had seen him last. He had had his first visit with an impressively bearded medi-wizard who had explained what had to be done. He was going tonight to get the first part of the reconstruction done, and walked with a bounce, flanked by two of the big dogs that seemed to be everywhere.

The huge black one, especially, was always there. Sose had her doubts at first, because it was just so big a dog, but Anu clearly adored it-adored all of them-and she had to admit, she'd never met friendlier, better behaved dogs.

What had decided her was coming into the courtyard that morning and finding her son, with the lord and his blond cousin, speaking about something. Anu was chasing the dog and getting chased back, and as Sose watched, carefully packed a snowball and let it fly.

It hit the blond one-Malfoy, she thought the name was-in the side of the head, and she gasped aloud. Her son would be beaten, or worse for striking someone as highborn as the lord's cousin. What was Anu thinking? How could he possibly-?

To her shock, Malfoy had casually launched snow right back, and somehow kept speaking like nothing had happened. Then, having said his piece, he'd pounced, and within minutes the courtyard was a flailing conglomeration of limbs and laughter and the boys and dogs wrestled a bit, letting some of their pent-up tension out.

Anu finally stood, giggling, and gave the dog's nose an affectionate swat. '_*Nene! Help!*_'

_'*You started it.*'_

The older boys, seemingly abashed, bowed and asked how her sleep had been. She had shared a room with three girls, friends of the lady's. One of them, she thought vaguely, was Malfoy's intended, or something.

The dog bounded up to her, bowing on his front paws. Sose had had dogs set on her before, and feared them, but would it be rude to refuse to pet this one? She extended a hand and the dog nosed it lightly. It's eyes were big and deep, and it didn't seem to want to hurt her.

_'*This is Salazar, Nene. He's a special English kind of dog.*'_

_'*He's very handsome.*'_

_'*And smart, too. He found Vata for us.*'_

_'*Vata is the boy who was burnt?*'_

_'*Yes.*'_

Salazar returned to her son's side and put big paws on his shoulder, like a hug. Anu laughed again and patted the dog's flank affectionately. Sose was tempted to remind him that dogs were not clean animals, but she decided against it. Was it not possible that this dog was some sort of guardian, sent to ward off ill-luck? It was not for Sose to question the will of the Universe. If it pleased the Powers that Be to send a haraam animal like a dog to watch her son, who was she to dispute it?

Now, son and haraam animals in tow, Sose watched as Anu carefully levered open a crate. It was full of tins. He looked at one and shook his head.

_'*Don't know.*'_

_'*Is caviar, Master Anu*'_ said an elf. Sose and Anu both looked for the source of the voice and saw a spindly little elf in a large snowy-white tea towel moving toward them.

_'*Caviar?*'_

_'*Fish roe from sturgeon fish. Is very good.*'_ The elf looked mistily at the tins as Sose and her son both considered this.

_'*Fish eggs? They sent fish eggs for the Superintendent?*'_

_'*Is very good.*'_

_'*Ugh.*'_ Anu made a face and Sose frowned sternly, looking askance at the stuff herself.

_'*If you get offered some, Anu, you eat it. It's probably good for you. Sea food is.*'_

_'*If it's good for you, why not let the little fish grow up, then? They'd be even better cooked, Nene.*'_

Sose could hardly dispute the logic of that and decided to move onto the next crate. Anu pried the lid off and revealed stacks of shawls, worked in fantastic designs. Sose's hands were gnarled and swollen from chilblains and a lifetime of hard labour, but she couldn't resist giving the topmost one a stroke. Soft, she thought, like for a baby. It would be a very lucky baby, swathed in such fine wool.

The spindly old elf followed them silently, sometimes helping Anu with the tops of things, and writing down in English everything that they uncovered. Fine boots, stacks of scented gloves, flowers, feathers, pelts, cheeses, wine, fans, woolens, other mysterious objects Sose dared not even guess at, all of them sent from the four corners of the Wizarding world as tribute and a sign of friendship.

Anu seemed to take these things as a matter of course, and even know what some of them were. _'*That's dragon's bone, Nene*'_ he said, pointing to a game with a board in black and white, with matching men. She touched one, a black one, and felt the warmth in it, even now.

_*What's_ the white?*'

_'*Ivory. From an elephant, I think.*'_

_'*You've learnt a lot here, Anu_.*'

_'*Some. And I got to teach them how to make the bags. We made a lot of them.*'_

_'*Did they work?*_'

_'*Seemed to. No complaints that I heard of. Had to use goat hides for some of them, though.*'_

He carefully opened another crate and revealed glassware, so fine neither of them dared touched any of it. Sose shook her head, wondering what use it could be when it would break the first time it was dropped.

_'*Mr. Elf, should we do the others?*'_

'_*Being Rinky, Miss's maid. No, Master Anu, lunch is being too soon. Maybe come and freshen up?*_'

_'*Have you always been here?*'_

_'*Rinky is coming this morning with Miss's cat and letters from England.*'_ The elf seemed sad when he talked about England. Sose had heard there were problems, and wished she could help somehow.

Did it have something to do with the baby's absence? She had sent the charm as thanks for the family's kindness to her son, and she couldn't imagine they'd left the baby elsewhere by choice. What could it be?

She waited until the elf was occupied counting jars of something and asked her son in untranslated Albanian. Anu looked down, which meant he didn't like what he was about to tell her.

_'Their leader wouldn't let them bring the baby_.'

_'Is he sick?'_

Babies often catch chills and things, she knew, but surely they could given him some medicine or something. It wasn't good for him not to be able to nurse, everyone knew that.

_'I don't think so. I think…their leader has no _besa_, Nene.'_

_'Anu! What a thing_ to say.'

He shook his head, rejecting the scolding. _'No, it's true. He was supposed to send aurors and didn't.'_

Sose couldn't credit that, even as her son told her the whole story. She straightened up, spine worn from so many years of carrying piles of skins, and tried to imagine what it would be like to have one's child taken captive by a man with no _besa_.

'_I can't imagine what Madam Lestrange is going through right now.'_

_'Superintendent will get the baby back, Nene, don't worry.'_

Sose hoped so, and though she didn't know it, decades later, this is what Anu Tamm, the second Skanderbeg, would picture as he prepared to end it with Sepp, the latter gibbering and screeching, Anu's palms damp with sweat, his bad eye sending spikes of phantom pain into his brain, and then he flashed on Nene's face when he told her about the baby and swung his arm like Malfoy had taught him and Sepp reeled back, his heart pulverized in his chest, eyes rolling, and Anu, without being aware of it, thought of men with no _besa_ and stolen children and felt fiercely glad that Sepp was dead.

The elf appeared, ears flapping as he bowed._ '*Lunch is being served, Madam Sose, Master Anu. Rinky is showing?*'_

_'*Please do.*'_

Hermione set down her quill when she heard the dog's chuffing. She rose to greet the Tamms and gasped when her beloved Rinky came into view. She tried not to run to him, managing to keep it to a brisk trot. She flung both arms about him, laughing.

_'*Rinky!*'_

_'*Miss! Rinky is coming! Brought bad cat!*'_

_'*I've missed you so much!*'_

She made herself release her stalwart little friend and step back, still giggling. Rinky tried to look disapproving but she could see, in the slight curve of his lips and the way his ears were twitching, that he was happy.

_'*And you've brought Crooks with you?*'_

_'*Crookshanks is bad cat! Pounced Rinky!*'_

_'*Oh, dear. Could you bring him? I've missed him as well.*'_

The cat was duly brought forth, looking as squashy and orange as ever. He glanced about himself, disgruntled at the change, and leapt onto his Girl to sniff her all over. He nuzzled into her neck and purred, fluffing his ruff so he'd look his handsomest. Hermione hugged her, murmuring with pleasure at the solidness and comfort of his soft, heavy body.

Crookshanks blatted an interrogative, and Hermione said _'*Anu and his mother, Crookshanks, remember?*'_

The cat blatted once more, haughtily reminding her that he had a lot on his mind and couldn't be expected to keep up with every human he had. He allowed himself to be lowered, tail swishing grumpily, and went to mark the latest additions to his menagerie of humans needing help.

Hermione took a second to straighten her scarf and tug down her sleeves before she started for the door. The Tamms followed her, and the dogs, and her dear Rinky holding Crookshanks, who grumbled loudly at the indignity but tolerated it.

_'*Are you nervous, Miss? About tomorrow?*'_

Hermione lifted her skirts a bit, doing a bit of grumbling of her own over the ridiculousness of having crates of luxury goods in the corridors and no time to have her (borrowed) clothing tailored to actually fit her.

_'*A little, Anu. You?*_'

_'*Yes, Miss. I'm afraid I'll drop the banner. Or trip on a cobble. My bad eye, you know?*'_

_'*Salazar will guide you on your bad side, and even if you do fall, Anu, you'll just get back up again, isn't it?*'_

_'*It is. And Nene's going to stay here and rest.*'_

Madam Tamm had looked so terrified at the idea of being any part of the procession that Snape had found a medical reason she needed to rest in bed. Her cough wouldn't be benefited by all that cold air anyhow.

_'*Miss?*'_

_'*Hmm?*'_

_'*Do I change what I call you now? And Superintendent?*'_

_'*No, Anu. In fact, since you and your mother are going to help us, why don't you call me Hermione?*'_

_'*Really?*'_

_'*In private. And ask Viktor about what you should call him, I wouldn't want to speak for him in this.*'_

_'*All right, M—Her—mone-ee.*'_

_'*Yourself as well, Madam Tamm, if you'd like.*'_

_'*Sose.*'_

The dining room was absolutely buzzing. Hermione could see how full the table was, and she suspected it would only get fuller. She smiled at the Tamms and stepped inside, wondering how it was in England.

It was tense. At the moment, the Wizengamot was in closed chambers. Metellus Travers was sitting in the galley, missing nothing as the men and smattering of women debated what was to come next.

Beside him, Archie Mulciber and Antonin Dolohov were likewise observing. One of the benefits of being in the Inner Circle was that literally nothing was closed to one, and so the three were alone on the big oak benches, jotting little notes to themselves and observing a companionable ignorance of the others' presence.

Jonas Avery's blandly handsome face appeared at the door, followed the rest of him. He gestured and the three rose and slipped outside without a sound. Avery looked nervous, hands flapping a bit. Travers grimaced mentally-no better bloke for helping a fellow out than Avery, but he could be such an old maid about things.

'His Lordship is not happy.'

'Not happy with what, Jonas?'

Avery's hands were still moving. 'This thing with Bulgaria. We just got news there's going to be some of big to-do in a day's time.'

Dolohov's long face got even longer. 'A coronation, Jonas?'

'We don't know, Uncle. Probably. The Bulgarians are not being forthcoming about it.'

'What about that reporter, lad? Your mistress, Metellus, isn't she?'

'Madam Skeeter, yes.' His mouth had gone dry. If Rita did something to anger the Dark Lord…

Avery was shaking his head. 'No, no, she's fine. It's the Krums He's angry with.'

'They won't tell her anything?'

'They won't see her. After this thing, they said.'

'So they're keeping us ignorant until what it is has been done, is that it?'

'Apparently.'

Yes, that would do it. Travers understood why Avery looked so nervous now. Dolohov clapped his nephew's shoulder.

'You did what you could, Jonas. Let Archie and I take care of the Dark Lord, hmm?'

'I'll go to Feathering and talk to Krum Sr. Perhaps he'll let something slip.'

Mulciber snorted. 'Watch out for Madam Lestrange. She's an ogre.'

'She's ancient. I'm sure I'll be fine, Arch.'

'We'll see.' Archie Mulciber bowed and ambled off for the Floo. They watched him go, and Travers, taking a deep breath, went to go face down the frail gorgon at Feathering.

Four hours later, he found Walden Mcnair in a quiet pub near the Ministry, drinking a glass of porter with a reflective look on his face. His head was gleaming in the light with what might have been perspiration. Travers sat down and nodded to the barman, who brought him a pint and made himself scarce.

'Walden?'

'Hello, Metellus. How did it go?'

Travers shuddered. 'She's a gorgon. Spent twenty minutes grilling me about who was grandmamma was and then wouldn't let me see either of the others.'

'Or Feathering?'

'No, I saw Feathering. He threw me out.'

Mcnair choked on his beer. 'Sorry?'

'I tried to press and he demanded I leave before he had to challenge me.'

Mcnair nodded slowly. 'Of course. How unfortunate.'

'Don't give me that look, Walden. You go and deal with them and see whether you think it funny.'

'Suppose we should both go. I'll protect you from those terrible awful pensioners, all right?'

Travers nodded. 'Let's have another first, shall we?'

They took their drinks to the back room, warding it against potential listeners. Macnair looked round and set down his mug with a clink.

'I like this Bulgarian thing less and less each day, Metellus.'

Travers sipped his porter. 'It's weird, to be sure. I never had the impression any of them were especially bright, to be honest. Nice enough, but you know, not the brains of things.'

'It would seem we were wrong in that.'

'Quite.'They drank silently for a time, until Walden said with finality

'The Dark Lord means to send them a gift of some kind. Trouble is, what do we send them? Be a damned sight easier if we knew what they were.'

'There's not been any word from the boy?'

'None. Just official statements. He's not written a word to his father.'

'Weird.' Travers drained the tankard and set it down on the table. 'Shall we?'

They did.

Twenty minutes later, Mcnair smiled tightly at him and set down the saucer. The large bouquet of flowers they'd brought had been resentfully arranged in a silver vase and set on an small table.

'So you see, madam, we got off on the wrong foot.'

'Hmmph.'

'So perhaps we could prevail on you to summon Krum so we might congratulate him.'

'Yes, indeed, madam. Walden is wholly right, we should all like to meet with Mr. Krum and ask him to share our joy.'

'No.'

'Pardon?'

The old woman drew herself up haughtily, gimlet eyes flatly hostile. 'I believe you heard me, young man. Mr. Krum is not well at all, and I shan't disturb him.'

'Then perhaps we ought to summon a medi-wizard.'

'If that should become necessary, I will do so.'

'And the baby?' Everyone knew that Lestrange's baby was with the old woman and Krum's mad father. Travers would actually have liked to have seen little Edric. Wizarding people love children and he thought a baby to dandle and play with might have lightened the atmosphere.

'Also well.'

'Could we not stop in to see him?'

'Edric has had a slight cough.'

Her voice was like ice, and Travers felt a wave of admiration that she had managed to cow not one but three Death Eaters so neatly and effectively. If this woman had run their war in Wales, they would have been home in a week's time.

A door creaked open and a man shuffled in. It took Travers a moment to realise it was Martin Krum. His once virile salt and pepper hair was now wholly white, and he moved as though he was decades older, bending stiffly from his hips as he sat down.

_'*Gentlemen, hello. Are they bothering you, madam_?*'

_'*Not at all.*'_

Madam Lestrange was fixing them both with a glare that had the wily malice of a house elf. Travers was glad it was Lestrange and not he that had to live with the old harpy.

_'*I understand, Krum, that you are to be congratulated.*'_

_'*Not I, sir. Viktor. Viktor is to be congratulated.*'_

_'*Quite an accomplishment, uniting a country.*'_

_'*He always was a good boy.*_'

Krum shifted in his chair and an elf appeared with a mug of some sort of strong smelling tisane, which the man took and sipped from with a grimace.

_'*No doubt. Tell us, what is the word from Sofia?*'_

_'*I don't know.*'_

Both men tried to conceal their frustration. All the mail going in and out of the country was monitored, of course, but they'd hoped that Krum himself might reveal some alternate source of information.

_'*You do know there's to be a celebration tomorrow?*'_

_'*Yes. Rumen wrote and told me.*'_

Travers leant over and dropped his voice a bit. _'*The Dark Lord wants to send a gift for your son and daughter in law, Krum. What would be the most appropriate choice, do you think? Walden and I are in charge of the committee, you see.*'_ His tone implied this was important and secretive, and Mcnair got it at once, nodding.

'_*Books, probably. They both like to read.*'_

_'*Yes, of course, but we mean…what gift would be appropriate to a tsar, do you think?*'_

Krum seemed to consider that a long time._ '*I don't know about a tsar, sir. Only my son.*'_

_'*Then your son will not be tsar?*'_

_'*That depends on him, I expect.*'_

Krum seemed unconcerned with the whole thing. He drank his tisane and the clock ticked unseen. The room felt like a rehearsal for death.

Well, thought Travers, we'll just need to find another way. Mcnair seemed ready to chew through his own arm, and so they gave one another a final commiserating glance and plowed ahead.

Travers felt a whopping headache, and what was worse, a whopping cockstand. And Rita, the person who might have done away with both, was in the frozen wasteland that had spawned Krum. He hoped she, at least, was having an easier time of it.

Krum finished his tisane and stood up. _'*If you'll excuse me, gentlemen, I've a headache. I will go and lie down. If you should hear from my son, please remind him to bring Zhivka roses. She always loved roses.*'_ He shuffled out.

The smothering cloak of silence pressed over them again. Whatever thing walked here walked alone, thought Travers, shivering, and made as though to rise. Mcnair stood as well.

'Good day, madam.'

'Yes, good day.'

The old woman said nothing, eyes hard as chips of jet, the ticking clock the only sound in a room that had the aspect of a yawning tomb.

In Bulgaria, silence would have been welcome. The Ministry was never silent these days, and never dark. In light and noise, the works of the state moved quickly, and with them the lives of every Wizarding Bulgarian.

At a table in the Minister's private sitting room, the family was grouped about a table, going over the plans for the next day. Rumen put down the list and massaged his temples, sighing.

_'*So we'll arrive at the cathedral by no later than eleven, and ideally be done by two. Then we'll come back here and rest until the ball, does that sound all right to everyone?*'_

Viktor nodded slowly. Hermione was opening and closing her hand in a way that meant it was bothering her. Her new ring, emergency commissioned from the very smug looking Strongrope, glittered in the light. He marked the motion for discussion and then nodded to Rumen Bulgarian style.

_'*I think that should be fine. Hermione?*'_

Flex. Flex. _'*I'll have a meal ready for us. Have we worked out an etiquette for things yet?*'_

_'*Etiquette?*'_ His eyes were burning with exhaustion and his foot was throbbing, but it could be worse. It could be tomorrow. He curled his toes in his boot and wished he was taking a hot bath. That would ease some of the tension.

_'*How do people greet us now? What happens when we enter a room? We need to make that sort of thing is consistent with the image we're trying to project.*'_ She was still flexing her hand.

Aunt Narcissa reached over and took her niece's hand, frowning at it._ '*Rumen, do the documents say?*'_

_'*No. That isn't the sort of thing people worried about recording then.*'_

_'*Then we'll have to invent it, won't we?*'_

She sounded determined in a way Viktor recognized as the Final Word on something. Viktor respected that, because he had come to see that warfare was as much words and symbols as troops and supplies. He flashed on giving Draco his gilded grass crown and thought about all the things it meant.

The elves brought in tumblers of violet water and Penko stood, raising the glass. _'*To the Lord Protector of Bulgaria and his wife, the Vicereine.*_' The room echoed the toast and downed their violet water.

Aunt Narcissa bent over and said something softly to Hermione, who nodded. The ladies departed, off on some mysterious female errand, with Sose Tamm trailing like a ghost.

Viktor swallowed hard. '_*Uncle Rumen? Uncle Penko? I could use a snack, couldn't you?*'_

The other two exchanged looks and nodded. Viktor caught Draco's eye and he nodded as well, mumuring something to Tamm, who obediently trotted after him, looking excited.

The Death Eaters made their excuses, and the three Krum men walked to the kitchens, where elves were working feverishly to make sure everything was ready for the celebration the next day.

They were delighted to make up some plates for the Krum men, so toting platters of roast chicken and potatoes, they sat at a table and tried to find a way to broach the impossibly painful subject of Martin.

'Tomorrow is a big day.'

'Yes. I've decided to spend part of tonight at the cathedral. The monks are chanting and I'd like to go and listen.' At his request, monasteries all over Bulgaria were spending the night singing for the souls of his fallen comrades, and for Hermione's and his success as rulers of the new Bulgaria.

'Will Hermione go?'

'No. She needs some time with her family, I think.'

'Did you want her to be here for this, Viktor?'

'I did, but like I said, we both need a bit of time to process all this.' He munched some chicken and watched the happy bustle of the elves, who were singing in reedy little voices as they worked.

'We need to get together as a group and figure out how to handle this at some point, you know.'

'Yes. But they only ever knew him like this. We all knew him before.'

Rumen's hands were clenching into fists. It reminded Viktor slightly of Hermione. He raised an eyebrow and his uncle relaxed ever so slightly.

'Your father loves you, Viktor. He always has. He's not…this isn't him.'

'I know.' Unlike his grief for his mother, his grief for his father was complex, salted liberally with worries about the future and dense with pockets of anger and resentment, even a few of outright hatred.

'He would have come. Did Eugenia say anything to you about what happened?'

Viktor shook his head. Rumen took up the story, telling him about the ghastly scene in the parlour.

'So he stayed as a captive?'

'Yes. Otherwise they would have sent the baby to Thorfinn Rowle. I don't know much about him, but the things I've heard are not…ideal for Edric.'

'You think they'd have hurt him?'

'Of their own volition? Probably not. They've a young daughter themselves, apparently. But if the Dark Lord commanded it? Yes, I think Rowle would do it.' If Rumen spoke ill of someone, one knew he meant it.

'So we'll need to find a way to get Edric out.'

'He's safe enough at the moment. But I wouldn't put it past the Dark Lord to arrange an accident. A firebombing by radicals, an outbreak of something, an attack by rogue werewolves.'

'And it won't look right for the Dark Lord to have my father captive. It looks weak.'

Both uncles nodded agreement. 'That, too' agreed Penko immediately, and then seemed to pause to find his thoughts. 'But mainly it's the Dark Lord.'

'It will come to war, you think?'

'I hope he's not that self-destructive, Viktor. But I…yes, I think it will. Not today or tomorrow, but in our lifetimes.'

'If we organise a pan-Balkan army…'

'Then it might be the impetus he needs to lead the Western Europeans against us.'

'The Germans and French are neutral.'

'For now. If we can't win them over, then they might feel scared enough to declare for the Dark Lord.'

'What about Romania?'

'Romania's in a bad way no matter what happens.' Penko sounded pleased by this, and Viktor decided to ask later. 'They've boxed themselves into a corner by sending Pavel to help Stefan.'

'They've got all those exiles.' Were there enough to mobilise against Bulgaria with the right leader?

'That too, but right now they've also got very few friends willing to take their part. And if your plan comes out like you think it will, they'll have even fewer.'

'It was really Hermione's plan. If we're going to get into this, we should wait for her, in point of fact.'

Viktor liked that his uncles respected his unique bond with his wife. They shifted the conversation to mundane matters until he finally forced himself to confront the unpleasantness head-on.

'If we should rescue Father, what then?'

'What do you mean, Viktor?' Rumen looked uneasily about himself and gnawed a wing, clearly not liking the turn in the conversation.

'I mean…I don't know, but it's…God.' He lowered his head into his hands and breathed deeply. Every injury he'd ever had hurt all at once. He had a sudden premonition in his bones that made him shiver.

'Viktor?'

'It's nothing. If there's nothing else, uncles…'

'No, please go. Whom are you taking?'

'Arco and Scabior. They quite like one another, I'm given to understand.

'Excellent. When were you thinking you'd repatriate Pavel?'

'Soon. A few days, a week, perhaps. I'd like him fed up a bit and walking normally.'

Rumen chuckled. 'What, Viktor, you want him rosy cheeked and smiling?'

'I want to prove to the world were not savages, Uncle. The best way to do that is to show a man who's clearly not been tortured.'

'True enough.'

'Uncle Penko, would you mind checking up on him tonight? The elves say he's fine, but it might be nice for him to have a bit of conversation.'

'Of course. Be careful, Viktor, I mean it.'

'I will. You, too. Uncle Rumen, the children are prepared for tomorrow?'

'They're both absolutely over the moon. Yana gets to wear a new dress and Ivan gets to talk to big boys.'

'What are Drago and I, then?'

'You're Drago and yourself. It's not the same.'

Viktor laughed. 'That's comforting.'

He called for his cloak and slipped out a side entrance with his two bodyguards. The cathedral was dark and warm but he didn't think he'd ever find peace-real, lasting peace-again.


	97. Chapter 97

**A/N: Love to reviewers and Countess Black**

**NB: For our purposes, the Wizarding Bulgarian church is seperate from the muggle one, and so the Patriarch is also different. I absolutely mean no disrespect to the RL Patriarch.**

The first day of the rest of Hermione's life started early, when Rinky shook her awake at five thirty AM to start getting ready. Viktor's side of the bed was cold, and she frowned as Rinky sluiced water through her hair and Niska scrubbed her back.

He finally came in when she was in her chemise and stockings, letting Rinky fasten her shoes. Viktor smiled and sat down in a chair. His boots were clotted with mud and he had a strange look on his face, distracted and dreamily sad.

'Viktor? What happen?'

'I went flying. I would have woken you, but…' He looked down, and she went to him, touching his shoulder. She wanted to scold him for scaring her but found her tongue didn't want to form the words.

'What is wrong? Are you sick?'

'No. No, I'm all right. You look pretty.'

'Thank you, but I must wear outside clothes today.'

'Well, that would probably be what your aunt would prefer.'

'And Mother.'

'And Mother. How are you?'

She shook her curls, which sprang back, clean and smelling of roses. 'Well. It is hard. This is a new thing now. We are not what we are before.'

'No. We're different people now.'

'Sometimes.' She stroked his hair, and he suddenly sighed so deeply it sounded like he was giving up his tidal breath.

'Viktor?'

'I have never felt more afraid than I do now, Hermione. Never.'

'Why?'

'I am not *_adequate* _to this.'

His face was in his hands and his shoulders were shaking. Hermione wondered how to deal with this; Aunt Narcissa's training hadn't included existential crises. She sat on the arm of the chair and touched his back with the numb hand, fingers she could only half feel resting on her husband's broad, warm shoulderblades.

'That is not true.'

'Yes, it is.'

'No. You did this so far. You can do it now.'

'I've got no idea how to run a country, Hermione. It's like your mother said, I'm a war leader, not a politician. And I'm only accidentally a war leader.'

'I will help you.'

'You're going back to school when this is done.'

'Can't.'

'One of us should have a normal life.'

'Before. Now we are in this. We will run the country together.'

He put his head up. 'Hermione, we're fourteen and sixteen. This is forever.'

'I know. We didn't make choices. They get made for us, but now they are ours. Yes?' Her Bulgarian was suffering under the onslaught but she thought he'd get the thrust of things.

She simply couldn't let him doubt himself, that was all. If one of them doubted, they were lost. She touched his back again. He smelt of clean mud and clean sweat and fresh, cold air.

'Yes. And I…I couldn't do it. Last night.'

'Do what?'

'Talk about my father. I couldn't.'

'With uncles?'

'Yes. I couldn't…I hate him. I hate him.'

'Father?'

'Yes. He put this off on us and ran away. Damn him!' Viktor still hadn't raised his head and Hermione, worried, leant over and pressed her cheek against his back. What did she do?

'Is nothing you did. His mind is sick now.'

'Not too sick to keep himself out of danger, is he?' Viktor jerked like he'd realized what he'd said but didn't correct himself, and Hermione held tighter, understanding, to a point, how he felt.

'I'm sorry. It's just…oh, God. What are we going to do?'

Hermione squared her shoulders, sitting up. 'We are going to ceremony and take vows, and then go to ball. Then we are going to rose valley for three days, just us. And Rinky.'

'And Crookshanks.'

'And Bess. We play in snow and read books and work on embroidery.'

'Do I have to embroider?'

'You going to take bath now?'

'If I do, I don't have to embroider?'

'No promises.' He stood up and swept her into his arms, kissing her all over her face. She kissed back. She liked kissing Viktor. It made her belly feel fluttery and warm.

'What would I do without you?'

'Fly in good tunics.' He laughed and tugged the aforementioned tunic off, going to get ready. Hermione reached out and gently traced his chest, touching the hard muscles. She liked that, too. He felt solid and warm and good.

He gently swatted her hand away. 'Now, don't tempt me.'

'I would do that?'

'Yes' he deadpanned, utterly po-faced, and kissed her again.

They were both laughing as he walked toward the famous marble tub, and the elves shooed Hermione gently toward the dressing table to get started on her hair.

The crowd had been gathering since midnight. More accurately, many of them had been there for days, and when the trumpets sounded and the gates of the Ministry opened, they were ready.

Toting home-made banners, carrying children and waving little flags, they cheered as the first people in the procession marched out. Some of them were injured, and young people in the crowd hastened forth to gift them, men and women both, with kisses.

Rita Skeeter was there amongst them, and she saw it all. Wrapped in her warmest cloak, her mink capelet (it seemed strangely appropriate to her that she wear it on this day of days) on top, she waited with them until the cheering had begun.

The other reporters had parted before her persistence and she'd found herself at the front of the area designated for the press just as the first of them went by. Volunteers, she'd guessed, waving jauntily to friends and family in the crowd.

Waves of wolves, men in dark clothes with faces no different than anyone else. Her sharp eyes spotted more of them mixed into the crowd, cheering and waving little Bulgarian flags. A masterful touch, that. Malfoy senior or Penko Krum, surely. She frowned, pondering her odd failure with Penko Krum, and then made herself turn her eyes back to what was happening.

It was an effort. When she was younger, just starting out (and that story about the whorehouse was an ugly rumour, nothing more; she'd been a coat-check girl), she had been driven by the urge to record things, the urge to show.

Now she wasn't sure. She felt queasy at the prospect of writing about this and queasy at the prospect of not writing about it. She didn't know how many more chunks she could carve from her soul before she was hollow, and she had no urge to find out.

On the other hand, being alive was rather nice, and not being in Azkaban even nicer. What could she do? Nothing, she suspected, and so, with those twin urges gnawing her, she went back to recording the start of this brave new era with an impassivity that would have impressed a statue.

A large group of Bulgarians, some of them in a single group and some of them, behind the first ones, walking under banners emblazoned with family crests and mottos she couldn't read. She bent and asked the fellow next to her who they were.

'*The Conclave, madam, and the vassals of House Krum.*'

_'*There's that many?*'_

The man smiled. '_*That's all of them.*' _He pointed to a thin, dark, ferrety looking man under a falcon banner, holding a cushion on which rested a golden crown. His wife (?) held a similar one, and both wore looks of deep pensiveness.

'_*Anastas Dinev and his wife.*' _

She saw that most had wives and children with them and smiled a little. A clever show of strength, she thought, swallowing a mouthful of hot saliva, wanting this to be over.

Students next, ranged by school, carrying flags. She recognised the four-quartered badge of Hogwarts, the wreath of Beauxbatons, the eagle of Durmstrang, and under a flag that showed a crowned skull, gold on pure black. Was it a message? A warning?

More students, injured, riding on flying carpets. One of them, a boy holding a crutch, waved grinning to the crowd, who cheered him and the others by name. Some of them chanted 'Kask! Kask!' Other chanted for Vata, De Vries, Maurer, Arbanas or half a dozen others, in twenty languages.

There were stories about them, she knew. Kask had crawled over the wall of the Ministry with one foot mostly severed, Vata had rescued of a trapped pocket of students at the same time and been burnt nearly to death for his trouble. Maurer and De Vries' had made a sudden, brilliant pincer movement at Castle Dinev which saved no fewer than fifty Macedonian aurors and ended with De Vries' spine getting severed, and Arbanas captured three rebel lords and all their troops. His boon companion had been hurt and was in hospital, she understood, fighting for his life.

Their faces were flushed and youthful and terribly handsome, but their eyes, she saw, were hard. What would they do now? Did they see it as they slept? How does one live a normal life after that?

The small corps of robed and masked Death Eaters. They moved in rigid lockstep, blank faces gleaming in the thin sun. Rita could feel the disquiet in the air that they occasioned, a hint of memento mori that would, she judged, whet the appetite for the bright future, symbolised by the teens that would surely come last.

The Death Eaters were followed by a large pack of dogs, huge fierce ones. Among them, a boy with half his head bandaged walked carefully, holding up the Krum banner, black on a field of crimson, a dog with something in its mouth. A matching black dog stood on his bandaged side, though it passed Rita's notice almost immediately, as it was meant to.

'*A maunch*' said her informer as though reading her thoughts about the banner. '*He changed it just for her.*'

_'*A what, sir?*'_

_'*A lady's sleeve.*' _The man smiled again. '_*She led them through the breach herself, they say.*'_

Rita had no response for that. She nodded politely and turned back to the spectacle.

The last people walking were the Krums themselves, the two uncles, the aunt and the children, with a twitchy scarecrow of a man she identified as Barty Crouch Jr. They all seemed quite well for people who, it was common knowledge, were almost captives not a week earlier. The Death Eaters' wives were with them as well, and Rita found herself watching them especially.

Eugenia Lestrange had a taut, haunted look about her, and Rita wondered whether it was true they'd taken her baby. She thought it was. Where was Metellus when he might have been useful?

She shook her head slowly to clear it and shoved the thought of the purloined Lestrange infant from her mind. If she had to sell another part of herself, she'd do it for the dearest price she could. So she remembered, and what she remembered was this:

She saw their carriage first. It was one of those open tops barouches that people sometimes rode in summer, a light swift pleasure vehicle, an odd choice for this time of year except for the people within.

And it had been gilded. It shone like the sun in the cobbled streets and the crowd went mad for it, and for them, screaming, throwing conjured flowers, holding up children to see this piece of history passing in front of their eyes.

They looked stunning. Krum would never be handsome, but his heavy brows and hawklike nose leant him a gravitas that offset the girl's delicate charms beautifully, and the platinum blond Malfoy lad formed a third point to the triangle, a foil to them both. All three wore the Krum crimson, the two lads in sharp black and the girl in a snowy white headscarf and chemise.

They looked impossibly young and impossibly glamourous and impossibly ancient about the eyes, all of them hardened now. Rita remembered a little girl in a coral coloured bed jacket who'd answered all her questions so nicely and seemed such a sweet girl. It was not inconceivable she was still, Rita supposed, but the sweetness was surely tempered by iron, the sort of iron one would need to lead men through the breach in a castle wall.

The throng trailed behind the procession, singing, cheering, laughing. Why should they not? It was peace now, and their rulers were the sorts of people that songs could be made about, and stories, and that children could look to for good examples.

Rita thought about the Dark Lord, sitting at Hogwarts, and knew he'd like seeing that last bit in the paper very much, no matter how much he hated it personally. She might not have got her start at a cathouse, but if there was a bigger whore in Sofia, she wasn't sure that woman could feel any worse than she did at that moment, as she prepared to save herself and damn herself at the same time.

Hermione was not thinking about the press, or about Rita. She was kneeling on the cold stone floor, head bowed, as lines of chanting priests filed in, swinging censors. Beside her, Viktor was trembling ever so slightly. Hermione extended a hand, numb at the fingertips, and brushed the back of his wrist. He moved enough she knew he'd felt it but said nothing, of course.

The patriarch of Sofia, a relatively spry man of 84, stood over them and spread his hands. 'Viktor, lord Krum, do you vow in sight of God and man to preserve Bulgaria from all enemies, foreign and native, which might seek to do it harm?'

'I do.'

'Hermione, lady Krum, do you vow the same?'

'I do.'

'Then rise and accept the charge given you by God to do so, and serve your country by bringing peace.' They rose, both of them slow from their various aches and pains, and the first of the vassals came forward and swore obedience to them as the protectors of the country.

They were tsar and tsarina in all but name. Hermione understood, better than anyone, what she had agreed to, and what it meant. It was that caveat, that "but" that would protect them from the ire of the international community. She hoped. They all hoped.

They had dispensed with the regular oaths, as they had proved less than effective to say the least. Rather, like the wolves, the families great and small were geassed to Viktor and Hermione, and House Krum, for twenty years. It would make clear that this was not a dynasty. Unless it was, of course.

Things ended when the younger Dinevs brought forth the two crowns and they—the new Lord Protector and Vicereine and the two Dinevs—dedicated them jointly on the altar, a potent bit of symbolism that felt to Hermione like exactly the right note.

She closed her eyes and mentally reached for her muggle Mum and Dad, and her Nan. They needed all the help they could get, and she hoped they'd watched the proceedings with joy. And Mother Krum, too. Hermione had asked the elves to find roses for them to bring to the crypts of Castle Krum that night.

The lord and lady, who'd once been two shy teenagers, led the procession back outside, smiling in the winter sunlight. Hermione's hand was numb again. She kept smiling. As she watched the crowd of people, she wondered who would be the first to betray them.

Back at the Ministry, the group broke up to get some rest. Viktor asked Draco to fly with him, and the elves Apparated them back to Castle Krum so they could do so in relative privacy and peace.

Hermione changed into casual clothes and sought out her mother. Bellatrix was lying down, not sleeping but simply staring at the ceiling. Hermione climbed in beside her and snuggled close.

'_Mother?'_

'_Girl?'_

'_Thank you for helping Madam Tamm the other night. She needed it.'_

'_Hmmph.'_

'_How are your bones?'_

Bellatrix's face tightened_. 'Snape says I need more of that bone strengthener. I'm already taking a phial a day. And I feel fine, I'll have you know.'_

'_We worry, is all.'_

'_What about you?_' Bellatrix rolled over, glaring preemptively. Hermione luxuriated in it, grinning, feeling totally safe. If Mother was grumpy, the world was as it should be.

'_I'm all right. Nervous about all this. It's hard, you know, on Viktor, not having his father here.'_

'_I'm sure it is.' _Mother nodded firmly and then glowered a bit harder. _'You're not pregnant, are you?'_

'_Mother!'_

'_What?_ _Narcissa might be too well bred to discuss these things, but I'm not. Have you been taking precautions?'_

'_Yes. Healer Yokov gave me something that's good for a month, and Professor Snape's said he'll make sure…you know. Not for a few years yet.'_

'_Damned right. And the boy? Does he know?'_

'_We've not discussed it, but yes, I think he does. The priest wouldn't like it, so we've never actually said it out loud.'_

Bellatrix nodded. _'Do whatever you need, but this is the worst possible for time for that.'_

'_I know. And the baby would be a bargaining chip.'_

'_Like your cousin Edric?'_

'_Yes. Like Edric.' _Hermione thought sadly of her little cousin's sunny, toothless smiles and happy sounds. Poor Aunt Gennie and Uncle Rab.

'_Is Aunt Eugenia all right?'_

'_No. Not any more than I was.'_ Mother sounded taut, almost angry. Hermione moved closer and her mother held her more tightly.

'_What can we do?'_

'_Right now? Nothing. Your aunt might like a visit later or something, but nothing real. Not until…' _Mother didn't seem to know herself.

'_Mother? Could we talk about it?'_

'_If you want to. Should we send for Rodolphus?'_

Father came at once. He sat down on the other side of the bed, clearly not comfortable. His robes and mask, like his wife's, were draped over a chair.

'_You were splendid this morning, darling.'_

'_Thank you, Father.' _She pecked his cheek and he held her as Mother had, stroking her back lightly. She closed her eyes and snuggled against him. It was almost like being back in England again, when England meant safety and not danger.

'_We need to discuss this, Rodolphus.' _

'_Yes.' _He didn't let go. Hermione didn't pull away. She wanted to cuddle and not worry, because everything in her life had meaning now, and that was terrible.

'_What happened with the Dark Lord?' _She finally made herself sit back as Rinky appeared with cushions for them to prop up on. Her dear Rinky. He was home too, and a link to a simpler time.

Her parents were surprisingly blunt, Mother more than Father. Hermione wasn't surprised by what she was hearing, but her sadness for them both got deeper and deeper.

'_And then he…he had Malfoy remove me. He said he couldn't bear the sniveling of women.'_ Mother swallowed hard, and Hermione felt a hot little spike of anger at the whole thing, a casually cruel summation of decades of devotion.

'_I'm sorry, Mother.'_

'_It wasn't you.'_

Rodolphus was nodding. _'Hermione…it isn't just that. That was the final…the final thing, I suppose, but…we gave up ten years of our lives. All of our lives, and your uncle as well.'_

Mother spoke up, voice rough. _'We missed so much, girl. Everything we did, we did for Him, and it came to nothing. Your first words, your first steps…we missed that for nothing.'_

'_And Barty.'_

'_Barty?'_

'_He lost everything as well.' _Hermione felt glad that Barty, at least, wrapped in the blanket of his madness, was spared this disillusionment, this horrible slow decline. He was safe in the mists of his derangement.

'_I can't help but think some good will come of us. The Dark Lord was a great man once, Hermione. He was a brilliant mind, and a brilliant wizard. But He's lost the way. He's forgot what we were fighting for.' _From Father, this was equally interesting and frightening.

'_Mother? What do you think?'_

Mother was gnawing a thumbnail, which would have got her a scolding from Aunt Narcissa. She moved her hand down and said finally _'I don't know. Your father's the right of it, but it's hard to say what happened.'_

'_What do you want to do?'_

'_Do?' _They both looked surprised. Hadn't they thought that far ahead? Hermione thought perhaps not. Perhaps they took it a bit at a time, and got through things as they came?

'_Are you going to return to England?'_

'_Soon, you mean?'_

'_Ever.'_

They both seemed to ponder_. 'What's the alternative?'_

'_Stay here with us. We'd welcome you. And you could help us train our army.'_

'_This new pan-Balkan thing?' _This from Mother, who looked uncertain.

'_Pan-European, someday. We have to be ready.'_

'_Why?' _Father sounded like he was prompting. She thought probably he knew.

Hermione sighed. She didn't want to talk politics. _'Because this is only the beginning. We can't pretend it's only us now. It's all of us.'_

Neither of them responded at first. Hermione wished she could help them through this but couldn't. They were adrift in an Elsewhere all their own, a land where shapes and forms, once clearly defined, had sunk back into the mists. Perhaps new landmasses would rise to fill the void and perhaps they wouldn't. Hermione didn't know.

Mother reached and touched her forehead lightly. '_You've thought all this out, haven't you, my girl?'_

'_Viktor and I. And Draco as well.'_

'_You have done well in selecting the people about you.' _Father cracked his wrist, grimacing, and Hermione saw Mother's eyebrows contract.

'_Not you as well, Rodolphus!'_

'_I'm fine, Trixie.'_

'_Liar.'_

'_Darling, let's don't.'_

Hermione decided to interject. _'We have, but it's odd how young most of us are. Uncomfortable, really.'_

'_Is it?'_

'_Sometimes.'_

'_What will you and Viktor do now?'_

She looked at her hand and felt a strange, long buried urge to fidget. Aunt Narcissa, she knew, would have megrims if she knew all the common behaviour going on in here right now.

'_As soon as everything's calmed down a bit, we're going to the rose valley for a few days. Just the two of us, I mean.'_

'_And a Snatcher?'_

'_Yes, and probably Alise as well. So not really alone at all, I suppose.'_

'_And that wretched fleabag? You'll take it as well? Shan't have it snuffling and strutting about like the cock of the walk, do you hear?'_

Hermione giggled. '_Mother, Crooks loves you.'_

'_Loves the food I give him, maybe.' _Rinky appeared, cat in hand. Crookshanks sneezed haughtily and allowed his Girl to hug him, holding his cobby marmalade body to her chest.

'_He is quite a handsome cat, in his own way.' _Father scratched the cat's ruff, which Crooks obligingly fluffed to show it to advantage.

'_Like Cunegarde in cat form.' _

'_Mother!'_

'_Now, darling, Aunt's moustache isn't nearly as full, is it, Crookshanks?' _The cat blatted agreement and rolled over, drumstick legs flailing in the air to invite a belly scratch.

'_Father!'_

'If Cissy was here, we could have quite a good conversation about this, Hermione.' Mother grinned and Hermione grinned back helplessly. She cuddled her cat and decided that politics weren't so bad when it was her parents, and soaked up the love and comfort of having them both with her on the first day of the rest of her life.

Not everyone was so happy. In their quarters, Eugenia and Rabastan were sitting in silence. Penko was there as well, and sat a comfortable distance from them both, trying to find some way to make this better and knowing any effort was totally inadequate to the task.

The elf opened the door at Eugenia's nod and Sose Tamm entered, looking as though she expected to be pounced and eaten. The men rose, bowed wearily and then sat down again. She was holding a battered wooden tray with an earthenware jar of some sort on it, and a smaller bowl as well.

'_*Hello. I brought soup. Thought it might help. Madam Lestrange, I mean.*'_

She edged closer and Eugenia, moving very slowly, took the turreen. It was a greenish, cloudy mass of herbs suspended in a broth that shone with some sort of fat.

'_*Thank you, Sose. Join me?*'_

Sose sat down, eyes darting between the two men, and ladled a bowlful before she handed it over. She bent and murmured something even more softly than usual and Eugenia nodded.

'_*Thank you. I wouldn't have thought to…thank you. Where did you get it all?*'_

'_*The elves helped. They brought a goat. And herbs. Mountain herbs.*'_

Eugenia took a swallow. It was bitter tasting, terribly bitter, and there were small chunks of gamy meat floating in it, and other bits of chewy tissue.

The men rose, bowed again and slipped out. Sose relaxed visibly, breathing more deeply, and Eugenia put aside the terrible pain to focus on the younger woman, glad of the distraction.

'_*This will stop my milk from drying up?*'_

'_*Yes. It helped me.*'_

'_*Did you have problems with that?*'_

Sose nodded tremulously. _'*I used to have to leave him. Anu. While I watched Madam Bardhi's sheep.*'_

'_*That must have been hard.*'_

'_*Yes. He was sickly.*' _Sose frowned and seemed to dismiss the memory. She poured more soup.

'_*Your Edric isn't sickly?*'_

'_*No. No, he's quite healthy. We're very lucky in that.*'_

'_*I'm sorry this happened.*'_

'_*So am I.*'_

'_*Can we help?*'_

She drank the rest of the bowl. It reassured her, to think her milk wouldn't dry up whilst she and Rabastan waited for their son to be returned to them.

'_*Not right now. We're hoping that everything will get settled soon.*'_

'_*We are too.*' _

Sose looked ready to say something else and didn't. Two women, both with sons they loved very much, subsided into silence, trying to ease the other's pain and not quite finding the words.


	98. Chapter 98

**A/N: Love to reviewers and Countess Black**

**CB is back! She's raring to go and so I am!**

**NB: Magical medicine is much like muggle medicine, in that most injuries are fairly straightforward when it comes to broken bones. Damaged joints, however, require much more work and time to heal. NB**

**NB II: I love Alan Rickman as Snape, and so, apparently, does Sirius. Try to picture that voice when you read and it makes much more sense.**

Draco arrived back at the Ministry at four PM and, after a quick bath and a change of clothes, went to visit his godfather. He opened the door and found Snape propped up on pillows, glaring fiercely at cousin Sirius.

'_Hello, Godfather, Sirius. How are you both?'_

Snape's already hard face twisted. _'Draco, tell this fool that I am fine.'_

'_Why wouldn't Godfather be fine, Sirius?'_

'_He insisted on marching without help this morning and now he can barely move.'_

'_Godfather?'_

'_I'm fine, I tell you.'_

'_Godfather, you know how fragile your knee is. Joints take a very long time to heal.'_

'_Hmmph. That doesn't mean I need to be nagged about it.'_

Draco sat down on the chair next to the bed_. 'I did notice you walking, actually.'_

'_Much though it seems to surprise you all, I am in fact a potions master. I simply took steps to assure I could walk about a bit.'_

'_And that's exactly why you should be resting, Snape. You wear yourself out and you'll be hurt longer.'_

'_What are you, a nursery elf?'_

'_No, an elf hasn't got a head of hair like mine.' _He did, judged Draco, have nice hair. He rather envied the Black tendency toward thick, healthy hair.

'_Or your constantly running mouth. Draco, did you need something?'_

'_Wanted to see how you are, Godfather. Is there anything I might get for you?'_

Snape shook his head_. 'No, I'm quite well. How are you?'_

'_Fine. We flew most of the day. Viktor and I.'_

'_Where?'_

'_About the Krum lands. We checked the castle and everyone is well.' _

It had been good seeing the faces from the march, warm and well fed. Gruev had proudly showed off his people and the improvements they'd made, mending the walls, sending out people to help watch the flocks whilst the tenants were gone and patching the roof of the castle.

'_Excellent. How do you judge Krum is?'_

That was one harder. Everything in the family was utterly private, of course, but it still made him hesitate. Sirius made as though to stand.

'_Would it be easier if I took a walk?'_

'_Not at all. It's just odd, is all.'_

'_I understand.' _Sirius sat back down and took up a steaming cup of tisane, thrusting it at Snape from its place on the bedside. Clearly, its arrival had prompted this current row.

Snape growled but took it. _'Fine, you git, but if I walk like a drunkard tonight, I shall blame you especially.'_

'_As though you wouldn't anyhow.'_

Draco bit his tongue, trying not to laugh. They sounded like an old married couple, he thought, and forced himself to smooth his face.

'_I think it's hard for him. He worries a lot about things, of course.'_

'_Your cousin?'_

'_Yes. They're very…almost the same person, aren't they?'_

Both older men nodded. An unwelcome, potent thought bounced into Draco's head and took root.

'_What's wrong with Uncle Martin, Godfather?'_

Snape didn't sound the slightest bit muzzy from the pain soothing tisane_. 'I'd need to examine him, Draco, but I should think he's simply suffering an excess of nostalgia. His melancholic humours are in too great a profusion and are poisoning the rest of his system.'_

It was telling to Draco that Snape didn't have to ask why he'd made the connexion. Nor Sirius, who was nodding slowly. Draco rubbed his hands together to warm them. Snape, he remembered, liked things cold.

'_Perhaps it will all turn out.' _Sirius sounded wistful, almost sad, and Snape's eyes, which had started to grow less focused, sharpened again.

'_That's naïve even for you, dog.'_

'_Someone has to hope. We can't all be fatalists, Snape.'_

Snape rolled his eyes. _'Yes, that's worked out ever so well in the past.'_

'_Precisely.' _

'_Should I leave, Godfather? You're looking sleepy.'_

'_I feel fine, Malfoy, sit down.' _Snape summoned a rather drowsy looking glare and Draco obliged. He quite liked this second cousin, he'd decided.

_'Was there something else you needed?'_

_'I was going to ask you to give Tamm the talk.'_

_'What talk?'_

_'**The **talk, Godfather_.'

'_Ah. What makes you think I am a suitable candidate?'_

'_You were a teacher. And I was going to ask Uncle Rab, but…_' He waved and both men nodded at once. Clearly, Rabastan needed to be left alone to work through his feelings.

'_I am amenable, of course, but…' _Snape blinked, and Draco realized the potion was taking hold.

'_Later, Godfather. You ought to sleep a bit. Will you be at the ball, do you suppose?'_

'…_Yes.'_

Sirius stood up. _'I'll do it.'_

'_Do what?'_

'_Talk to the kid. I'm qualified.'_

Snape was shaking his head. _'No, Black. You can't…be seen.'_

'_I shan't. I'll go as you.'_

'_Me?'_

'_That's right. Elf, fetch some Polyjuice.' _An elf appeared, bowing, and handed him a phial. Sirius leant over and plucked a hair, which caused Snape to scowl fiercely.

'_Tosser.'_

'_Git.' _Sirius dropped the hair in and quaffed the potion. He melted into Snape, grimacing.

'_God, you taste wretched, Snape.'_

'…_Dog.'_

'_Go to sleep, you manky plonker_.'

Snape grunted something that sounded vaguely insulting and closed his eyes. Draco and Sirius Salazar Snape set off.

Tamm was sitting under the ornamental birch, scratching Lady's ears and singing in Albanian. Lady was chuffing appreciatively, whether because of the ear scratches or the impromptu concert one could hardly say.

'_I'll leave you to it, Godfather.'_

'_Very …__**well**__, Malfoy.' _Sirius Salazar Snape sneered, and Draco bit his tongue.

'_Do try to tone it down a little, Godfather.'_

'_I finally …get a chance to do a bit of __**moustache twirling **__and you …want me to act __**normal**__?'_

'_Sorry.'_

'_Fine, fine, but do I …at least get to terrify someone before it …wears off?'_

'_Of course.'_

Sirius Salazar Snape grinned, which looked funny on Snape's normal dour face. _'Well, then. Good evening, Malfoy.'_

'_Good evening, Godfather.' _Draco went to tell Tamm what was going on and then decided to find Vaike, whistling a cheerful tune.

In another part of the Ministry, Lucius Malfoy stretched luxuriously and put a hand to his wife's arm. She smiled from under her tousled, slightly damp hair and scooted closer.

_'You're wearing the grey, then?'_

_'Will it clash with you, love?'_

_'No, I'm wearing the deep blue. With the seed pearls?'_

He nodded appreciatively. _'You look lovely in that.'_

_'Are you trying to charm me?'_

_'Always.'_

She sat up, tugging the sheet higher so that the elf who came at her summons wouldn't see anything. It brought them cold roza and some fruit to munch on. They did so peaceably for a few minutes.

'_Narcissa?'_

'_Hmm?'_

'_Are you still intent on returning?'_

'_You know I am.'_

'_A man might hope, Cissy. Are you afraid?'_

She shook her head. _'No. What's done is done. You?'_

'_I am oddly optimistic. Perhaps this will somehow force Him to reevaluate things.'_

'_How so?'_

Lucius contemplated. '_Suppose he could be convinced this was the time to renew our friendship with the Bulgarians. We could stage some sort of public love feast and come out smelling of roses, couldn't we?'_

'_He'd never give them any sort of tribute.'_

'_No. We'd need to convince Viktor to go to Him.'_

'_Would he?'_

'_For us? I think he would, yes. But I wonder how advisable that is. It could destablise the country if he looked submissive.'_

'_Yes. But poor Edric…'_

'_That's the gnome in the garden, Edric's captivity. Cunegarde and Martin are…'_

'_I know. But Rabastan will go back to spare his son. As he should.' _She looked terribly sad at the idea.

'_I almost wonder whether Draco's not got the right of it. Suppose He is too afraid to move on us? We could smuggle the baby out.'_

'_How?'_

'_We'd find a way. Stage his death and then bring him here.'_

'_No.' _

Her hair was tumbling about her shoulders and down her back like silk, and he wound a lock in his fingers, sighing. She was so beautiful, he thought, dizzy with love and the smell of her perfume.

'_This matter must be settled, Lucius. Because He will ruin us otherwise, and all Britain with us.'_

'_How do you propose we do it, love?'_

Narcissa laughed. It was strange and sudden and not like her usual laugh at all. _'If I were a gambling woman, Lucius, my money would be on Trixie.'_

'_Trixie?'_

'_I've never seen her so angry.' _That was like saying a person who lives atop an active volcano has never seen fire so hot and so close. Lucius blinked and tried to formulate a response.

'_If He should charm her back to Him-'_

Narcissa shook her head, hair flying. _'That's done. It was done the moment she realized He meant to leave Hermione to die.'_

'_I must say, I never thought of Trixie as the type.'_

'_Nor I, but if you could have seen the look in her eyes on that ship, you'd believe it.' _She summerised what had gone on between her and her older sister on the way to Sofia.

'_You know, Cissy, I've never liked Trixie, but she's harder to hate this way.'_

His wife snorted and poked his ribs, prompting a laugh and an attempt to lightly swat her hand away. Very few people knew Lucius Malfoy was ticklish.

'_You've never liked her because you are too much alike.'_

'_Narcissa! I am wounded you would say such a thing.'_

'_It's true, Lucius. Intelligent, driven, ambitious, amusing, and think you're always right.'_

'_I liked all but the last one. Does that mean you and Rodolphus are cut from the same cloth, then?'_

She considered. '_Perhaps. We're both happiest taking a quieter role, I suppose.'_

Lucius kissed her shoulder. '_Bosh, no one's started more modes than you have.'_

'_Hermione.'_

'_It's different.'_

'_No. That blue she wore in June was everywhere last season._'

'_No one pulled it off better than yourself.'_

She laughed softly. '_Should you like to hear a story about Rodolphus?'_

'_Of course.'_

'_He once smacked me, if you can believe it.'_

Lucius's eyebrows met his hairline. _'This was some time ago, I take it? Not yesterday?'_

'_I was fourteen. Daddy had just…it was a hard time for the family. I was quite rude to Mother whilst he was there and he took me in the study for it. Didn't sit for a week.' _She frowned, apparently reflecting on this, and Lucius chucked her cheek.

'_Now, love, you had it coming.'_

'_Did you say you wanted to sleep on that divan, darling?'_

'_Well, you did. Granted I might not have done differently if I'd been faced with Mother Black, but-'_

'_Because your mother was always such a joy, Lucius Abraxas.'_

'_Mother was a saint.'_

'_She was less difficult than mine, perhaps, but…humph.'_

He laughed and nuzzled her neck. _'See?'_

'_Shush.' _She was flushed, shaking her head in that effervescent, champagne bubble way that had caught his attention so long ago.

'_You know, Cissy, I am not quite as spry as I was at twenty, but still, that's not so bad.'_

She giggled and slowly reached under the blanket. '_Oh, my.'_

'_Mmm hmm._' And then they had better things to do than talk.

Rita Skeeter was not in a bed. Rather, she was walking quietly about the Ministry, hoping she'd find someone who'd give her a damned statement. The Bulgarians politely refused and everyone else just refused. She frowned darkly, touching her press pass.

The hand on her arm made her jump. Lemuel Scabior was at her shoulder. She jerked with shock and stepped back. Scabior said nothing, smiling in a disquieting way.

_'H-hello, Mr. Scabior.'_

_'Miz Skeeter, always a pleasure. Dint expects t see you ere. Prophet sent you, yeah?'_

_'The Dark Lord. Rodolphus Lestrange knows I am here.' _Her pulse was pounding, her scalp tingling at the memory of the pictures they'd shown at his trial. All that blood, she thought dizzily, crusted under his nails.

_'Oh, I knows that, ma'am. I jus wanted t come over n say ello, is all. Been a long time.'_

_'Yes. Yes, it has.'_

_'Been well, looks like. Mr. Travers is gud too?'_

How the hell did he know? Her silence was an answer as eloquent as any other and he smiled a bit harder. She took half a step back, hand going to her throat involuntarily.

_'I magine you'll wants t speak with the lord n lady, is the rite?'_

_'That would be most generous of them.'_

_'Yeah, they're likes that, aint they? Thing is, ma'am, they're awful busy, an there're all sorts a dodgy types about. So maybe it'd be for the best if you waited t get the call, an dint wander too much, d'you see?'_

She got the message. _'I do. His lordship was hoping I could give the people of Wizarding Britain a window into his historic moment.'_

_'And you will. You saw the cer'mny this mornin, yeah?'_

_'I did.'_

_'Mebbe work on writin about that an then when the lord an lady've gots a moment they'll send for you.'_

_'Of course. Would it, ah, be better for me to start now?'_

_'Rite this minit? Course not. You feels free t looks about. Jus dont go too far, all rite? Be a shame if sumthin were to appen.'_

Rita nodded again. '_I understand, Mr. Scabior.'_

_'Glad t ear. You ave a nice night now, ma'am.' _And he melted back into the shadows like a will o' the wisp.

Having been warned, she decided she would go and sniff about for students. Perhaps she might get an inspiring quote or two. She tugged her cloak a bit tighter and went toward a courtyard, feeling the chill of Scabior's presence even as she wandered into the thin winter sunlight.

Upstairs, Hermione was contemplating the bed, which was spread with clothing of all sorts, and wishing Snetzka was there to help her. Instead, Rinky and Niska were behind her, apparently as flummoxed as she.

How lucky the boys were, she thought irritably, with just tunics and trousers to worry about. Viktor was wearing fur lined robes and best tunic, and that was that, whereas it seemed like every weaver, mercer and haberdasher in Europe had sent her things, hoping she'd wear them and start a mode.

Rinky, stalwart little elf that he was, finally decided to start things rolling. _'Mustn't be something Miss is wearing before.'_

'_I've not got any evening things I've worn before. But how do I…I wish Aunt Narcissa wasn't resting.'_

'_*Niska is getting, milady?*'_

'_*No. She needs the rest. Which do you think, Niska*?'_

Niska frowned. '*_Green is being pretty.*'_

'_*I know, but might I clash?'* _She huffed and poked almost hesitantly at the pile of dresses. She felt like a child, scared to mar them lest someone come and scold her. But who, she wondered?

Finally she could take no more_. '*Rinky, would you ask Yseult and Alise to come_?*' They'd never steered her wrong before, after all. The elf assented and found her friends taking the air on a small balcony.

Yseult's colour had come back, but she still seemed subdued. She rarely spoke and seemed to spend most of her time looking into some terrible inner well. She raised her head a bit and smiled.

'_How are you, Hermione?'_

'_Well, Yseult. Yourself?'_

'Oh, all right. Your aunt asked me to deal with the French, so that's what I've been _doing.'_

'_It's not been too bad?'_

Yseult seemed to look into that internal point again. ' _Let's don't_.' She stepped to the end of the bed and looked at the piles of clothing.

Alise joined her, looking quite vigorous, in contrast to Yseult. She'd had an elf shear her burnt hair into a bob, which Hermione thought daring. She joined in riffling the piles of clothing, and within five minutes they'd assembled an outfit. Having something familiar to do seemed to bring Yseult out of herself a bit.

'_You'll need something in your hair.'_

Hermione gestured to a box sitting on one of the pillows. _'One of the Borev vassals sent things. They're all trying very hard to make friends since they abandoned us earlier.'_

When Viktor came in, all three girls were chatting as Hermione brushed Yseult's hair and Alise brushed Hermione's. He went red and backed out at once, bowing. Hermione giggled.

'_*Viktor, we shan't maul you. It's all right.*'_

'_*I didn't mean to interrupt anything, ladies. Your pardon, please.*'_

'_*You aren't.*'_

Yseult gently tugged her head away. '*_Lord Krum, you mustn't come in here. We're making ourselves beautiful for tonight.*'_

Viktor blushed even more deeply. Hermione stood up and nodded to the girls and then stepped out with her husband.

'Are you all right?'

'Yes, fine. Just wanted to see how you are.'

'I am very well. We are doing hair, and then get dressed.'

'You've loads to choose from, to be sure.'

'Yes. Your clothes are set out?'

'Yes.' He bent and kissed her cheek, hand drifting to her waist. Hermione snuggled against him, putting an arm about his neck.

'Now who is teasing?'

'Me. I'm teasing you.' He kissed her again and then sighed, stepping back. Hermione reached up to cup his cheek.

'You have seen Snape?'

'Not lately. Should I go and check on him?'

'You make him take his potions. He is grumpy about it.'

'He's always grumpy. It's his natural state.' He laughed as she punched his arm lightly and shooed him toward Snape, going back to see her friends inside the room. They started to primp for the long night ahead of them, arming themselves with their looks as though they were weapons.

Lucius Malfoy had few illusions about female beauty, but that in no way diminished his awe of his wife's. Her hair was done, and she rose, the intricate style drawing attention to her eyes and cheekbones. Lucius rose as well, and gave her a kiss on the forehead.

_'Exquisite. What shall we get them as a gift, do you suppose?' _He meant the lord and lady.

_'I've got no idea. There's all manner of things coming in from everywhere.'_

The elves brought Narcissa's robes and she stepped in. The fasteners were silver, and tiny pearls made a dense maze on her bodice. She looked like a winter queen, all silver and white and blue like water.

_'_He kissed her again, wishing he could make love to her, wishing he could make her cry his name again and again. Instead he stepped back and let the elf fasten his cravat pin.

It was silver, worked in pearls like Narcissa's jewellery. She narrowed her eyes ever so slightly. _'Lucius?'_

_'Love?'_

_'Where's your pin?' _His usual pin was an heirloom, four hundred years old, a tiny, lifelike green snake set in emeralds, that moved and writhed in time with the matching cufflinks.

_'Draco's earnt it, Narcissa. Father would want him to have it, I think.'_

_'Yes.' _She let the elf fasten a strand of pearls about her neck and thread in the matching earrings.

_'Would you have taken it, Lucius? The crown?'_

_'To make you a queen, my dear? You know I would_.' He offered her his arm and they went to the ballroom, ready to take up their place at their niece and nephew's side.

The halls were packed with people. Wolves slid into place to surround them, and as they passed, men and women in evening dress bowed or curtsied, murmuring greetings. No cries of _'Butcher! Butcher's wife!' _tonight, to be sure.

They could hear the music playing, some kind of waltz. Later, knew Lucius, there would be traditional singing and dancing. He had determined to find a way to squirm out of that one, possibly by faking an attack of something. Damn Snape and his conveniently smashed knee; if Lucius had been a more suspicious type, he would have thought Snape had somehow planned it. If anyone could do it, it was Severus.

The crowd parted for them, the room growing quiet. The children had yet to arrive and the Malfoys circulated, greeting people, speaking to students and parents, wolves and reporters from what seemed to be every newspaper in Europe.

One of them was that dreadful Skeeter woman, dressed in a poison green sheath so tight she looked poured into it. She was slipping in and out of the crowd with a sinuous wiggle that bordered on obscene.

A dark haired man slid up to them. _'Toujours Pur, eh?'_

Lucius understood at once. '_Ideally. What are you drinking?'_

_'Punch. Loads of it over there. The Bulgarians have started on the brandy already.'_

_'I hope we shan't have to drag any of them out to be sick, I quite like these boots.'_

Sirius might have answered if Tamm's wavering little voice hadn't rang out, shaking with nervousness. _'Viktor, Lord Protector of Bulgaria, and Hermione, Vicereine of Bulgaria.'_

The children looked resplendent, especially Hermione in deep crimson silk worked in gold and snowy white linen, hair elaborately knotted and a length of golden chain with coins attached woven through so they hung delicately over her brow.

The crowd burst into applause. Lucius flashed on the last ball he'd attended and poor Zhivka's fatal injury; was the boy thinking about it as well? If he was, his face showed no sign.

The band struck up, and the lord and lady moved to the centre of the room and started to dance. The lord danced badly, due to his recently healed foot, but what they lacked in grace they made up for in sheer exuberance and obvious joy in one another's presence.

Snape, leant on his stick now, came up with Barty in tow. Barty had appointed himself Snape's nursemaid, and followed him everywhere when he was out of bed, scolding him not to do too much and to take his potions to be sure the joint knit properly back together.

_'Lucius! Isn't it wonderful?' _Barty was almost prancing with excitement, eyes darting. He was less predictable this way and more childish, but Lucius could only pity for his erstwhile mentoree.

_'It certainly is, Barty. Have you been keeping after Severus?'_

Barty nodded solemnly. 'He's being quite difficult. Perhaps he'll listen to you if you _tell him to sit down and rest?' _He gave Snape a stern look and Lucius had to bite his cheek to keep from laughing. Ordinarily he'd egg this on, but he had too much respect for the Barty he remembered to do that.

_'Would you please ask Narcissa if she'd like some of that persimmon wine? She's partial to it.' _Barty darted off, thrilled to be of service. Snape was giving him a look that spoke of poisons and mysterious accidents.

_'Would you like some wine, Severus?'_

_'Thank you, no. The elves are keeping me well supplied with fruit juices. It was all I could do not to convince them to give me yoghurt.'_

_'It's quite healthful, you know.'_

_'Soliticious tonight, aren't we?'_

_'I like to think of myself as a veritable well of charitable emotions.' _

Lucius smirked at his friend and Snape pretended to ignore it. He did look peaky, though, and so Lucius waited a beat and said casually _'How is your knee? Will you be dancing tonight?'_

_'No but I will certainly relish watching as you do.'_

_'I've a bit of a twinge in my back. Dancing would not doubt aggravate it.' _

Barty came back, carefully holding a slopping flue of wine and another full of something that might have been pear juice. He handed them over carefully and grinned.

_'A twinge, you say, Malfoy? Most unfortunate, that. Luckily I've my bag with me. Mippy, my things please, Master Malfoy has an ache in his back.'_

_'Lucius' _said Barty worriedly _'you've hurt your back?'_

Snape interjected, smiling malevolently. _'Not to worry, Barty, I've something that will fix him right up. And you'll watch, I'm sure, to make certain there's not a relapse.'_

_'All right, Sev!' _

Barty grinned with pride at being given a useful task, and Lucius, also smiling, could only think: you magnificent bastard, that was classic. And then, resigned, he prepared himself for a long night of Barty's mad and genuine concern.


	99. Chapter 99

**A/N: Thanks to Countess Black**

**This part of the story is winding down. I would greatly appreciate any remarks, questions, etc that anyone might help wrap it up.**

**Something happens in the chapter I find deeply problematic but which is, I think, the best way in universe to make certain events come together. Please read the spoiler A/N at the bottom of the page for clarification.**

Viktor woke up the morning after the ball with a slight headache and a dry mouth. He rose, stretching to ease the tightness in his shoulder, and then ambled to the bathroom.

After, he came out in his smalls and sat down on the bed, tugging on socks and his singlet, shivering against the chill. The marble, he thought, held the cold in. He missed rooms with good tapestries on the walls and carpets underfoot.

From her place on the floor, Bess whined. He bent down and stroked her neck. 'You don't like it here either, girl?'

She whined again. 'I miss Bear too. We'll see him soon enough, all right?'

Crookshanks, curled up by Hermione's head, opened one yellow eye and glared dolefully.

'Sorry, Crooks. Didn't mean to wake you.'

The cat rose haughtily and trotted to the edge of the bed, blatting to be picked up. Viktor obliged, nuzzling the cat's neck gently. He wasn't a cat person, but he had to admit, this particular cat was quite a convincing creature.

The orange meatball in his arms clearly agreed, because he purred rustily and squirmed to get down, going back to Hermione and rubbing his cheek to hers in a gesture both loving and possessive.

Viktor got the hint, and backed off grinning. 'You're the man in her life now, is that right?'

The cat squawked an affirmative, and Viktor chuckled, tugging on his tunic over his head and fastening it. He heard Hermione grumble and then she yawned.

'Morning.'

'Mmm. What time is it?'

'Early. Go back to sleep.'

She shook her head. 'No, I am awake. We are leaving today?'

He laid down on the bed and tugged the sheets higher. 'Do you want to?'

'Mmm hmm.'

'Then we will. The family knows?'

She opened one eye and nodded. 'They do.' The cat came to stand on her chest and started licking her forehead determinedly, making small snuffling sounds that seemed to indicate he was hard at work and refused to be disturbed for something as minor and silly as human considerations.

'Good. Are you going to stay here?'

She could neither move nor nod. 'A while. The elves have us packed when we say. After breakfast?'

'That would be fine.'

And that's what they did. Scabior and Alise joined them, and the four, dog and cat in tow, went off for three days of peace in the countryside, leaving Rumen to rule and the others to relax and plan the rest of their lives.

To that end, Snape finally insisted on getting up. Leaning on his stick, well dosed with pain potions, he made his way slowly to the conference room where he had called a meeting.

He heard the git dog's feet pounding on the stone of the corridor and then Tamm was hailing him.

_'*Aren't you well, Professor?*'_

_'*Fine, Tamm. Why do you ask?*'_

_'*You weren't using a stick yesterday.*'_

_'*I had taken some potion. It's better not to do that overly much.*' _Snape cursed himself for not having forced the dog to take his stick. And Malfoy. This was his fault, clearly.

_'*Oh.*' _Tamm had fallen into step with him, flanked by the bastard dog. Tamm seemed quite thoughtful, almost pensive.

_'*Professor?*'_

_'*Tamm?*'_

_'*Why aren't you married?*'_

Snape almost stopped walking. Had the dog done this? Snape added it to the list of the dog's sins against him just in case.

_'*I have duties which preclude a wife, Mr. Tamm.*'_

_'*Oh. My Nene, you know, she's not married.*'_

_'*I am aware.*'_

_'*You said yesterday that I could marry and no one would mind my eye because it means I'm brave. Nene wouldn't mind your leg, I'm sure.*'_

On the one hand, Snape would kill the dog for this, and also because it seemed to him to be the right reaction to most things. On the other, it seemed like he hadn't mucked up talking to the boy too badly.

_'*I appreciate the offer, Mr. Tamm, but I cannot marry.*'_

_'*Is it because I'm a bastard? Nene's not a bad woman.*'_

_'*No. It's because...you are no doubt aware that Rabastan Lestrange's son is in Britain now?*'_

_'*Yes.*' _Tamm nodded, seemingly relieved that his birth was not the problem.

_'*Any wife or child would be a liability.*'_

_'*Your leader is a bad man, sir.*' _

Snape almost laughed out loud at the baldness of the statement. He forced himself not to react.

_'*He has no-*' _Snape heard a word that was honour and that wasn't, but Snape grasped the essence of it, sorry he could not have the whole of the word for himself.

_'*If you don't mind my saying, I mean*'._

_'*I appreciate your insights, certainly.*' _

When had Severus Snape, the spymaster of Britain, become some sort of confidant for children? Children feared and hated him. He was **good** at being feared and hated by children.

_'*I shan't tell anyone else I said it. And if you change your mind...*'_

_'*Should circumstances alter, I shall certainly consider your suggestion. Did you happen to ask your mother about this, incidentally?*'_

Tamm's eyes darted a bit. '_*Well, no. But Nene is scared of most men. She wouldn't be scared of you if you were married.*'_

_'*How do you reckon?*'_

Tamm looked patient. _'*Because she'd be used to you. And you're nice.*'_

Severus Snape, spymaster of Britain, was not **nice**! Kittens are nice. Chocolate was nice. Spending time with friends was nice. Snape glowered, renewing his resolve to do something terrible to the dog for making the boy think he was nice.

_'*Perhaps you might like to go and see Vata today, Tamm?*'_

_'*All right. Can Salazar come?*'_

_'*No, he needs to stay here.*'_

The boy patted the dog's neck. '_*He's tired, I'm sure.*'_

_'*No doubt.*' _

Snape sent the boy with an elf to the hospital and opened the door to the room where the other Death Eaters were waiting.

Amongst their number were the two wives and Draco, who seemed slightly at loose ends without the other two. His godfather gave him a nod and sat down as Sirius changed back and sat at the place next to him, leaning over to say something to the wan looking Narcissa. She nodded and gamely tried a smile. It seemed to strike a wrong note, and she subsided, leaving the table as sombre as an undertaker's convention.

_'The children' _said Rodolphus suddenly _'asked us to remember them to you. They regretted they could not come and see you, but you were asleep.'_

Snape nodded. _'I am sorry to have missed them. How is everyone doing?'_

No answer. Snape nodded silently. _'Firstly, please know how deeply sorry I am about Edric's...unanticipated stay in Britain.'_

Rabastan nodded, lips white, and put a hand atop his wife's in silent comfort. On the other side of him, Penko reached to touch Eugenia's back gently. If everyone at the table had not guessed by then, they would now. Snape felt a flare of brief irritation and then shoved it down; his plans were in shreds, and if it stabilised the players in this strange drama to have this, then he wouldn't say anything.

On Eugenia's other side, her brother Desmond who was Moody squeezed her arm. His handsome, piratical face was twisted with rage, and his lips were thin. He looked like a man ready to fight anyone-fight everyone-and Snape suspected he was.

_'So what do we do?'_

_'Do, Bellatrix?'_

_'Yes, Snape, do. What. Do. We. Do?'_

Snape inhaled. This was going to be terrible, no doubt about that. _'We're going to go back, Bellatrix. When He calls us-and he will, never doubt that-we will go.'_

The room was silent. _'All of us, Snape?'_

_'All of us. And we will bring Him gifts and flattery, and perhaps...perhaps...that will be enough.'_

_'And if it is not?' _

Malfoy Sr looked sick, like his wife. Snape felt a blend of sadness and a spike of malicious pleasure. He'd envied Malfoy, when he was young, but now, faced for the first time with a situation his wealth and his privilege and his name could not resolve for him, the man was being remade from the inside out.

_'Then we will die, safe in the knowledge the children will live and thrive here.'_

_'Edric?'_

_'Rabastan, if I cannot spare our lives, I am confident that there is at least a way to spare Edric. The children are resourceful and ruthless, if nothing else, and they are eager to see their cousin safe.'_

_'And my brother._' Penko's voice was flat, his eyes staring past them. Snape looked at his hands for a moment.

_'Lord Krum no doubts worries for his father.'_

_'That isn't an answer.'_

_'No.'_

Rumen cleared his throat. _'I love Martin, Snape. With my whole heart, he is my brother and I love him. But we must prioritise. Extracting Edric might well be doable. But the others? Your lord will never permit it.'_

_'I agree.' _

Snape felt grateful the normally impassive Rumen had supported him. That would help.

Penko's eyes looked damp for a second. _'The worst of it is that Viktor might agree with you.'_

_'I think he will, yes.'_

Snape didn't want this to get off track, so he nodded swiftly. _'Very well. The next step is considering how we might approach the Dark Lord.'_

_'You said gifts. What does he like?' _Draco ran his hands through his hair, eyes narrowed with focus.

_'He likes things which flatter his image of himself.'_

_'Well that narrows it down. I think I saw just the thing last week at Bourgin's and Burke's.'_

_'Have you got an idea, then, Bellatrix?'_

She fell silent, which was a no. The dog rotated his stiff shoulder and frowned as though in thought.

_'What about a snake?'_

_'A snake?'_

_'He's a Slytherin. And the Mark is a snake. So how about a snake?'_

_'Jolly good, Black, we'll just go and stand in the garden and one will slither to us, is it?'_

Black rolled his eyes. _'No. Tamm was telling me-you, I mean-that a snake as long as ten men was spotted a few dozen kilometres from his village. Perhaps it would be suitable?'_

The table was quiet. _'That might work.'_

_'We'll see about sending wolves after it, perhaps, if Albania is amenable. I can't imagine they won't be._'

Penko nodded, apparently pleased. _'We could always go and ask them.'_

_'Go to Albania?'_

_'No. Their ambassador is in a hotel awaiting Viktor and Hermione.'_

_'You mean to just leave him there?'_

_'Them. And yes, yes I do.'_

_'Why?'_

Penko cracked his knuckles lazily. _'Because they're supplicants, and it's good to make sure they all get that right off.'_

_'Won't it just anger them?_' Rumen was giving his brother a sharp look.

_'Not if they're smart. It will give them time to hear the stories circulating. Not to mention, I've sent some of their people to them. Sort of whet their appetite?'_

Snape decided he rather liked Penko. The flash exterior hid a shrewd, prehensile mind. He rather wished he'd realised it sooner; he might have used the fellow's resources better.

_'Quite so.'_

_'And the rest of us...?' _Rodolphus motioned about to his wife, who was slouching unattractively and glowering at no one especially, and his brother, who didn't seem to notice or care.

_'Will have to live the lie, Rodolphus. As will I, and Black, and the children. We have done it before, have we not, during the first war?'_

Bellatrix snorted. _'Perhaps some did. Remember who we are, Snape_.' She sat up and moved her arm so her Mark was clearly visibly.

_'Are you, Bellatrix? You are still the woman you were when you went to Azkaban?'_

She went white, hands clenching. _'How can you sit there and ask me, you of all people?'_

_'Because I, of all people, most need to know. I won't save you if you aren't worth saving.'_

_'Bastard.'_

_'Bellatrix.'_

_'No.'_

_'No, what?'_

_'I'm not that person anymore.'_

Snape nodded once. It was, perhaps enough for now. _'Good. Your role is to pretend that you are still she. And when the time is right...'_

Her eyes were glittering. He met them and felt a charge of electricity run down his spine. Here was danger, and violence, and need, as great as his own or greater. He would never love Bellatrix, would never even like Bellatrix, but he felt, in that moment, their souls kiss.

_'We will kill Him.'_

_'Yes.'_

And so, treason finally said out loud, it was done. The table stirred restively, and Snape saw Malfoy Sr take his wife's hand for a moment. If He knew what was being said just now, He'd kill them all. If.

Draco looked very pale and very calm. His voice, when he spoke, had a tone that went behind resignation and into inevitability. Warfare had hardened the boy, sharpened him like iron, and he understood it perhaps better than he did any other thing, and saw that this could end no other way. Did he welcome it?

_'Couldn't we do it some other way, Godfather? Something in his food, his drink?'_

_'He is too carefully watched, Draco. And paranoid. It will get worse once we've returned, I should think.'_

_'Then poison is...?' _Lucius Malfoy gestured delicately and Snape shook his head no.

_'Not now. Years ago, perhaps, but it would be found out. He'll suspect everyone now.'_

Draco pinched the bridge of his nose. _'I'll be fifteen in June, Godfather. What about taking the Mark?'_

_'What about it?'_

_'I'd rather not.' _He said it baldly, with a small smirk, but Snape noticed his eyes dart to his father. Lucius nodded, hand still on Narcissa's. Snape wondered what she thought of things. Was she glad to be free of it? Was she free of it at all? Were any of them?

He touched his own left arm and sighed. For himself, he thought the answer was no. It was part of him now, burnt into his flesh and ground into his very essence, a pall he carried with him wherever he went.

_'I will see what I can do. But Draco, the safest place for you right now is Durmstrang. It's the only possible course.'_

Draco looked disappointed for a moment. _'How so, Godfather?_'

Moody-Feathering spoke up. _'Because it's neutral ground. He can't touch you there, boy.'_

'_And because it will keep you out of the thick of it for a while. The easy part of the war is over, Draco. Now the real work begins.'_

_'I was afraid you would say that.'_

Moody-Feathering spoke again. _'Besides, I need your help. It's going to take time for things to get back to normal.'_

_'Have you heard from Aunt Hetty?'_

Moody-Feathering nodded. _'She's annoyed with all of us. She'll join us nearer to Christmas.'_

_'How annoyed?'_

_'Moderately. She understands, but she doesn't like it.'_

_'Meripa's not been causing trouble?'_

Moody-Feathering snorted. _'Oh, he's tried. I understand Tamm's friends have taken to following him to make sure he can't.'_

The whole table laughed, Draco hardest of all. _'That is too good.'_

_'You know you're Superintendent now?'_

_'Yes.'_

_'Your second?'_

_'Kask would be my first choice, I daresay, but he'll be graduated by then, isn't that right?'_

_'He and the other sixth and seventh years. There's no point in their standing for exams. They've more than proven themselves.'_

_'Who, then? Tamm is too young. I'd prefer a nonentity.'_

_'What about Gorski? Good family, no particular personality that I've observed.'_

_'That works for me.'_

Moody-Feathering nodded. _'All right, then._' They moved onto to everything else, planning their lives about the treasonous deception they had wrought.

The four returned from the rose valley rested and cheerful. Three days of play had done Hermione a whole world of good, for all her hand was still worryingly numb. She had decided to take that as it came, and spent most of her time reading, having snowball fights and talking to Alise, who had taken to blushing charmingly whenever Scabior was mentioned.

_'Were you afraid?'_

_'Not at all. Well, a bit at first, but I mean, when one trusts someone, it's not so bad. And he was too.'_

_'Really?'_

_'He thought he'd hurt me.'_

The girls were arm in arm, strolling about the grounds. Across the frozen courtyard, they could see Viktor and Scabior talking and laughing. They waved.

_'Do you expect they wonder what we're talking about?'_

Alise shook her head no. _'They're talking about the same thing.'_

_'Do you think?'_

_'Do you doubt it?_' And giggling again, they kept walking.

Now, back at the Ministry, they alighted onto the grounds and were met by a harried, grinning Uncle Penko, who embraced them both and then briefed them as they walked.

'The Albanians, the Latvians, the Estonians, the Lithuanians and the Macedonians are here awaiting your pleasure, and the Turks and Greeks asked permission to send envoys. And the French are sniffing about as well.'

'When do we meet with them?'

'Is an hour too soon?'

Hermione saw her husband's eyes darkened slightly, but he nodded. 'And everything was calm, Uncle?'

'More or less. Drago is quite eager to see you both.'

Hermione smiled at the thought of her cousin and sped up a bit, keeping pace with the taller men.

'No word from Britain?'

'No, love. Not yet.'

'I wish the Dark Lord would send us letter. His quiet is bad.'

'Exactly so.' And he left them to dress to receive ambassador.

Hermione loved watching Viktor. He moved with purposeful, quiet economy, but he often made funny little faces and hummed to himself as he dressed, and stroked his chin, lamenting the loss of his facial hair.

'I think it is very handsome.'

'Bah, I look twelve.'

'No. Look very strong and man-like.'

'Masculine. I'd look stronger and manlier with a beard.'

'No. Otherwise Crookshanks might chew off. He is a very strange cat.'

'Is that a threat?'

She let the elves finish pinning her hair. 'No. Just a thought.'

'Hmmph.'

'What hmmph?'

'You aren't as subtle as you think you are.'

'I am.'

'No' he said, chuckling 'you aren't.' She might have argued more, but he kissed her, and that quite made her forget what she'd meant to say.

The meetings were in a small salon near the formal dining room. One by one, Tamm brought the ambassadors and their wives in, and they made their manners to the Lord Protector and Vicereine.

All of them were straightforward until the ambasssador from Albania, a gaunt man wearing huge enveloping robes and a matching fur hat, accompanied by an undersecretary rather than his wife.

They bowed, the ambassador strangely spidery in his movements, and then sat without being bidden.

_'*Excellency, thank you for coming.*'_

_'*Not at all.*' _

The man was staring flatly at them with a look that suggested he thought they would do a trick. Finally, after an uncomfortable pause, he said _'*That boy.*'_

_'*Which boy, your excellency?*'_

_'*The one on my way in. A gheg, is he?*'_

_'*Anu is Albanian, yes.*'_

_'*Yet his name is Estonian.*' _The man's mouth quirked. Hermione decided she didn't like him. There was something about him that was like a nail file raked on skin, or biting glass.

_'*Yes, it is.*' _

Viktor seemed nearly as uncomfortable as she felt. She restrained the urge to touch her husband's arm and instead smiled encouragingly at Anu himself, who'd come with a tray of refreshments. They had asked him especially to show honour to the envoys, and he walked with pride, wearing a new tunic, hair freshly cut.

_'*Thank you, Anu.*'_

_'*You're welcome. My lady.*_' He turned and walked for the door. His pride had got him this far but Hermione could tell Anu was not comfortable with the ambassador there.

The ambassador watched him go. _'*A strange choice for an aide, a boy of no real note.*'_

Hermione felt herself bristle and decided to try to move the conversation elsewhere. _'*Surely your excellency would prefer to speak about matters of more immediate consequence than Mr. Tamm's family line?*'_

The ambassador ignored her. _'*If your lordship wanted a more...suitable boy for a page, it could be arranged.*'_

Hermione's back was well and truly up, and she stiffened, preparing to say something to the boor that had just insulted her and Anu in the same breath.

Viktor caught her eye and tipped his head subtly. She relaxed, knowing she could trust him, startled at what he said next. _'*I've meant to discuss that with you, excellency.*'_

Hermione couldn't believe it. She felt numb, until her husband leant over and said softly _'*I can't believe a boy as brave as Anu is fatherless, can you?*'_

The ambasssador, who'd been all but preening like a cat, stopped cold. _'*Sorry?*'_

_'*Surely, a boy who's defeated a werewolf in single combat has the blood of heroes in his veins, wouldn't you agree?*'_

_'*I-I- it is most curious, yes, but-*'_

_'*And Madam Tamm was simply too modest to disclose a thing like that. She's very shy, I find.*'_

_'*Well, it's, I mean, it's certainly possible-*'_

_'*Good, good. My lady and I meant to offer a reward for anyone who'd be able to unravel the mystery. It's only suitable repayment for the Tamms' service to my family, don't you think?*'_

The ambassador looked shell shocked. '_*That would be most generous, my lord.'_

_'Could I ask you to entrust one of your people with that?*'_

The ambassador nodded. _'*I will set my own son on it. He's a very clever boy. Sixteen this year.*'_

Viktor nodded. _'*Ah. I believe several of my lords have daughters that same age. Perhaps you'd care to meet with them?*'_

_'*Your lordship is too kind.*'_

_'*Not at all. It was my lady's idea.*'_

Hermione was almost as shocked as the ambassador had been, and could only nod, deciding to tell her husband off as soon as possible for this. She felt oddly tricked, though she trusted Viktor with her whole soul. What was he up to?

_'*Mr. Tamm mentioned a large serpent menacing the area about his former village?*'_

The ambassador's brows knit._ '*I had not heard.*'_

_'*I was wondering whether your people would be so kind as to allow us to send some men to extract it. As a gesture of friendship, you understand.*'_

The ambassador considered. '*_I suppose that could be arranged. Perhaps your lordship would be amenable to sending us some wolves? If they were to stay for, say, a month's time, they could train our aurors and get the snake.*'_

_'*Of course. We would like the snake as soon as possible.*'_

_'*I will Floo the Minister and see what I might do.*'_

A few formalities ended it, and the man allowed Anu to usher him out. Hermione spelled the door closed. 'Viktor?'

'Yes, love?'

'I did not understand something?'

Viktor shrugged one shouldered. 'I wanted to make it clear that we wouldn't tolerate disrespect toward anyone here, especially people too young to defend themselves.'

'Why does it matter who is Anu's father?'

Viktor stretched, joints popping. 'Because I plan to name him Ivan's seneschal, and it will go down more easily if his father was someone highborn.'

' Ivan will need a seneschal, you think?'

'I daresay. And Anu deserves a chance. How would you feel about betrothing him to Yana?'

Hermione blinked. She hadn't considered that they could do that so casually.

'Aunt and Uncle will like it?'

'They'd like it much better if Anu is the son of some noble. And I think they like him. It would be a powerful alliance with Albania.'

'Yes, of course, but there are bigger countries to be worry about.'

Hermione liked Anu but she worried more about France and Germany-and Romania, of course-than Albania.'

'Yes, but Albania's got something they haven't.' Viktor called for a map. Hermione bent over it and watched as her husband tapped it with his wand. A series of grids lit up.

'Ley lines. Do you see here?' He tapped Albania and the lines lit up even more brightly, densely woven together.

'I see. What does it mean?'

Viktor reached for her hand. 'It means that the key to defeating the Dark Lord might well be in Albania. Magic is powerful there, and old, and Dark, a lot of it. The Albanians would be good friends to have.

Hermione nodded slowly. 'I don't like him ignoring me, Viktor. The ambassador.'

'Nor I, but it will take a long time to change.'

'You think it can be done?'

'I think we do anything we put our minds to.'

Hermione sighed and leant closer to her husband, smelling his clean soap and wool smell. 'I hope so.'

'So do I.'

**Spoiler A/N:**

**Much like the issue of Rabastan's forced marriage, the issue of Anu's father is a complicated one. On the one hand, I personally find the idea that personal characteristics are somehow implicitly tied to bloodline to be stupid and patently absurd.**

**On the other, the characters inhabit a world where that is accepted fact amongst the subset of people we're dealing with. People view the world through that lens, whether it objectively makes sense or not.**

**So while I personally find the whole notion that it matters who Anu is, versus what he's done, objectionable on a number of levels, viewing it in the context of that time and place, and with these players, simply makes it the least offensive way(to those involved) to accomplish Viktor's goals.**


	100. Chapter 100

**A/N: Love to reviewers and Countess Black**

**After 2000 pages,over half a million words and ten months, part one is finished. Ending a book is always bittersweet, even when the story isn't done yet.**

**First, my many debts:**

**Countess Black, for her continual support on and off the page**

**My friend K for the same**

**The works of George RR Martin for inspiration**

**The many fictional and non-fictional works I used as research; truly, I stood on the shoulders of giants **

**My father and stepmother for their love and help during a profoundly difficult time in my life**

**My grandparents, for being my heroes and my rock in the lowest moments**

**St. Therese for giving me courage in the darkest dark nights of my soul**

**The many readers who honoured me with feedback and encouragement**

**Therefore, I dedicate this book, with love and gratitude:**

** AMDG and my grandparents, R. and J. E. **

The Death Eaters prepared to leave Bulgaria just after Christmas. Robed and masked, they gathered in the courtyard, flanked by an honour guard of werewolves. They waited, splayed in a fan, for the new Lord Proctector and Vicereine to come and see them off.

With Draco beside them, they came with their own honour guard, a small corps of senior Durmstrang students whom Desmond Feathering had, using his privilege as Head, graduated on Christmas Eve.

At their head, Paavo Kask limped proudly. He had been graduated, and was the new head of security at the Ministry; he and Scabior worked well together, and shared an interest in Quidditch and drinking beer.

They nodded companionably and gave the area a quick visual sweep, nodded to one another, and then the others as the group made their slow way to the carriages.

The students (former students, now) stood at attention, heels clacking briskly in the snowy courtyard as Tamm announced them. The lord and lady were well rugged in furs, came forward and embraced the group.

Under her mask, Bellatrix was crying a little. Her daughter, got up in a sable lined cloaked sent by the Russians, hugged her hard, and Bellatrix hugged back, not knowing whether she would ever get the chance again.

_'Mother, we'll come and see you soon, all right?'_

_'You'd best. And be careful. Be safe, Hermione.'_

_'We will, Mother. You too. Promise?'_

_'I promise. Don't fall...you know.'_

_'Mother!'_

_'I mean it, girl.' _

She released her daughter and stepped back, letting Rodolphus have a turn. He bent and whispered something and the girl nodded, eyes damp. She flew into Cissy's arms as well, and then Malfoy's a bit less enthusiastically.

The boys were hugging as well, and she gave her son in law the same hissed warnings. He nodded English style and then bent his head to her ear. _'Portkeys.'_

She nodded back. _'Yes. Perhaps_.' She wouldn't. He knew it and so did she, but he had to try and she let him.

Behind them, Avery, envoy of the Dark Lord, cleared his throat, and the groups parted in the middle. The Death Eaters saluted the Lord Protector and Vicereine and embarked, and the Bulgarian aurors tasked with taking them to the border ascended on brooms as one, fifty of them wearing sharp tunics. Bellatrix watched as her children became smaller and smaller, and disappeared. She shoved down her premonition of disaster and made herself stare rigidly ahead, saying nothing.

Across from her, Avery was watching with the bland malice of a crocodile. She tightened her jaw. Let him. She'd killed men harder than he. She was Bellatrix Black Lestrange, and that was all she had right now.

Draco watched them go, and knew, just as Aunt Zhivka's death had done, his life had been cleaved in two again. Once he'd been a schoolboy and then a general, and now he was second in command to the leader of Wizarding Bulgaria, and his former school mates saluted him as he went by. And he had Vaike. He sometimes found himself musing on the graceful curves of her wrist or remembering the soft, ghostly swell of her breast in his hand, and feeling his body temperature rising. Was this love? Was it lust?

He looked up as subtly as he could and saw the carriages were gone. His heart squeezed; would he see them again? The promise of the snake would doubtlessly sweeten the deal in terms of calming the Dark Lord. The official visit wasn't for months, but the Dark Lord had demanded the Death Eaters come home the day after Christmas for no real reason, despite the sure knowledge they would want to help their children.

Ahead of Draco, Tamm was easily navigating the corridor, wearing a tunic on which was halved the dog and maunch of House Krum and the eagle of Albania, flanked by Salazar-Sirius.

He reached up and adjusted his eye patch absently. _'*Make way for the Lord Protector and Vicereine!*'_ The crowd parted, bowing or curtsying as they swept by. It used to thrill Draco; now it just made him tired.

Tamm had come to him days earlier, brow furrowed. He'd still had his bandage then, but smaller, the reconstruction nearly finished. _'*Malfoy?*'_

_'*Yes, Tamm?*'_

_'*I've got a father now, you know. Or had. He died.*'_

To no one's surprise, Tamm's 'father' had been found to have been, far from a shepherd engaging in a blood feud, a high noble. The fact this man, who had otherwise died without issue, had done three years before Tamm could have been conceived was not remarked on. So Tamm, the bastard get of a shepherdess, was promptly recognised as sole heir and sent to see his 'grandfather', who had presumably been compensated somehow for his cooperation.

_'*I heard, Anu.*'_

_'*Malfoy?*'_

_'*Hmm?*'_

_'*If a thing never happened, but it makes everyone's life better, and it's not hurting anyone...?*'_

Draco felt a yawning chasm under his feet. _'*Then we know things have fallen right, don't we?*'_

_'*Isn't it...doesn't it hurt his-my... father's-_besa_ to...?*'_

Draco felt the ghost of the true meaning, same as Snape had. He wished Father was here. He felt like he would only muck this up.

_'*Anu, in ordinary time, when a man takes responsibility for a child without being compelled, he does so because he is a person of honour. For a man to do so in circumstances as strange as these means people must have known him to be truly exceptional in those terms, don't you think?*'_

Anu's eyes lit up. '_*Yes! That's it!*'_

_'*I think, though, it would pain your mother to discuss it. So perhaps you'd feel better directing your inquiries to Viktor or myself?*'_

_'*Yes, I think so too.*' _Anu looked terribly relieved, and slumped a little. He reached into his pockets and handed over a small pouch. Draco raised an eyebrow.

_'*My grandfather gave me this. Would you buy Nene a house elf with it? I don't know how.*'_

_'*That's very generous, Anu, but surely the elves here will care for her?*'_

_'*Yes, but I want to get her something. She's got arthritis in her hands, Professor Snape says. It might make her feel better not to bother your elves.*'_

Draco decided not to argue. '*_All right. Is there anything you'd like?*'_

Anu considered. '_*Halva, please.*'_

Draco had counted the money and found there to be a tremendous amount in terms of pocket money. Even after he'd bought a very nice elf for Sose, he had enough to open Anu, with Viktor's help, his own bank vault.

_'*That*' _Viktor had commented _'*is quite a lot of halva, I would say.*' _

Now they went directly to the family apartments and found the uncles already there. Uncle Rumen unfurled a map, and pulling up their chairs, they went to work planning their next step. Sirius-Salazar changed back and joined them as soon as Tamm had left the room, and the group fell to the serious matter of their foreign policy, starting with Britain.

Sirius-Salazar (now just Sirius) felt the matter perhaps a bit more keenly than most. He had got to spend a little time with Emmeline, at least, but he felt like sending them all into the very arms of that maniac was the worst sort of betrayal.

She had wanted to sit silently with him, not touching, just sitting side by side, and he had obliged, finally transforming into Salazar. That had done the trick, and he had sat patiently whilst she wept into his ruff, and then dried her eyes.

_'Thank God for Cunegarde. She's kept him from Rowle at least.'_

Sirius had transformed back and quietly resumed his former place. _'Em-_'

_'Don't call me that! She's dead!'_

Sirius had pulled back and then she was in his arms. _'Sorry, sorry, I didn't mean to yell.'_

_'Course not. You're just stressed.' _He rubbed her back lightly and she nodded, sniffling. _'Why don't we get some rest_?'

She nodded, head still buried in his chest. _'How did your mother bear it?'_

_'Bear what, E-love?'_

_'Sending Regulus to Him. It's unfathomable.'_

_'Not to Walburga.' _

He forced the memory of his brother away and transfigured a chair into a mattress for them and a tablecloth into a blanket. He'd held her silently for some time, glad to be of help even if he knew he really wasn't.

He'd woken her before dawn and she had gone to her husband, whilst he, as Salazar, went to Snape. The git was awake, sipping that black vinegar he called tea and staring into some part of himself that Sirius didn't want to hazard a guess at.

_'Dog.'_

_'Virgin.' _

Sirius took the tea Mippy handed him and sat at the table. Snape hadn't risen to the bait, and Sirius, wondering whether he would need to transform for Snape was well, was relieved when the man said finally _'Something the matter?'_

_'You're never afraid, are you?'_

_'Yes.' _Snape drank more tea and seemed disinclined to speak further, but Sirius pressed on.

_'I am too.'_

_'Oh? Of what, precisely, Black?'_

Sirius shrugged. _'Same thing you are, I daresay.'_

_'You presume to know what I fear?'_

Sirius ignored the prickly tone_. 'I see what I see, Snape.'_

_'And what's that, dog?'_

_'You don't want to lose them, and nor do I.'_

Snape didn't deny it. _'When Hogwarts was taken, it fell to me to kill Dumbledore.'_

_'I know.'_

_'If I should see him again after I am dead, I should like to be able to tell him I did not fail the girl and the others.'_

Sirius was being given rare insight. He nodded carefully, wondering if Snape would say anything else. The man was still pensive and quiet.

_'You've always been a better man than most, Snape. Better than me, anyhow. Dumbledore knew that.'_

_'Dumbledore loved his Gryffindors, Black. I was a tool to him, nothing more.'_

_'That's not true. He might have loved Gryffindor, but he respected you.'_

_'Bollocks, dog.'_

_'No, it's true.' _Sirius didn't know why it seemed important to him to defend the git to himself, but it did. He set down his cup to gesture more freely.

_'D'you suppose Dumbledore would have ever asked James or I to teach? Remus, maybe, but one of us? Never. He might've liked us, Snape, but he asked you.'_

_'You might have remembered you were in prison at the time, Black.'_

_'He didn't work to clear my name, now did he? You, on the other hand...'_

_'He had no proof I had ever..._'

_'Nor I, but I rotted in Azkaban and you had a cosy little flat at Hogwarts. There must've been questions about your activities. I know for a fact you and Rosier were working on that brain embolism jinx at least six months before he died.'_

Snape paled a little but said nothing. Sirius pressed the point. _'Not to mention that raid in Kent in November of 1979. You were there, at least. Not enough proof to convict you, perhaps, but you were.'_

_'How the hell do you know?'_

_'I was a trainee auror, remember? I read all the files. We had a dossier on you a metre thick.' _That was a wild exaggeration, of course, but Sirius wanted to lighten the mood.

_'You and Potter kept notes on me?'_

_'Yes, James and I._' Sirius pushed down the flare of pain he felt-a groove smooth worn in his brain-and pushed onward. _'Your hands might not have been dirty like some of them, but they were hardly clean. People knew that.'_

Snape nodded convulsively, Adam's apple working. _'Yes.'_

_'He saved you. Because he thought you could fix this.'_

_'Because he needed me.'_

_'So? You saved me because you needed me.'_

_'Hardly the same thing.'_

_'How is it not?'_

_'Shut up, dog.'_

_'You shut up. I'm right and you're bloody well aware of it.'_

_'I am no such thing.'_

_'You needed me and respected that I could do what you asked of me, wasn't it?'_

Snape glowered, and that was answer enough. Sirius grinned a little and was prepared to drop the topic-life with Snape had convinced him that sometimes discretion really was the best half of valour- but Snape himself took up the thread.

_'I knew you were good, dog. Had I known you were this God-damned long winded, I might have saved myself the bother. And you snore.'_

Sirius wanted to respond, but he was laughing too hard, and he decided that, having lucked into the right thing to say twice in one day, for once he wouldn't push it too hard.

So now, as a man, he sat and listened as the first official duplicity of this strange new regime was mapped out with Rumen's dry precision.

_'*We'll need to send people to Grimmauld Place to check it periodically for Listening Charms and Peeping spells. Any thoughts?*'_

_'*Kreacher will, I'm sure.*'_

_'*It might not be enough.*'_

Sirius put up a hand. _'*I'll do it if you can get me in and out. I'll carry messages and things as well if you'd like.*'_

Hermione suddenly frowned, scrunching her brow a bit.

_'*Sirius, that's very kind of you, but don't you mind that we're using your house?*'_

He shook his head. _'*No. Always hated the old place.*'_

_'*Would you rather we sent someone else? If you won't be comfortable, I mean.*'_

_'*Not at all. I should go and see my darling Mother, shouldn't I?*'_

The three young people looked awkwardly at one another. Hermione finally faced the proverbial hippogriff in the room, _'*Sirius, I am so sorry to have to tell you, but your mother is...*'_

_'*Dead, I know. Her portrait is no doubt as shirty and snobbish as ever, so off I'll hie to see the old girl.*' _He grinned rakishly, meaning to tease his cousins even as he was being quite serious about seeing Mother.

The three nodded, visibly relieved. '_*Of course. And if there's anything you might like...some memento or something...do take it. Viktor, do you mind?*'_

_'*Not at all. We're guests in your home, cousin. Please, use it how you will.*'_

They were such damned good kids, that was what got Sirius. He reached out and touched Hermione's hand a moment.

_'*Thank you all. I'll show you some things about that place you might not have known, once you come for the visit. Mother's portrait is still up, isn't it? She would have put a permanent charm on it, I'm sure.*'_

Hermione was frowning again. '_*Is it? I hardly remember that time much.*'_

_'*We could always summon Kreacher. Kreacher, come here, please.*'_

Sirius leapt up just as the ancient elf popped in, grinning dementedly. He took one look at Sirius and shrieked like a tea kettle, with anger or shock Sirius could not say.

_'*Master Sirius? Master Sirius is being dead!*'_

_'*No, clearly I'm not. And that's a hell of a greeting, you little bastard.*'_

_'*Master Sirius is insulting Kreacher after everything being done to the Mistress?*'_

Hermione stood up. _'*Sirius, please, it's a terrible shock for poor Kreacher. Kreacher, it's quite all right.*'_

_'*Not all right! Not all right!*'_

Viktor, rubbing his temples briefly, turned to his uncles. _'*Could we meet a little later? You've clearly got this well in hand, and I'd rather sort out this issue right now.*'_ The uncles, both shaking their heads a little, bowed themselves out.

Hermione, startlingly, had her arms about the manky old elf. '_*Kreacher, Sirius is awfully sorry he couldn't tell you before. It must have been terribly hard on you, losing everyone like you did.*'_

The elf nodded creakily. _'*Kreacher was good elf! Is good elf! Deserving better than that!*'_

_'*Yes, you did, and we are so, so sorry that happened. But Sirius is back now, and he knows how good and helpful you've been to us. So perhaps the two of you could begin again?*'_

She was brilliant at this. It was like a fusion of Narcissa's tact and sensitivity and Bellatrix's resolve. Sirius forced himself to nod.

_'*Yes. I, er, realise what a little gobsh-ah, brat I was to you, Kreacher.*'_

_'*Being very naughty, yes. Not listening to Kreacher.*'_

_'*I know. And I regret making you angry.*'_

'*_Not angry.*' _Kreacher's great yellow eyes pierced his, making him feel all of seven again. '_*Hurt. Master Sirius is making Kreacher feel hurt.*'_

Hermione flinched, and the lads looked sympathetically at the vile creature. How the hell had it-he-ended up in the catbird seat this way?

_'*I didn't...I'm sorry, Kreacher.*'_

Kreacher sniffed. _'*No. Kreacher is knowing when Master Sirius is being sorry. Not being sorry at all.*'_

Sirius grunted with annoyance. '_*Kreacher, be fair. I had to protect people.*'_

_'*Could have stayed and a been good boy.*'_

_'*I couldn't do both. I chose safety for the people I loved.*' _Which was true, if not quite like he meant.

Kreacher screwed up his face suspiciously. _'*Running around with fat Master Peter and bad Master James. Still being friends with them?*'_

_'*No. They're dead, Kreacher.*' _God help the little son of a bitch if he said the slightest thing against James or Lily. Instead, the elf seemed to collect his thoughts.

_'*Why Master Sirius is not telling Kreacher before now?*'_

_'*Because I had to help some people with keeping the family safe. I didn't do a very good job the first time, did I? It killed them, my efforts to help.*'_

_'*No.*'_

_'*No?*'_

Kreacher shook his head, ears flapping. '_*Broken hearts. Broken heart killed Mistress. Killed Master Orion. Killed Master Regulus.*' _The elf moaned, burying his face in his hands.

Sirius looked to his cousins, hoping they'd stop this. Hermione blinked tears and took the elf's hand in hers.

_'*Kreacher, are you upset because you feel abandoned?*'_

_'*Yes.*' _Hearing it so baldly was sort of a relief. At least this stupid guessing game had ended. Sirius thought about his childhood with the elf and what his mother had always said of elves.

'*_Useful, stupid creatures, Sirius. They haven't feelings as humans have. They're sly. They manipulate.*'_

He had rejected every premise she'd ever drummed into him. Why not this? Why had it not occurred to him that Kreacher might have been hurt by what had happened? He'd lost Reg and Sirius, Mother, Father, his whole family. And he'd doted so on Reg.

_'*Kreacher? Do you know what happened to Regulus?*'_

Kreacher pulled himself up straighter, his humped spine creaking. His mouth was trembling.

_'*Master Regulus is being dead.*'_

_'*I-I know. But Kreacher, did he...what happened?*'_

Kreacher slumped. '_*Kreacher is promising not to tell.*'_

Sirius felt the maddening closeness of the thing. He made himself press forward. _'*You and he were so close...he wouldn't want you to suffer this way. Help us help Reg, Kreacher.*'_

Viktor stood up and approached the little elf, who was hovering above the table, just in front of Sirius. '_*Sirius tells us Regulus was quite a brave man. That is true, Kreacher, isn't it?*'_

Kreacher's face worked. _'*Master Sirius is saying that?*'_

Draco too. He came on Sirius's other side and smiled at the elf. '_*Everyone says that. He died defying the Dark Lord, didn't he?*'_

_'*Master Draco is being honest?*'_

_'*We all are. But first we need to know.*'_

Kreacher looked ready to say it and then stopped. '_*Why is Master Draco wanting to defy the Dark Lord?*'_

They summerised recent events, ending with the meeting they'd called off. The elf listened silently, head bobbing slightly with age. When they got to the part about the wedding, the elf stopped them.

_'*Married now?*'_

'*_Didn't anyone tell you, Kreacher?*'_

_'*No, Mistress. Not telling Kreacher. But, oh! Babies for Kreacher now!*' _The elf grinned toothlessly, and even did a small shuffling dance to show how gleeful he felt.

Just as quickly he stopped. _'*Master Sirius, telling Master Viktor and Mistress Hermione they are too young! No babies yet!*'_

The group broke up laughing. It helped with the tension, and Sirius immediately agreed. '_*Not until they're older, Kreacher.*'_

_'*And then Kreacher has babies to raise?*_'

In deep consternation, Hermione and Viktor studied one another and then started to laugh again. '_*Yes, Kreacher, babies.*'_

_'*Mistress is being very young.*'_

_'*Not for a few years, all right?*'_

_'*Well, all right, but Kreacher is not dying until he is having last baby to raise. Raising eight generations of Blacks.*'_

_'*We aren't Blacks, Kreacher.*'_

_'*Mistress Hermione is the great niece of Mistress. That is enough for Kreacher.*' _He turned a gimlet eye on Sirius.

_'*Master Sirius is getting married soon.*' _It wasn't a question.

_'*Well, err, I'm really not the marrying sort, Kreacher.*'_

Kreacher looked stern. _'It is what is best for the family.*'_

_'*There's a war on.*'_

_'After the war, then. Lots of babies for Kreacher.' _He crossed his arms, making it clear that his foot was well and truly down. The three cousins were all grinning at him. He tried to look Snape-like and suspected he merely looked dyspeptic.

_'*Could we talk about what happened now?*'_

Kreacher nodded slowly. '*_Master Sirius?*_'

_'*Kreacher?*'_

_'*A promise?*'_

_'*Is it about getting married?*'_

_'*Later. It is this promise: Master Sirius is bringing Master Regulus home to Kreacher.*'_

_'*You mean finding his...his mortal remains, Kreacher?*'_

Kreacher nodded solemnly. '_*Kreacher will wash his body and sit vigil. There is time now for grief.*'_

Kreacher no less than all of them had never had the chance to say good bye. Hermione's eyes were bright, and Sirius watched as she enfolded the little elf again in her arms.

Sirius nodded. _'*If I need to move heaven and earth, Kreacher, I will bring you something that you might put Regulus to rest with.*'_

_'*Thank you, Master.*' _

Sirius steeled himself and waited to find out the horrible truth of how his brother had died. Kreacher did not disappoint him.

Severus Snape found Spinner's End too quiet now. He'd had house guests for so long that the fact that the only noise was what he made a bit disconcerting. It wasn't because he missed the dog, mind. But Mippy was too quiet, and he found he thought better with a little noise, so he invested in a cheap phonograph and some music and let it play as he worked.

It was a bit of a shock when the dog scratched on the door one night, dripping with autumn rain. Snape let him in, fearing the worst, and then had to restrain himself from thwacking the idiot on the head when it turned out to be a social visit.

'I've something for you.'

'Dear me, it's not lokum, is it? I should simply die of bliss.' Black was nearly manic with excitement, like a child locked in a sweets shop.

'I know what happened to Regulus.'

'Sorry?'

Black explained what had happened, and Snape, not precisely pleased the children hadn't consulted him before blowing Black's cover even more, had to admit, solely to himself, that it could have been handled worse.

'What does it all mean, though?'

Snape was pleased to have a chance to sneer a bit. 'Oh, the trainee auror is baffled, is he? Hasn't quieted your mouth.'

'What, Snape, have you sprained your wrist?'

'Vulgar cur. He's making horcruxes.'

'Well, obviously. It would account for his increasing instability, amongst other things.'

'"Obviously?"'

'Trainee auror, remember? We read all the primers on Dark Magic. And I'm a Black. I could have taught a course.'

'I doubt your parents discussed this sort of thing at dinner.'

'No. And I didn't say I would have made that leap without Kreacher, you know.'

'True enough.' Snape started to tuck the parchment into his waistcoat pocket and then stopped, handing it back.

Black, in turn, handed over a locket. Snape could feel Dark magic tingling in the thing. His Mark was burning, and he had an erection. He looked at Black. 'And you think this is...?'

'I know this is. We spent all yesterday trying to destroy it. Nothing.'

'"We"?' Snape glowered. Surely the idiot dog knew not to involve the children in such a dangerous enterprise?

Black met his eyes steadily. 'Kreacher and I. I refused to let the children touch it.'

'Kreacher has forgiven you?'

'You'd better thank me for this, Snape.'

'What did you promise him?'

'My very heart's blood!'

'You offered him that muggle picture of the woman in her small clothes?'

'Tosser. No, I promised I'd give him a Black to look after.'

Snape would have answered that, but he was laughing, and Black, that wanker, joined in. They were in terrible danger, trusting the word of a half deranged house elf, and so all they could, in the end, was laugh.

No one was laughing when Snape explained things to the others the next night, having visited Malfoy Manor on some pretext.

Lucius Malfoy lurched to his feet, looking ready to vomit. 'My God, the diary.'

'What diary, Malfoy?'

'He gave me His diary to hold. He said it was a powerful...a powerful...' He turned and swiftly walked for the lavatory. Narcissa looked very little better. She was shaking her head slowly.

Eugenia jiggled Edric. 'Then what's the plan?'

'We research, and we observe. This can be countered.'

'How?' Rabastan Lestrange raked a hand through his hair as he spoke.

'That remains to be seen.'

'We've come this far, Severus. If the children could do all that, we can do this.'

'It will be hard, Rabastan. It will be dangerous.' Snape found himself, obscurely, disturbingly, wanting to warn the girl, wanting her safe in Bulgaria, wanting her out of danger.

All of them, really, but the girl most of all. She was Lily, and she was the child he'd never father, and she was just the girl, who saw the good in him along with the bad and who trusted him-who **liked** him-despite himself.

Snape sat down in his spot next to the dog. How had he, Severus Snape, come to be here? He was part of these people. He was part of a family.

And he would do anything to protect them, he knew deep in his secret heart. Anything. And in the coming months, he did a good many things he had never thought possible in service to that, because he would not fail them, if he had to wade through an ocean of blood in order to keep them safe.

Other changes, too, some of them vast and some of them tiny. Draco found on his return to Durmstrang that the group of fighters he led had, with no effort, effected a coup. No one challenged them, and when they laid down the law, it stayed laid down.

Tamm, too, had had a change in status. Now the son of a high nobleman (and first cousin to the shocked and horrified Maripa), he was understood to be Malfoy's unofficial second. Only one person tried to pick on him-he found himself sprawled in the dirt, nose bleeding, and no fewer than thirty wands trained on his head. It never happened again.

Hermione and Alise bid goodbye to Yseult the night before term. The blonde had recovered a bit of her sparkle, but still seemed subdued. Her father was in talks with both the Bulgarians and the British. When it was announced that she would marry Wetherell Mcnair, no one was surprised, but a great many people were appalled. Snape could do nothing, but he promised the Vicereine that he would monitor the situation as best he could. And anyway, he had a few years to fix this, ideally.

As for the Vicereine and her assistant, it was decided by Olympe Maxime that their presence would be unsuitable for any number of reasons. They would finish their education by correspondence.

Alise's birthday was February fourth. She and Scabior were wed on the seventh, with her grandmother and the Krums in attendance, as it was held to be a bad idea for the two fiancés to be so much in proximity. It was only another year, anyhow.

The Lord Protector himself was Scabior's best man, and the Vicereine dressed the new Madam Scabior in the wedding costume her grandmother had made. They honeymooned in the rose valley, and Hermione had Yokov give Alise the same set of potions she was taking. It was...not so bad.

A month later, the bethrothal of Anu Tamm, natural son of Agon Pojani, and Yana Krum was announced. Being as the boy was now heir to a strategic stronghold and a goodly part of Tirana, the Krums protested less than one would expect. And he would be a good husband to Yana, they both felt, and what more could someone ask for a second child (a daughter, yet) of a second son?

Yana herself was philosophical. Draco and Tamm had come from Durmstrang for the weekend, and she approached Draco after dinner, still wearing her nice new dress and little circlet in her hair.

_'*Drago, we need to talk.*'_

_'*All right, Yana.*'_

_'*You know, we can't get married now. I have to marry someone else.*' _She clamoured into his lap and pressed her cheek to his, sighing deeply.

_'*I do know that, Yana. I think Anu will be a very good husband to you.*'_

_'*He's only got one eye.*'_

_'*He's very kind, and very, very brave. He lost that eye saving my life, you know.*'_

_'*Really?*'_

_'*Why don't you ask him about it?*'_

Anu, with his mother, was outside, sitting on a bench.

_'Nene?'_

_'Hmm?'_

_'You don't have to worry now. About having someone to help you, I mean. I've a fiancée now.' _

_'I didn't worry before. I always knew you were special Anu.'_

_'We both are. You and me. And Yana.'_

Yana's little slippers slapped on the stones. She approached them fearlessly. _'*Hello, Anu. Hello, Mother.*'_

_'*Hello, Yana.*'_

_'*You've just got one eye, Anu.*'_

_'*Yes.*'_

_'*Did you save Drago?*'_

_'*Paavo did. I was lucky, was all.*'_

She was still looking. '*_Can I see it?*' _She gestured to the missing eye, hidden behind the leather patch, which Anu oiled once a week like Headmaster had taught him. He knelt down and lifted it.

The flesh was smooth, the lid closed forever with a permanent sticking charm. Yana reached out and lightly touched it, and then, without self consciousness, went on tip toes and kissed the empty socket.

_'*Is that better?*'_

Anu blushed. _'*Yes, much.*' _And when they'd grown, and married, every day she would kiss his missing eye and ask. Decades after, she held off the ragged remains of Sepp's men as Anu dealt the final blow. They were lethal, and bold, and Europe would say of them that Krum had taught them his secrets, and call Yana the second Hermione, an amazon.

That was later. Now they were children, and he swung her up in his arms. Sose came and stood with them, and together they looked the stars. Of such moments, of such beginnings and endings, are the strange and invisible histories of our lives woven together, are the real stories of things made.

** END, PART ONE.**


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